Day 331 - 10,000 Ways to Say "I'm Sorry"
I did something really selfish and I hurt someone.
Someone that I care about.
Someone that I took for granted.
Even before this person knew, I knew how much I had hurt them...and myself. I felt it in the ache of my bones, in the blood rushing to my head, in the groan in my stomach.
Despite that, first up: denial.
I lied. I told myself it was par for the course. Everyone does this. No big deal.
But it was a big deal. And besides I am a terrible liar. I can't even keep my own secrets. So I bit the bullet and told my someone. It was every bit as bad as I feared.
Still, did I accept?? No way. Instead, I turned on them with anger.
Which somehow morphed into the twisted belief that I could bargain my way through this.
I'm a reasonably smart person. I can come up with some zinging rebuttals and impenetrable defenses...but it takes a lot of energy to maintain that fierceness...and when it gives way, everything collapses with an equally intense depression.
I'm even smart enough to know exactly what I'm doing while I'm doing it and yet, trapped by every molecule of my frail humanity, I am obligated to walk this path, over these fiery coals, until I am reduced to ashes and acceptance.
There is a sweet surrender with acceptance. Even when the uncertainty is at its greatest, even when things look their bleakest, it feels really, really hopeful to just accept yourself right where you are, even at your very worst.
I couldn't help, but remember this passage in Lamentations (3):
I don't regard the God of the Bible with the same perfection as I once did, but that doesn't mean that I don't still find truth in its pages. Some things are so universal, that even if I looked elsewhere, I would still find it.
I've apologized a lot in my life.
But I am wondering again...how many times have I been truly sorry?
...and what does that look like?
...what does that feel like?
...and how do I show that to move towards love and healing with the one I've hurt?
Without hesitation, my memories brought me back to Jason.
Jason was a classmate of mine at Appalachian Bible College and we hung out quite a bit during my first terrible year there. He was a camping major which automatically lumped him as one of the rebel Christians, because they wore sandals and hated their ties and grew their hair and beards just a tad too long and fuzzy. But more than that, Jason just didn't fit the mold of the fundamentalist - at least not in the way that the fundamentalists wanted.
I wanted to be friends with Jason because he seemed so much more at ease with his lack.
However, it might have been that I also wanted to be friends with Jason because his lack made me feel more self-righteous too. (Funny how that works.) I could be both accepted and safe with Jason, and also noble and generous in trying to spur him on to the proper side of fundamentalism. I felt comfortable with my lesser self with him and also like my best self next to him.
My best self bought him a couple of shirts that were maybe a little less stilted than the average ABC-approved wardrobe. He hated being all buttoned up and tied down with the meaningless dress code and I was hoping I could help him make the best of it
My rebel self climbed the roof of Pipkin Hall with him where we broke off the East and the West letters from the weather vane on the cupola. Naturally, one of the deans or someone with authority gave us a heavy dose of guilt and shame during the next chapel session...and just like my most recent lie, I couldn't keep the secret and I fessed up. Worse, I ratted Jason out with me.
Boy, were the camping kids MAD AT ME!!
But I never knew if Jason was really mad at me for that. I told him I was sorry I had named him, but I guess he could tell how conflicted I felt about the whole stupid affair and he just laughed and accepted our sentence of 8 hours of washing windows together. Because of him, that was probably the best punishment I ever enjoyed. After that, I knew Jason was my friend, a real friend...more so than anyone else I had known at the school up until that point. (Plus, if I'm honest, there might be this subconscious self-sabotage thing that I do to see who will stay. It's a terrible strategy, but sometimes the fear is bigger than the hope.)
We had a couple of classes together and I was an academic whiz while he struggled to absorb the details of this verse and that year, this name and that genealogy. We would study together down by the lake where I would drill and drill and drill him for tests. I never had to study because I learned all of the material just shoving it down his throat. Then, one Sunday evening we're standing around in a group after the church service ended and he's saying something about kayak this or whitewater rafting that.
That's when I open my mouth and stab him with my word knives in front of everyone.
He looks startled, taken aback, embarrassed, and I know right then, in my bones, in my blood, in my stomach that I've hurt someone I care about. But what do I do? I glare at him with my annoyance and denial. I get angry that he seems to care so little about the things that I think are more important. And I probably said a few more defensive things before turning on my heel and leaving. But as I rode home, the feeling only got worse and I started to bargain with myself. By the time I got home, I knew I had to call and apologize or be miserable...
Except that Jason didn't let me quit at the bargain.
He was the first person I can remember to ask me to name how I would change.
I don't remember my exact response anymore, but he asked me to name three things that acknowledged how hurtful I had been and what I would do to be more conscious of it from there on out.
He wasn't ugly or angry or unkind.
In fact, his kindness was so genuine that I was sobbing on the phone and even as I write this, the tears are threatening again. Jason is another person from those long ago days who has already forever gone away, but I'll never forget him. He was my friend. And I loved him for just telling me with his friendship that I was worth it.
Still, here I am, thinking I should be all grown up and way past naming the ways I need to change...and losing my east and my west all over again.
What can I do but accept that I'm never done growing up...
...and who knows, maybe learning to truly say "I'm sorry" is one of the most important things.
Derek Webb has a great song about the three things we all learn to say. (Because of copyright limitations with embedding the video, please click on the word "song" to watch the video.)
Someone that I care about.
Someone that I took for granted.
Even before this person knew, I knew how much I had hurt them...and myself. I felt it in the ache of my bones, in the blood rushing to my head, in the groan in my stomach.
Despite that, first up: denial.
I lied. I told myself it was par for the course. Everyone does this. No big deal.
But it was a big deal. And besides I am a terrible liar. I can't even keep my own secrets. So I bit the bullet and told my someone. It was every bit as bad as I feared.
Still, did I accept?? No way. Instead, I turned on them with anger.
Which somehow morphed into the twisted belief that I could bargain my way through this.
I'm a reasonably smart person. I can come up with some zinging rebuttals and impenetrable defenses...but it takes a lot of energy to maintain that fierceness...and when it gives way, everything collapses with an equally intense depression.
I'm even smart enough to know exactly what I'm doing while I'm doing it and yet, trapped by every molecule of my frail humanity, I am obligated to walk this path, over these fiery coals, until I am reduced to ashes and acceptance.
There is a sweet surrender with acceptance. Even when the uncertainty is at its greatest, even when things look their bleakest, it feels really, really hopeful to just accept yourself right where you are, even at your very worst.
I couldn't help, but remember this passage in Lamentations (3):
19I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
20I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
21Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
22Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
23They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”
25The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
26it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.
27It is good for a man to bear the yoke
while he is young.
28Let him sit alone in silence,
for the Lord has laid it on him.
29Let him bury his face in the dust—
there may yet be hope.
30Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him,
and let him be filled with disgrace.
31For no one is cast off
by the Lord forever.
32Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.
33For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to anyone.
I don't regard the God of the Bible with the same perfection as I once did, but that doesn't mean that I don't still find truth in its pages. Some things are so universal, that even if I looked elsewhere, I would still find it.
I've apologized a lot in my life.
But I am wondering again...how many times have I been truly sorry?
...and what does that look like?
...what does that feel like?
...and how do I show that to move towards love and healing with the one I've hurt?
Without hesitation, my memories brought me back to Jason.
Jason was a classmate of mine at Appalachian Bible College and we hung out quite a bit during my first terrible year there. He was a camping major which automatically lumped him as one of the rebel Christians, because they wore sandals and hated their ties and grew their hair and beards just a tad too long and fuzzy. But more than that, Jason just didn't fit the mold of the fundamentalist - at least not in the way that the fundamentalists wanted.
I wanted to be friends with Jason because he seemed so much more at ease with his lack.However, it might have been that I also wanted to be friends with Jason because his lack made me feel more self-righteous too. (Funny how that works.) I could be both accepted and safe with Jason, and also noble and generous in trying to spur him on to the proper side of fundamentalism. I felt comfortable with my lesser self with him and also like my best self next to him.
My best self bought him a couple of shirts that were maybe a little less stilted than the average ABC-approved wardrobe. He hated being all buttoned up and tied down with the meaningless dress code and I was hoping I could help him make the best of it
My rebel self climbed the roof of Pipkin Hall with him where we broke off the East and the West letters from the weather vane on the cupola. Naturally, one of the deans or someone with authority gave us a heavy dose of guilt and shame during the next chapel session...and just like my most recent lie, I couldn't keep the secret and I fessed up. Worse, I ratted Jason out with me.
Boy, were the camping kids MAD AT ME!!
But I never knew if Jason was really mad at me for that. I told him I was sorry I had named him, but I guess he could tell how conflicted I felt about the whole stupid affair and he just laughed and accepted our sentence of 8 hours of washing windows together. Because of him, that was probably the best punishment I ever enjoyed. After that, I knew Jason was my friend, a real friend...more so than anyone else I had known at the school up until that point. (Plus, if I'm honest, there might be this subconscious self-sabotage thing that I do to see who will stay. It's a terrible strategy, but sometimes the fear is bigger than the hope.)
We had a couple of classes together and I was an academic whiz while he struggled to absorb the details of this verse and that year, this name and that genealogy. We would study together down by the lake where I would drill and drill and drill him for tests. I never had to study because I learned all of the material just shoving it down his throat. Then, one Sunday evening we're standing around in a group after the church service ended and he's saying something about kayak this or whitewater rafting that.
That's when I open my mouth and stab him with my word knives in front of everyone.
"How is it that you know everything about a kayaking magazine,
but you can't be bothered to remember what we learn in class?"
Except that Jason didn't let me quit at the bargain.
He was the first person I can remember to ask me to name how I would change.
I don't remember my exact response anymore, but he asked me to name three things that acknowledged how hurtful I had been and what I would do to be more conscious of it from there on out.
He wasn't ugly or angry or unkind.
In fact, his kindness was so genuine that I was sobbing on the phone and even as I write this, the tears are threatening again. Jason is another person from those long ago days who has already forever gone away, but I'll never forget him. He was my friend. And I loved him for just telling me with his friendship that I was worth it.
Still, here I am, thinking I should be all grown up and way past naming the ways I need to change...and losing my east and my west all over again.
What can I do but accept that I'm never done growing up...
...and who knows, maybe learning to truly say "I'm sorry" is one of the most important things.
Derek Webb has a great song about the three things we all learn to say. (Because of copyright limitations with embedding the video, please click on the word "song" to watch the video.)
