On March 17, 2018, I wrote this vulnerable piece as part of my healing journey and shared it with some close friends. I wasn’t sure if I’d share it with the public, but I’ve decided to do so with the hopes it will inspire you to choose forgiveness, too, even when you don’t feel like it.
I sat in her office on my birthday, broken. Trying to comprehend the shattered pieces of a broken ministry, broken friendships, and a broken soul. It was going to take a vice grip to force me to smile. I felt incapable of hope.
She was gluing stickers to a box she’d made when I arrived. My counselor – a woman who I’d been baring my soul to for over a year. A grace-filled prayer warrior who knew the depths of my aches and loved me through it. A beautiful representation of the mercy we all crave whether we know it or not.
“It’s a forgiveness box,” she said. “I’m not sure what I’m going to use it for, but I felt led to make one.” Every side was covered with a quote on that word. That word I didn’t know if I could muster up. The word God was writing on my heart. Forgive as you have been forgiven.
I cried. She listened. She talked. I listened. I cried. She spoke more truth with grace. I received. My broken heart took a breath and I knew I would be okay again.
“Forgiveness is not about forgetting. It is about letting go of another person’s throat.” William Paul Young’s words from The Shack covered one side of the box. My heart stung a bit as I read the words.
Another side filled up with words from Mother Teresa. “If we really want to love we must learn how to forgive.” Truth.
The best gift I could give to myself on my birthday was forgiveness. The best gift I could give myself on my birthday was the acceptance of God’s forgiveness. I made the conscious choice to do both, even if for a moment.
“I think I know why I was supposed to make this box,” my counselor said. She passed it over to me and I nodded my head in acceptance. “I don’t have it all finished yet, but there are stickers inside if you want to add some yourself.” I thought it beautiful just the way it was.
My eyes were dry when I left her office with a hug and a box I wasn’t quite sure what to do with. I got home and sat it on top of my bookshelf. Maybe I just needed to stare at it from time to time as a reminder that unforgiveness will destroy us. Ya, maybe that was it.
————–
There I was, three months later, sitting in her office again, this time with my toes curled into the crease of the couch.
“I can’t take a compliment,” I said to my counselor. “I can’t hear anything but the words she spoke over me. They play over and over and over again. Someone tried to tell me what a great leader I am and all I could do was shake my head at his words.” While I thanked him for his gracious words, I desperately wanted to yell out, “But you don’t know what she said to me! If you knew what she said, you wouldn’t be telling me that!”
The counselor asked me to say it out loud, the words that were spoken to me. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to hear them again. I heard them in my head every day. But she insisted and I trusted.
“You don’t have the ability to show grace. You can’t love people. You’re a liar. You’re not capable of leading a ministry.” These were the words a trusted friend had spoken over me. Someone I’d thought safe. Someone I’d shared some of my most vulnerable moments with. There were more, but those were the ones that hit the deepest.
When you hear something over and over again, you start to believe it. I rehearsed her gut-wrenching words in my head multiple times a day. And I believed them. And I let her words be glued to my heart.
I don’t know how to show grace. I don’t know how to love. I can’t lead people. The woman I stared at in the mirror brushing her teeth each day was no longer me. I constantly relived that cool October evening when I sat across from “my friend” and felt the sting of every dagger coming from her mouth, straight to my soul.
I craved to know my identity again. I longed to remember who Jesus said I really was, but His truth was lost in the jumbled weeds of the enemy’s lies. Desperation. That’s where I’ve been living for so long.
We all have those people in our lives – the ones who truly know us – the good and the ugly parts, yet love us any way. I’d asked a few of them to help me remember my identity. To help me hold onto who I really was. Maybe I could believe their words.
My toes curled a little deeper into the crevice of the couch as I spoke the daggers into the air. But as I did, I remembered the notecards taped to my walls in the bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and next to my “Jesus chair.” The words of those who knew the real me had spoken.
You are humble. You are encouraging. You are authentic. You persevere. You are radiant in His love and joyful in your spirit. You are loving. You are a rare jewel of beauty from the inside out. You are inspiring. You are silly. You are transparent. You are bold. You are a talented speaker, writer, and songwriter. You are obedient. God is pleased with you. You are a woman after God’s own heart. You have a true worshiper’s heart. You are genuine. You are brave. You are compassionate. You are courageous. Your love for people pushes you out of your comfort zone and puts you through some painful times, but yet you continue to follow God’s lead because of your love for Him and others.
If I taped them everywhere I walked, I would eventually believe them, right? I so desperately wanted to. Every word they said contradicted hers and it was hers I chose to believe. I couldn’t seem to wash myself clean from the lies. You can’t wash off what you’ve embedded on your soul. You can’t do it on your own. Jesus, help me. Set me free.
I made myself read those note cards out loud daily. I couldn’t make coffee in the morning without being reminded that I love people deeply. I couldn’t take a shower without the reminder that I am transparent. I couldn’t get in the sock drawer without reading that I am compassionate. I couldn’t sit down to journal in the mornings without my eyes meeting the words, “Sundi Jo, you are humble.”
And eventually I could feel the lies abandoning my soul, replaced with truth. The note cards are still there. The struggle is still real, but I keep fighting to believe.
———-
I went back for another visit and once again shared the deepest parts of my heart with the mercy-filled counselor. She cried with me as I came to the realization that I was trying to recover from a trauma. I’d always thought trauma meant something physical, like being in a car accident, physical abuse, or the death of a loved one.
Trying to recover from a broken ministry, a shattered heart, and the murderous words of others is just as traumatic as a death. Something in me broke as she gave me permission to experience the last several months as traumatic. She handed me a box of tissues as I wept. Then she held me while I cried. She held me because she knew me – my heart – the real me – the woman who does love well, who shows others grace, who leads with strength and dignity, and speaks truth.
And as she prayed over me, God brought that forgiveness box back to mind. I saw myself writing each lie spoken over me and replacing it with truth about who I really am. I then folded each piece of paper and stuck it in that box. When every lie was thrown into the box, I would burn it and say goodbye for good.
I went straight home, tore off sheets of paper and wrote as fast as I could. Oh.. the truth was liberating. And my heart was lighter. And I chose forgiveness again, and I prayed blessings overs those who had cursed me. Then I sat the box aside because it was too cold to light a fire.
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Yesterday was a beautiful day. It rained for a few minutes, then the sun popped out and the wind beckoned me to go outside for a walk. I was sweeping the kitchen floor when I saw the box. It was time.
Earlier that morning I’d just asked God to work on my heart. To destroy any hate. To help me see others the way He sees them. And I spoke out loud and forgave those who’d spoken death over me. Again.
I stuck the box in the middle of the fire pit and lit the leaves on fire. The wind puffed up and kept the flames going. I stood and watched the box slowly burn until I could see inside, where each folded up piece of paper quickly turned to ash. Lies burned in the fire. Set free by the truth.
You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.
No more holding onto them by the throat. Let go, okay? Just let go. So I do. And I will again. And God’s grace will walk me through it when my mind tries to push play on the old tapes. And I will continue to fight to hold onto the truth of who I am and whose I am.
Let go, okay? Just let go.