I Forgive You

I'm a day late with my favourite Christmas tradition - counting through Advent with 24 days of posts. It might need to be pared back a bit this year, because I'm still so weak from my tonsillectomy on Nov 20. I know that sounds ridiculous, unless you've had one as an adult ... in which case I don't need to explain a thing.

For eight days I laid in my bed, while my parents and then Patrick's parents took care of me and my kids. On the ninth day I got up for part of the day, and on the tenth, for most of the day. I'm on the mend, but - whew - I'm still shaky and weak.

In the foggy blur of recovery, I had a few precious moments with my kids. Kachi came up and snuggled me for a few minutes every night before bed. Pascal played on my bed with his dinosaurs in the mornings. Sam gave me little kisses.  And each afternoon, Vava came up and told me about her day after school.

One day she was bouncing around, chirping about her friends and things she had drawn and suddenly she stopped, horrified, as she remembered something.  "I drew an OWL!" she wailed, "The word was renard! I was supposed to make a fox!"  And she threw herself down on the nest (the  bed on our floor where the kids curl up if they have bad dreams), and raged. "I can't fix it! It's too late. I already gave it to the teacher! And it's WRONG!"

And I think if I had been healthy and well, busy putting away lunchboxes and hanging up snowsuits, I would have told her to calm down or forget about it or some other unhelpful thing. But because I was lying there with literally nothing else to do, I was able to see the heart of the matter.

"If one of your friends had made this mistake on her work," I asked her, "would you be yelling at her now? Would you be angry with her?"

"No," she replied, calming down.

"Did you try your best today?" I asked her, knowing without a doubt she had.

"Yes."

"Then I think you should go over to the mirror and smile at that very sad girl inside and tell her you love her and forgive her."

She stood in front of the mirror, but couldn't quite manage.

"Try to say 'I forgive you, sweet friend'," I prompted.

She still couldn't smile, but squeaked out the words: "I forgive you, sweet friend." And then the smile came, glowing like sunlight all over her face, and she leapt into bed with me and told me about the rest of her day.

After she left, I cried.

Because forgiving ourselves for falling short of our own expectations is really really hard.

And at Christmas - at Christmas, God sent Jesus to be with us, one of us, to die for our forgiveness, and rise again to bring us to God.

And - I'm asking this of you, only because I asked it of myself last week after Vava left - if He came all this way and went through all that to offer you full forgiveness, isn't it a good idea to forgive yourself?

For whatever lump in your heart is angry or bitter or regretful about being weak, or inadequate, or selfish, or for drawing an hibou instead of a renard ...

There's nothing righteous or good or true in holding onto it. Let yourself remember why He sent that baby:

To whisper to all waiting and aching hearts, I forgive you, sweet friend.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.