Cleaning Up

During my early teen years, I lived with my grandma for a short stint of about six months. Unlike Mom, Grandma was an excellent cook. Her butterscotch cream pie was rich, creamy and smooth. Her jello salads were never runny and though I did not like sauerkraut, when she served pork roast with sauerkraut gravy, I’d always ask for seconds.

 It was while living with Grandma and feasting on her delicious cookies, pies and pot roasts that my interest in cooking was piqued. I wanted to know how she made cream pies creamy. I wanted to know what made her cookies so moist and how she managed to keep her gravy from getting lumpy. I wanted to grow up and be as good a cook as Grandma.

So, on most Saturday mornings, I’d don an apron and join grandma in the kitchen. Standing beside her, she’d show me how to sift flour, whisk gravy and keep an eye on the cookies in the oven. 

I was a messy cook though. I’d spill gravy on the stove, drop butter on the floor and fill every space on the counter with dirty bowls and measuring cups. Then, just when I thought my cooking lesson was over, Grandma would chuckle and say, “Now we get to clean up behind ourselves.” 

Remembering those messes I used to make when I first learned to cook, reminds me of the messes I made by carrying around unforgiveness.  

The Messiness of Unforgiveness

When we don’t forgive our offender and instead stew in our hurt, we make messes. Those messes may be unintentional, but they are still our messes and we are still responsible for cleaning them up. 

There was quite a bit of time that passed between my father’s suicide and coming to terms with my need to forgive him. In the interim, I’d married, become a mom, and some messes along the way. 

Though I wanted to be a good wife and Mom, sometimes the old anger I had toward Dad would get the best of me. When our oldest son was in the height of his rebellious teen years, I’d hurl hurtful words toward him. 

Other times, I’d isolate myself from my husband, unable to reciprocate his love for me  because I didn’t think he understood just how wounded I was.  

When things like this happened, I wanted to try and clean things up between us, but I never knew how until after I’d forgiven my dad. 

After I understood that I needed to forgive Dad, then there was ample space in my heart and mind to go back to those I’d offended in the interim and ask their forgiveness. 

Why Bother?

Why bother cleaning up behind ourselves? Learning to forgive can be messy. But, once we know how, then we’ll find that forgiveness helps us to clean up other messes we’ve made.