Imprisoned

There was a time in my life when I lived behind bars and in a small cell. The bars were constructed from the grudges I held against my dad and my cellmates included bitterness, anger, resentment and spite. It was not a very happy time in my life, but I will always remember the lesson I learned while in the prison of my own making.

I began building these prison bars at time of my father’s suicide. Back then, it was easy and natural for me to think about all the rotten, horrible, terrible and no good things that his death had ushered into my life.  

For instance, there was his absence when I’d always depended on his presence. Without him, I had no fatherly love, protection or counsel to lean on or rely on. Consequently, I knew that I was more vulnerable than I’d ever sensed before and I was afraid. 

But instead of acknowledging my fear, I grew into a bitter and angry woman who masked her fear with cynicism. I became very good at intimidating others before they intimidated me. 

Secondly, with Dad’s death came a flood of foreign emotions that threatened to drown me; sorrow, anguish, confusion and sadness. I didn’t know what to do with them, so I kept them hidden and denied their existence.

After a decade or so of living in the dregs of anger, bitterness and resentment, and feeling their toxic side effects, I was awakened by my own stench. 

Setting the Prisoner Free

Once I realized my limited view and my small life, I began looking for a way out and freedom.

A few years later, the answer came by way of learning and practicing the discipline of contemplative prayer; sitting still and consenting to God.

In my search for freeing myself from my little prison, I’d often escape to a monastery where the sisters had taught me to sit in silence with one word or thought from Scripture. 

I found refuge and a sense of contentment in contemplation. Sitting still with God allowed God to do the interior work that was beyond my reach. He gently exposed my wounds to me, and then gently washed them clean. Finally, I allowed him to apply his healing balm; love. Then he showed me how to do the same to the one who’d wounded me in the first place; my dad.

Forgiveness

Forgiving my dad freed me from the prison I’d built for myself. Letting go of blaming him for all the horrible, no good things that happened in my life after his death did not answer the question of why his suicide had to happen in the first place. But forgiving him allowed me to step away from the confines of a life built around unforgiveness. 

Why Bother?

Why bother letting forgiveness liberate us? Unforgiveness was the prison of my own making. But, forgiveness was the key that unlocked my cell, and now allows me to live life in the freedom and vastness of God’s unending love.