Friday, March 20, 2015

"Redemption" - A Poem About Forgiving Others

It may not be true for everyone but for me, the attitude and practice of forgiveness are reminiscent of the spring season.  When I hold onto a past hurt, it means that the ground of my heart is in its "winter" season, still somewhat hard, not ready to be dug up so that some new gift from God can be planted in that same spot, begin to take root, and grow.  But at the right moment--through prayerful weeding and preparation--the ground of my heart is loosened by the power of God's Spirit working in me.  I can then dig up the old hurt or resentment that has kept me from forgiving the person who has hurt me, so that God can plant new seeds of love in that corner of my heart, seeds that lead to forgiveness, new life, and growth.

A poem I wrote last year, entitled "Redemption", expresses this movement from winter to spring, from the inability or unwillingness to forgive to that moment when forgiveness finally occurs.  In this poem, which is included below, I try to express not only my own experience of forgiving others but also the freedom, wonder, and sense of God's love that I believe happen for each of us when we are able to forgive and move on to a new place in our lives.  May we each be open to God's amazing grace and love, prayerfully trusting that God will enable us to forgive others and will plant new seeds of love within us when we do.


"Redemption"

  I.  So many years
      of unforgiveness.
      The ground is cold,
      but our instincts follow
      a different path,
      seeking a soil
      that is softer, that gives
      with the lift of a shovel,
      the nudge of a trowel,
      and begs to be weeded
      of such deep regret.


II.  Isn't this what spring
      is all about?
      The loosing, not the binding,
      the redemption of winter
      and its lingering shadows,
      the deep ice melting
      and the locked gates opened
      onto fields of flowers
      we have not seen before.


III. We have spent too many hours
      holding onto things.
      Now the past tense recedes
      into the presence of wonder,
      and we let the shimmering light
      release our fears.
     

-- Stephanie Stover

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