I Am Forgiven

I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.

—Isaiah 43:25

I didn’t mean to do it.

Well, maybe I did, just a little bit.

He’d hurt me. And so I responded in an appropriate, mature, grown-up manner.

I ignored him. For most of two days.

The way I saw it, my husband had forgotten my birthday. Well, he didn’t actually forget. He just didn’t mention anything for half a day. And by early afternoon, I felt I’d waited long enough. I felt it my duty to point it out to him. Complete with four-year-old theatrics.

As I mentioned. Appropriate, mature, and grown-up.

In hindsight, once the emotion had dimmed, I knew he hadn’t meant to hurt me. It was an oversight. He’d been busy juggling kids and work that morning so I could work. Besides, he’s not much of a morning person. His brain works best after lunch. Perhaps if I’d given him a chance, been a bit more patient, he would’ve wished me a happy birthday after all. It might’ve turned out to be a quite delightful day.

Instead, I jumped the gun. Then let unforgiveness take root. Not super productive.

Fast-forward a little more than twelve months. The date had been on my calendar for weeks.

In-studio Radio Interview. With Jenny. 1:30 pm.

I’d highlighted it in red, made sure I’d blocked off the rest of the afternoon to allow drive time to Aurora, Colorado, and back. I was looking forward to it.

But then the day came and, along with it, unexpected drama. The morning carried all the everyday chaos of getting children dressed, fed, and to school on time. But it was complicated by a last-minute doctor’s appointment and a mad dash across town. Not to mention the anxiety that seems to accompany any trip to a doctor’s office.

By the time I’d returned home, I felt drained. I crawled into bed and collapsed for a beautiful, long nap.

When I woke up, I made my way to my office and checked my email. An email from Jenny landed in my inbox: “Just checking to see if you are coming in for interview today? I have 1:30 p.m. on my calendar.”

Oh no! The interview!

I glanced at my clock. Well after 3:00 p.m.

I felt sick. I’d never missed an interview or a speaking engagement before. Not showing up was simply inexcusable. I hated myself.

Within minutes I’d returned her email with profuse apologies for my blunder. There was no excuse, other than my preoccupation with my circumstances. Not much of a valid excuse at all. I clicked send and waited for her reply. When it arrived, I cringed and read it through one eye, certain I’d get an appropriate lashing. I deserved her frustration and disappointment. Instead, this: “Oh, Michele. God gives us all grace . . . Please don’t give the miss today another thought . . . I totally understand and God brought to mind that you might have something else going on in your world that was bigger.”

With a few words, she absolved my wrong. I nearly cried with relief.

Two contrasting stories, only months apart. In one, I doled out forgiveness reluctantly, stingily, demanding that a price be paid. In the second, I received forgiveness lavishly, without condition, with an abundance of love. One left both parties licking wounds. The other left both parties marveling at grace.

Here’s what I can’t figure out: if I know the bliss of receiving forgiveness, why am I so stubborn about giving it?

I wish I could tell you I’ve learned my lesson. That the birthday incident was a one-time tango with unforgiveness. But I’ve done the dance more times than I can count. Afterward, I pound my head and promise never to be so foolish again.

Until the next week or month or year, when I end up tapping my foot to another tune and forget all about the consequences of my unforgiveness the week or month or year before.

You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? One moment we quote verses on grace, and the next we circle up and launch a griping session. In the morning, we show up at a church service and sing songs about God’s merciful patience, and yet by the afternoon, we nearly scream over the phone at the customer-service representative who won’t right all their wrongs.

We’re a mess.

My best intentions and tireless effort aren’t enough. In spite of my repeated promises, I make the same mistakes again and again. “I’m sorry” seems trite right about now. Forty-some years of “I’ll do better next time” no doubt wears thin. How long until God refuses my pleas for forgiveness?

As high as the heavens are above the earth.

As far as the east is from the west.

How long until God tires of our pleas for forgiveness? Never. Not after one year or two years or ten years. Not after a hundred requests or a thousand I’m-sorry’s.

Why? Because we’re good people and deserve a second chance? Because He’s good and can’t bear to judge?

Yes, He’s good. And yes, He takes no pleasure in judgment.

But the answer to the why of absolution sits in verse 8 of David’s psalm: “The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love.”

It’s not about our character; it’s about His.

It’s His perfection that lands us in an ocean of grace. Not ours. This is good news for those of us who get frustrated with our repeated failures. Because as long as God’s character remains unchanged, His forgiveness will not fail. “I the LORD do not change” (Mal. 3:6).

That’s the beauty of it. When our character fails, His character does not. He never grows weary of our humble repentance or tires of our constant need for forgiveness. Instead, He pours His forgiveness out on the broken and contrite.

And He does this because He cannot be anything other than who He is.

A God of compassion. A God of forgiveness. And a God whose love stretches farther than the distance between the east and the west.

Our courteous Lord does not want his servants to despair because they fall often and grievously; for our falling does not hinder him in loving us.

—JULIAN OF NORWICH, SHOWINGS