Monday, September 1, 2014

Letter Series: A letter to someone I used to know

Dear Friend,

I sit here on my couch. Spotify is playing my favorite play list, but somehow the annoying house fly is buzzing louder than my laptop speakers will play as it rams itself into the light bulb for the thousandth time. I'm not writing to you to tell you about the dumb fly though. I am writing for my heart. Maybe your heart too. Who knows.

I don't know where you are or what you are doing. I have lots of friends now. I love Missouri. I love my life. I am genuinely happy. I realized last night that I am a really good friend. That was a huge step of healing for me. I am a good friend. I have always been a good friend. I deserve good friends. I think you were a good friend. I know you tried. You were a good friend.

From time to time I think about you. I wonder how you are. I hope you are well. I think about you at random times- like when I am reading an article I think you would enjoy, or when I hear a quote that I know you would love. I think of you when I pull out my paints and begin to create beautiful things. I remember our art day. I remember the railroad tracks. I remember laughing till we cried. I remember crying until we laughed. I remember crying alone. I remember when you told me you heard from God covenant. I remember when you changed your mind. I remember when you heard it again. I remember the hard times. I remember the happy times.

Since that day earlier this year, I have fought to forgive. I have resisted forgiving. I have refused to forgive. I have tried to forgive. And I have fought it harder. But I forgive you. I forgive you. I don't forgive you for your benefit, because you will likely never read this or know. I forgive you for my benefit. Because it hurts more to fight than it does to let go. I think I will feel better if I keep holding on to the unforgiveness, but the truth is, I won't. You have moved on. You don't know where I am. My hurt and bitterness and anger don't affect you. They only affect me. Holding on to that hurt only hurts me more, and we both know that I have been hurt enough. I know who my Father is. I know who I am. I am a good friend. And I choose to forgive. I choose to let go. I forgive you.

If you ever read this, know that I still love you. I wish you well. I am not angry at you. You are free from any weight you may feel. Father is a really good Dad.

And I forgive you.


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