Principles of Truth: Forgiveness

Sometimes you're standing in the kitchen and you hear a noise that you really don't want to hear. Sunday night, at the end of a fantastic Mother's Day, I heard one of those sounds.

A reeaallly large crash. Followed by an "uh oh."

I've learned, through loads of error, that it doesn't help to react in the situation. And I've also learned, that in order to respond, I must allow myself a moment to breathe before discovering the noise. As there were no hysterical screams or cries for immediate help, I knew this crash was fully object- related and no human being was damaged in the process. So I took full advantage of a few breaths before rounding the corner.

As I made the turn, I found my most favorite painting in a jumble on the floor. The frame was smashed and in pieces on the floor, and a child-who-will-not-be-named was wide-eyed with sorrow. It had been a complete accident. This favorite image rested on top of a heavily used bookcase, and unknowingly, the bookcase had shifted away from the wall just enough that a vibration from the doors closing a bit too hard knocked the picture to the ground.

This kiddo was crushed. She knew how much I loved that picture (I reference it often), and felt like this action might be unforgivable.

But of course it was.

Later that night, well after we'd put everyone down for bed, this kiddo came downstairs to discover I was trying to figure out how to fix what had been broken. At the time I hadn't found a solution, and needed to think on it.

And then this kiddo said, "are you sure you forgive me?"

And I said, "of course I do. Things are things. What matters most is you."

Then this kiddo burst into more tears, needed more hugs, and I realized a small teaching moment. This kiddo was buried in feelings that I can relate to in so many ways - negative self-talk. Shame. Perfectionism. The feeling that she wasn't enough. The worry that forgiveness eventually runs out.

The truth is, I'd forgiven this kiddo before I even left the kitchen.

But she needed to be heard. Her worries needed to be spoken. Her concerns needed to be validated back into truth. The process created space in her mind for truth. To let go of beating herself up for doing something "wrong" and to realize the journey of life isn't about "not making mistakes."  Because we all will. The real journey is in how we respond. What we choose to do. Where we choose to look. How we choose to move forward.

Our simple little chat about forgiving ourselves was the first principle of truth. And here's where the real beauty of this moment came in. The picture that had been broken was this one:

The One who is always there.
Hand outstretched and ready to lift us where we stand.
Always willing to forgive.
All we need to do is look up and ask.

Beautiful.

The frame is glued and is back in it's proper spot as a central image in our home. Full of so much more meaning than it ever had before.