I thought I was over it.
I thought I had repressed the pain enough to convince myself I had moved on.
That is, until I saw the person who stabbed me in the back.
It turns out, time actually DOESN'T heal all wounds; it simply scabs over.
And then one day, someone picks it.
And it bleeds and hurts all over again.
When I saw him, I was angry.
No, not angry.
Filled with bitterness,
And even hatred.
But Christians aren't supposed to harbor this kind of anger.
At the end of the day, I'm the one who loses when I hold onto my bitterness.
Later that evening, I prayed that God would help me forgive.
To TRULY forgive.
Because I didn't feel like forgiving him.
Instead, I want to hate.
So I prayed.
Until it finally came to me.
I prayed not simply that I could forgive, but that God would forgive him, too.
That God would extend His mercy.
Maybe through my witness.
God, give me the grace to extend to him forgiveness.
That next time I see him I might express disappointment with him without being sinful.
I forgive him whether he contacts me or not,
But it sure would be nice to hear, "I'm sorry."