A SLOW WALK IN THE SAND
Stauff200
This story was reprinted from "Discipleship Journal" magazine with permission.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.
Hugs,
Lynn
Sherri Langston is a freelance writer and assistant editor of the Bible
Advocate. She attends First Church of the Nazarene in Denver where she plays
drums in various ensembles and in the church's orchestra. Sherri wrote this
article for Christians who "go through false guilt if they haven't quite
arrived at forgiveness." Sherri <cof...@denver.net>
Ginger Green has spoken at high schools and civic groups on domestic
violence. Her daughter Margo's story was included in a CBS special, "In the
Killing Fields of America."
A SLOW WALK IN THE SAND
By: Ginger Green
As told to: Sherri Langston
May 1991. Springtime on the calendar, winter in my soul. The season of
blossoming life had paradoxically brought the death of our 22 year old
daughter, Margo.
I had last seen Margo alive on Mother's Day - five precious hours perfumed with
laughter and girl talk. Margo had recently started work at an accounting firm
and was to graduate from college the following Saturday. On Monday she would
file for divorce, ending two years of an abusive marriage to Eric and three
months of tense separation from him. Once the divorce was final, I thought
Margo would be done with Eric for good.
However, at 8:45 A.M. Monday, Eric focused Margo in the cross hairs of revenge.
He followed her to work, broadsided her car, and shot her seven times in front
of downtown commuters. He then turned the gun to his head and killed himself.
On Thursday, we buried Margo in the dress she would have worn two days later at
graduation.
From the first crushing moment I heard of Margo's murder, I groped in a silent
fog of grief padded with memories - Margo playing in our backyard as a little
girl, Margo waving good-bye on Mother's Day, Margo lying in a casket.
My heart bled from continual stabs of reality: I'd had no chance to say goodbye
to our daughter; I would never hold a child of hers in my arms; I would never
again see her bounce through the door and hear her yell, "Hi, Mom!" And I
couldn't look Eric in the eye and ask, "Why?"
Eric's obsession with Margo had sickened me from the day they started dating.
His selfish control of her had frightened me while they were married. But his
calculated brutality in killing our daughter ignited anger and revenge in me
that threatened to burn like an eternal flame.
Now, several days after Margo's murder, I talked with my husband, Chuck, and 23
year old son Chase. Standing in the doorway of Chase's bedroom, I felt a stab
of another reality I didn't think I had the strength to handle.
"I don't see how I'm ever going to forgive God for letting Eric kill Margo, or
Eric for doing it," Chase wept, punching the mattress. "I don't know what to
do."
Though I didn't hold God responsible for Margo's murder, I did hold Eric
responsible. Yet I heard myself say, "I think God knows our hearts and our
desire to forgive, even if we aren't ready. As long as we move in the
direction of forgiveness, He will bless our efforts."
My lips echoed a Voice that had drifted through my fog when I had tried to pray
the past few days: "If you forgive men when they sin against you, your
heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their
sins, your Father will not forgive your sins." (Mt.6:14-15).
Though I know my words to Chase were true, my heart felt something different.
Did Jesus know what He was asking? He gave no allowance for pain or
separation. He gave no exceptions for a premature funeral or a diploma that
would never hang on a wall. I was so engulfed in grief, I could hardly sort
through the simplest things. How could I forgive our daughter's murderer and
really mean it?
This is a question I'm still trying to answer. I am discovering that striving
to forgive with an abysmal wound is like walking in sand. Some days I feel
I've forgiven Eric, other days I don't. On my bad days, my steps become
heavier when the Voice reminds me, "Forgive, or else."
God understands our emotions.
God's Word tells me that "Forgive, or else" isn't the only voice in Scripture I
need to hear as I'm walking toward forgiveness. Nor do I understand my grief
the way God does. In Psalm 139, David's voice extols his Creator: "For you
created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise
you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made" (vv. 13-14).
These verses appear in a psalm of comprehensive praise. David glorifies God
for knowing everything about him--things external, like sitting and standing;
things internal, like thoughts and unspoken words. God knew all that was
visible--David's flight to the heavens, his bed in the depths, his ride on the
wings of the dawn. And He knew all that was invisible about David--what He had
formed in a mother's womb, what He had "fearfully and wonderfully made."
These ancient words remind me that I am human, created with the capacity to
feel. In the microscopic confines of my deepest self, God stitched invisible,
intricate threads of emotion. So fine is their crisscrossing complexity that a
variety of reactions can spring at once from a single blow.
David's voice gives more insight into God: "As a father has compassion on his
children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we
are formed, He remembers that we are dust" (Ps. 103:13-14).
It isn't clear what prompted David to write Psalm 103, but one thing is clear:
He experienced times when, as a parent, he needed divine parenting. Perhaps
one of those times was when his son, Absalom, was murdered. David mourned over
Absalom so deeply that the whole Israelite army stopped celebrating their
victory and mourned with him (2 Sam. 19:1-2).
Wrapped in the solitude of communion with God, David learned that God knew not
only his frame but also his frailty. In fact, it was David's "dustness" that
brought out the Father in God.
I can apply the same insights David gained to my struggle to forgive Eric.
Anger mentally beating on Eric's chest and revenge demanding his punishment are
as natural as sorrow gushing over our slain daughter. I cannot piously deny
them; they are part of my complex humanity. Nor can I selfishly nurse them;
anger and revenge will eventually destroy me as they destroyed Margo. And they
will keep me from forgiving Eric.
So I release my emotions to God in prayer. I open my fractured heart and form
what He fearully and wonderfully made into cries for help. I make my "dust"
submit to divine justice.
When I do this, I hear no rebuke from God, no icy judgment that freezes me on
my knees. Instead, I feel His peace and comfort stretch down from heaven and
scoop me up when the sand has become too deep. Like David, I am wrapped in the
arms of my heavenly Father, strengthened for the next step in trying to
forgive.
God expects our perseverance.
Though the raw pain of Margo's death has long worn off, the grieving continues
like a lengthening sunset. The day I told Chase that God wanted us to try to
forgive, I didn't know that my resolve would be tested by adjusting to an
incomplete family; many visits to the cemetery to honor Margo, but no birthday
celebrations for her; family gatherings and weddings warmed by chatter, but no
laughter from Margo; gifts under the Christmas tree, but none with Margo's name
on them.
My resolve to forgive is also tested when I recall how Eric mistreated Margo
while they were married. I replay the times he called her "dummy" and
"stupid," the occasions he isolated her from us and told her we didn't love her
anymore. Though Eric is dead, thinking about things he did can still quicken
my anger and revenge, and send me back repeatedly to my heavenly Father for His
peace and comfort.
God never wearies of my visits, but I do. I say the same words, recycle my
tears, and grow increasingly impatient. I want to be whole, to be completely
free of negative emotions. I want to forgive Eric and be done with it. On
that Monday in May, Margo's life ended less than two hours after the seventh
bullet entered her body. My forgiveness of her murderer won't be nearly so
quick.
James 1:12, however, settles me down: "Blessed is the man who perseveres under
trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life
that God has promised to those who love him."
The word 'perseveres' fits my repetitive prayers. It suggests movement, not
easy but constant, not quick but sure. It suggests plodding every day with
uneven steps, not sprinting in Olympic strides over weeks and months. When
life hands you a trial, James tells me, you don't race to the finish line. You
walk slowly and deliberately. How long it takes doesn't matter; you just keep
walking as the Apostle Paul had learned to: "Forgetting what is behind and
straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal" (Phil. 3:13-14).
It has taken me awhile to grasp that God puts no deadlines on my forgiving
Eric. He doesn't count how many times I feel angry and vengeful. He places no
limit on my prayer visits. But God does expect me to keep trying to forgive,
for He knows that eventually I'll be whole enough to forgive completely--my
reward for standing the test.
So with sand filling my shoes, I walk. James's promise encourages me, as do
friends who have also lost children through death. Notes they sent me when
Margo died affirm that perseverance does have a reward. The words lifting off
the paper communicate a kindred spirit, strong and compassionate, chiseled out
of hard emotions. The words tell me that these parents are still incomplete,
but are strangely whole. If I keep straining ahead as they have, I too will be
whole someday.
As I press on in prayer and put the stopwatch aside, I notice a softening in my
attitude when I think of Eric. I feel compassion for him. Anger and revenge
mellow, and new thoughts scroll through my mind: I don't know the details of
Eric's life. Only God knows what inner forces drove his actions. Maybe
something in Eric's home life had contributed to his desire to control and
mistreat Margo. How horrible his mental and emotional pressure must have been
to plot murder and suicide, and then pull the trigger.
Margo had suffered much from Eric, I cannot deny that, but Eric had suffered
too, in different ways. Perhaps these thoughts mean I am closer to forgiveness
than I think.
When Jesus commanded me to forgive, He did know what He was asking: Not
perfect emotions and a quicksilver finish, but dependence and persistence, one
step at a time.