Forgiveness is rolling

“Forgiveness is not a tidy grave, It is a ready loyal knight kneeling before your royal heart.” -Andrea Gibson

Forgiveness is not 

Easter lilies growing on

a burial ground.

 

It is dirt flying,

stones rolling,

temples being torn in two.

Souls erupting from the ground

dark skies

God tearing up all we’ve made,

saying, “none of this lasts,”

saying, “none of this lives,”

Nothing we’ve made.

So why do we make up

like we’re building a lego bridge

between your heart and mine?

Forgiveness is not civility

to those who have hurt you.

It is not changing your behavior

because you’ve learned a lesson.

It is everything being turned on its head

and taken apart

and reworked

and refigured

and rolling, and rolling, and rolling

So something that’s real

finally, finally comes out.

Forgiveness is not-

Redemption is not-

–bottling up our hurt.

–bottling up our wrong.

It is not: “this could have been worse.”

It is not: “I’m glad you are going to do better in the future.”

It is not: “Let’s try this one….more…time…”

It is rolling everything away,

coming out of the tomb,

and seeing things by the light of day.

It’s realizing that Easter is 

no one’s birthday,

because it’s always moving.

Always rolling.

Always where it is needed.

It is needed always.

Forgiveness is not erasing.

It is moving.

It is rolling. 

It is swimming.

It is dancing around the pot holes

and getting back up

when we trip anyway.

It is skin regenerating

over skinned knees

every time that we

prove that we are not 

old enough for the responsibility 

we carry in our own bodies.

But they still dance somehow.

It is letting lose your impulse

to love.

It is relaxing your muscles

after clenching up

your fists

your face

your heart

and feeling cool water

float quickly through your blood stream.

Forgiveness isn’t drawing back

malice, gripping its leash tightly.

It is opening up the floodgates

of charity and goodness pent up

inside of us, drowning it out.

And maybe it will float to the top,

but there is always more water coming.

When we erase a whiteboard,

the particles of temporary ink

cling desperately to the felt,

to our fingers,

to the board itself.

But we are not dry-erase graffiti artists

we are gentle creations

completely underwater,

having to grow gills,

because being forgiven 

doesn’t 

feel

natural.

But we’re rolling with it.