A Cold Stone of Unforgiveness

The Ravishing Mrs. TB reminded me this week that I am still carrying around a stone of unforgiveness.

I mentioned that I had be reading a Christmas card from some family members of Himself, and found it interesting that Himself was not included in the description. Her response surprised me: "Why do you care? I've moved on from that - Why haven't you?"

That made me think - why am I still holding onto it?

And then the imagery came: I'm holding on to it because it represents something else - in this case, unforgiveness.

Right or wrong, I harbor feelings of hurt. My response is not to let go, but to hold it, polish it in my sweaty clenched hand and cool cotton pocket until it is a small cold black stone, ready to be pulled out in that moment when it becomes useful.

Which is of course ironic, given the reason for the season. Christ came to enable the reconciliation of man to God - I, with my cold stone, wait as a lone sentinel, ready to use it in unforgiveness.

Why do I clutch it to myself? I could make excuses, but the ugly truth is that I do it because I feel like I have a right. I feel - in some kind of bizarre, backwards way - that I am the aggrieved party.

But in order to take something, we have to let something go. One cannot both clutch and reach to grab with something in one's hand very effectively.

To drop the stone - ah, that seems like death itself. What of the right? What of my hurt -some real, some imagined? What about me?

That option is not given. "Forgive as God forgave you" is the command. Drop your stone, you who have sin but would cast the first one.

The frightening part is that if I truly looked, it is not one stone but a pocketful that I carry, bearing me down, filling my hands with that which will sink me if I do not release it.