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A Picture of Forgiveness
Azioni libro
Inizia a leggere- Editore:
- Hillcrest Media Group
- Pubblicato:
- Feb 24, 2016
- ISBN:
- 9781635050448
- Formato:
- Libro
Descrizione
Informazioni sul libro
A Picture of Forgiveness
Descrizione
- Editore:
- Hillcrest Media Group
- Pubblicato:
- Feb 24, 2016
- ISBN:
- 9781635050448
- Formato:
- Libro
Informazioni sull'autore
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Anteprima del libro
A Picture of Forgiveness - Caroline Grace Reagan
Dedication
Preface
I have been a Sunday school teacher for more than a decade. A few years ago, I began teaching a girl that was very special to me. Of course, all my students are special to me in some way, but this girl was angelic in nature. Sarah was a small-framed child with long blonde hair and blue eyes, and she was incredibly sweet. One of the things I enjoyed most was her hugs; it was like she was hugging from the heart. She would run into my classroom every Sunday to be the first child to give me a hug. My classroom allowed a full view of the sidewalk leading to the church, and every week I would see her briskly walking or running to come greet me. One Sunday morning, my heart sank after seeing her trip and slide on the concrete: skin was missing from her knees, elbows, hands, and chin. I wanted to cry. I knew she was in pain, but with tears running down her face, she still managed to give me my first hug of the day.
Despite Sarah’s angelic nature, she had some habits that would torment me to watch.
She would bite her nails and skin around her nails until they were inflamed and bleeding, and then she would pick at her scabs and cuts. Many people and situations seemed to irritate her, causing her to pick and scratch. I would beg Sarah to leave her healing wounds alone, but it didn’t matter what I said to her; she just couldn’t stop picking at herself. Each week there was continued evidence of the picking. Not long after, the sores on her knees became infected. Despite her pain, she still wouldn’t listen to me.
Then one day, after listening to a sermon, it dawned on me. This is what God must feel when He watches His children hold on to worries that affect our hearts and minds. I was no different than Sarah. I was holding on to unforgiveness and a spirit of hatred that had caused my own huge wound to fester and grow; the only difference was my wound was in my soul. You just couldn’t see my wounds like you could see Sarah’s. But mine was infecting my entire existence. Just as wounds can potentially attract bacteria if not properly addressed, an unforgiving heart attracts other sins. I hated watching this precious child suffer week after week, yet I was doing the exact same thing to myself.
Introduction
I was in the ninth grade. It was my first time spending the night at a friend’s with anyone since my night from hell. Each morning when I woke, my jaws ached terribly and my pillow was frequently damp, which I soon realized was because I cried in my sleep. I had no idea that people could cry while they slept, and yet it had become part of my nightly routine.
Amanda lived with her mother in a cozy single-bedroom apartment in the city. A double bed and a single bed were squeezed into one bedroom about three feet apart. Amanda’s mother allowed us to sleep in her double bed, while she slept in Amanda’s single bed. My sobbing must have kept them awake for at least part of the night.
Caroline. Hey. Wake up.
It was a girl’s voice, quiet but clearly filled with concern. I opened my eyes and saw my best friend, Amanda, and her mother standing over the bed. They were staring down at me with confused faces and raised eyebrows.
I discretely brought my hand to my pillow, pretending to adjust it for comfort. As I slid my hand under the side of my face, I could feel my wet pillow. Apparently, I had been grinding my teeth and moaning. Because of our close proximity, it was nearly impossible to hide. Crying had become part of my sleep pattern, and turning my pillow to a dry side when I woke was a daily habit. Thirty years later and I still turn my pillow over when I wake.
Caroline, are you OK?
Concern came from both of them at first. Suspicion followed their curiosity. What exactly is wrong?
Amanda’s mom asked.
It’s nothing,
I said. I watched a horror movie that really freaked me out last week, and I’ve been having some pretty scary dreams since then. Nothing to worry about.
Unfortunately, the night before, when we were choosing a movie to watch, I’d explained that I was not allowed to watch scary or satanic movies. Now, in this moment, that information was not helping my cause. This is when her tone changed from curiosity to suspicion.
Really?
Amanda’s mom asked skeptically. Which movie was it?
It was on TV. One of those late-night movies,
I said with an unconvincing tone. They weren’t buying it.
Probably should have gone to sleep earlier that night. I guess then I could have avoided the nightmares and sleepless nights this week.
I gave Amanda and her mom a weak smile and walked into the bathroom.
It was clear from the looks on their faces that they knew I was being dishonest. Lying was very hard for me because it went against everything I had been taught. Even though I was taught not to lie, lying about this would be something I would learn to perfect.
Amanda was the perfect best friend, but there were times when I feared she would tell the rest of our class about the embarrassing night of crying in my sleep. I didn’t want people to ever know about the crying; however, my worst fear was people finding out about what happened to me on that dreadful night a year earlier: the night of chains.
Chapter 1: Life without Chains
As an eighth-grader, the term free-spirited child
would have described me perfectly. I really wasn’t part of the popular crowd at all, but I did have a lot of friends. I enjoyed life and I liked school, at least as much as any thirteen-year-old could.
It was Friday, and I was going to Jessica’s birthday party. I’d been standing right next to my friend Susan when Jessica invited her, and so by default, I was invited too.
Jessica and I were not very close; I would only see and talk to her at school. We never spent time together outside of that. Susan was our mutual friend, and she and I were very close.
Some of us girls were going to spend the night as well. Like most thirteen-year-old girls, I was really looking forward to staying up late, eating lots of junk food (which I could never do at home), and doing whatever else was in store. This would be my first time sleeping over at the house of someone I didn’t know very well.
I knew there would be some boys at the party, but I didn’t know who or how many. By this time, I was aware of boys and even had a small crush on one, though I knew I would never have the guts to act on my feelings. I didn’t know if he would be there. This was my first teenage boy/girl party and I was both nervous and excited.
The bus ride home from school was forty-five minutes long. As a typical teenage girl, I thought about a lot of things. I quietly looked out the window and took in all the beauty that spring offered. I’d turned thirteen a month before, and Easter was just around the corner. It was nice outside; the mornings were crisp, and flowers were starting to bloom. Days like this truly made me appreciate the beauty of God’s creation.
My dad was a pastor and took every opportunity possible to remind all of his children of God’s love for us. As is the case for so many people, the beauty of nature makes me think about how He loves and cares for us. In fact, my father appreciated God’s beauty immensely; he would photograph landscapes, particularly flowers and trees, all the time. He loved photographing all of God’s creation. He was quite gifted, both behind the pulpit and behind the camera.
Of course, as a pastor, my father taught me more about God and His love for us than just the beauty of creation. I saw firsthand the true gift of giving. People would frequently give my family gifts, and my parents were very appreciative. We had very little extra money, but God supplied what we needed. Anything from clothing to furniture was given to us by those God sent. Someone even gave us a car. No matter what happened, my parents were faithful. We were very blessed.
Dad would always remind us that it is easy to be thankful during times of feasting. He also taught us through his life to give praise and thanks to God when times are difficult. Honestly, this idea was hard for me to comprehend since my life was good. Thinking back on these lessons now, I regret that I didn’t remember them at moments in my life when I most needed them. I complained about not having particular things rather than being grateful for what I did have. Even when my family and I were going through financial struggles, illness, or the chaos of having eight children in the house, I was still aware of God’s presence, which gave me peace and comfort. Although I didn’t appreciate this level of giving at the time, my parents often opened our home to extended family during difficult times. At first, I welcomed the opportunity to share my home, but at times it became quite difficult. As I grew, I understood that each person or family that lived with us did so for a reason.
A few things my father used to say have stuck with me: 1.) We should always be grateful for what God blesses us with. 2.) Just because A
happens, followed by B,
doesn’t necessarily mean there is a correlation. I will always remember these two lessons. He taught us so many things, but those two have always resonated most with me.
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