Forgive and Forget?

I admit it. I'm not good at forgiving and forgetting. Or, rather, I might forgive, but I rarely forget (which is really ironic considering the frequency with which I forget where I left my car. Perhaps I should have clarified). In case you weren't sure, this is not a good thing. The problem is that, for the most part, it's the person who can't forgive who suffers a whole lot more than the person needing forgiveness. At least, that's what I'm told.

Having recently read an astounding story of forgiveness at the hands of unspeakable treatment, I've been thinking about this a lot. The Devil in Pew Number Seven by Rebecca Nichols Alonzo is the true story of a pastor's family terrorized by a neighbor who was determined to force them to leave his town. I won't repeat my review here--you can go to Goodreads for that--but I will say that the actions of this man towards Becky's family put the family members' lives at risk and may have influenced the events that resulted in the death of Becky's mother and the physical and emotional downfall of her father. What has had me thinking so hard is the fact that, not only did Becky and her younger brother forgive the man behind the harassment, they did so before he even asked them to. Becky spends the last chapter of the book discussing the concept of forgiveness and that her religious upbringing tells her she has no choice in the matter. God tells her to forgive, and it is not up to her to judge who receives it and who doesn't. Choosing not to forgive someone only keeps the withholder in a prison of his own making.

I'm fascinated by this idea, though I haven't decided if I'm on board with it yet or not. I'll generally treat someone as well as they treat me, and I'm not likely to forget intentional wrongs (or even a few unintentional ones). Yet, as often as not, the person doesn't even know that they're being withheld forgiveness, never mind cares about it. Could this really mean that choosing not to forgive someone is most harmful to the person making that choice? And is it really a choice? What's the point if no one even knows? Even if they do know, what difference does it make to them? No, forgiveness would have to be something you do for yourself, because no one else is going to care nearly as much as you do, if at all.

What would happen if, instead of being angry with someone who did something I didn't like, I chose to forgive it and move on? That sounds a lot easier than it is, and I'm still a little uncertain about whether or not this is something I can actually choose to do or not. In kindergarten, or somewhere around that time when we learn the most basic lessons of life, I learned that it takes more energy to frown than to smile. I live in a perpetual energy drought, so the thought that smiling and forgiving is the path of least resistance appeals. Except, I don't think it is the path of least resistance, at least not initially. Forgiveness is hard work! But is it possible that, in the end, it's the best way to be good to both yourself and the people around you? I don't think I know how to do that. But maybe I could practice.

I read another book recently that explored a theme of forgiveness, among many other topics, after a main character dies, possibly at her own hand. Can she be forgiven? Can her friends, who didn't stop her from dashing head-first into a dangerous situation, be forgiven? Who does that help?

I don't know the answer to most of these questions, but here's what I do know, at least now that I've been hit over the head with it. Forgiveness is more about the person doing the forgiving than the person needing forgiveness.