Friday, December 14, 2012
I forgive you, Things I Can't Forgive
I forgive you, Things I Can't Forgive, only for the way you bark and howl when I come around the corner, the way you jump at me, slavering, growling, pulling at your chain, trying to put your filthy paws on me, trying to get me down. You think I'm going to give you something.
I may have given you the wrong idea, the way I've let you mill around my backyard, night after night, just outside the door. Listen, you Things Done to People I Love, you Things I Can Never Forgive. I'm not taking you home. I'm not keeping you. I'm not going to feed you. Go away. This is the only bone I'm ever tossing you.
Because you're not mine to forgive. You are not my dogs.
Maybe some of the people I love will forgive you. Some of them already have, though you will never deserve it. But maybe they won't. It doesn't matter. I don't know that you belong to the people I love either. Even Jesus says of you, better that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones. What I know is the people I love are wise and strong; they will find their own ways of putting you down.
In the meantime, I have my own Things to Forgive. I will forgive the Things that Come After. I can forgive the Not Telling Someone Sooner. I can forgive the Not Paying Closer Attention. I will work to forgive the Sincere but Failed Vigilance, the Well-Meant Errors in Judgement, the Misplaced Angers, the Acting Out, the Unreasonable and/or Misdirected Fears, the Difficulty Trusting, the Difficulty Handling Emotion.
But these are none of your business, you Things I Can't Forgive, these ways I and the people I love wrong ourselves and each other in the aftermath. These are my bad dogs and they are bad enough to keep me busy each time they come bounding down the path barking.