FORGIVENESS

for·give·ness (fr-gvns, fôr-)  the cessation of resentment, indignation or anger as a result of an offense, disagreement, or mistake

There's that question again. Different phrasing, but the same meaning.  "Glenda, how are you able to 'avoid anger', 'let things slide', 'turn the other cheek', 'forgive and forget'?". In regards to the latter, the lofty age of sixty makes it more a matter of forget and forget! With God's help, I strive to be a forgiving person, but the journey to this place wasn't easy. Granted, even as a child I was sensitive to the feelings of others. If my brothers were going to get spanked for some boyish prank, I would cry and beg to take their punishment. My heart hurt when others hurt. What a sweet child!

So how did that sweet child evolve into a young woman who chose to abort her unborn child to hide her sin and shame? The Enemy led me down a dark path, entwining my sweet sensitivity with a deep-seated need to please and keep others from pain and disappointment. Having sex for the first time as a naïve, college freshman, I didn't even think about the possibility of pregnancy. Sounds like a crazy claim in 2013, but in 1971 I was just a sheltered girl on her own for the first time. The wild 1960's had simply passed me by. I had invited Jesus into my heart at 16 and was attending a Christian college, but the concept of a "personal" relationship with Jesus Christ was foreign to me. I had no plan for my life . . . no goals or expectations. As they say, "If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything".

Don't get me wrong. I was having fun! I had a handsome boyfriend and I liked sex. I enjoyed college and celebrated my 19th birthday by drinking my first beer in Jellico, Tennessee. Life was good. Then, two months into my sophomore year, I suspected I might be pregnant. Suddenly, I was very religious, praying constantly that my period would come flooding back. It didn't. Amazingly, my desperation to hide my pregnancy was so strong, that I never really considered telling Mom & Dad. My boyfriend and I gathered enough money to send me alone to New York City, the only place in the country to get a legal abortion. It was a horrific experience . . . first airplane flight, first taxi ride, first visit to a teeming metropolis, first medical procedure, first cold and unfriendly abortion clinic, hemorrhaging,  fears and tears. Thankfully, it was finally over and nobody would ever know. 

Except me. Guilt led me to embrace promiscuity, alcohol and drugs, I finally settled into a lovely life that looked extraordinary to onlookers - marriage, successful career, wonderful children, beautiful homes, prestigious cars. So why did two marriages end in divorce? Why was I plagued with thoughts of suicide? Why was I terrified during two pregnancies that a vengeful, "sledgehammer" God would seek retribution for what I had done?