Christmas Eve’s evening, 2014. Heart’s breaking, tears a-flowing, body’s sprawled on bed hopeless, almost lifeless. Outside, it’s snowing. Neighbours laughing, children giggling and the twinkle of Christmas lights from the overly decorated houses in the cul-de-sac filter in through the gaps of the bedroom’s curtains.
A few hours before, love had walked out the door almost callously for no reason. The timing couldn’t have been more imperfect. The merriness of the season was like salt to the blistering, open wound. Resentment and near hate swelled furiously with every rapid tear drop. Ironically, a few miles away, love celebrated and danced with another.
The next day, Christmas Day, 2014: a book was received. It declared the need for forgiveness. Forgiveness accorded others and most importantly, forgiveness to one’s self by many others like me. Here’s wishing all freedom from past hurt and the grace to forgive and receive forgiveness as was done on Christmas Day, 2014.