I can remember my grandmother telling me she could forgive, but not forget. Even though I was pretty young, I found this both enlightening (the reason she had fewer and fewer friends over the years) and terrifically sad. She carried a crushing burden of memories of past wrongs, slights and misunderstandings throughout a very long life.
This is why I am so grateful that my experience as a follower of Christ has been so different. Once I give to God my sorrow and truly want to be freed from the burden of the wrong, I find I can quit feeding the fear. (I believe it is fear that drives our resistance to forgiveness: What if they hurt me again? What if next time it is worse? What if I am crushed, destroyed, have to watch those I love suffer because of this?) Then I find the memory of the wrong generally fades first and eventually the entire thing dissolves into the vagaries of the past.
On the other hand, I find it exhausting to have to lug the burden of memory around, having to feed it regularly to keep it from dying for lack of attention. To keep it fresh, I have to expend attention that I frankly find far less enjoyable than watching paint dry.
So I have learned to be more discerning in the "funny little stories" I tell -- to dig out the barbs, the slights, the judgments and the possible ruts I may be running in. Many things are genuinely funny, but it is far better that it be funny because of my own foibles than to risk reinforcing negative things about someone who may be harmed by a story they can not stop me telling without making it all a "very big deal". I have learned to make sure that "nicknames" are affirming rather than reinforcing a less-than-flattering tag. I have learned to embrace the good memories and let go of the bad ones.
I've seen what hording the memories of past wrongs can cost the bearer and those they love.
This is why I am so grateful that my experience as a follower of Christ has been so different. Once I give to God my sorrow and truly want to be freed from the burden of the wrong, I find I can quit feeding the fear. (I believe it is fear that drives our resistance to forgiveness: What if they hurt me again? What if next time it is worse? What if I am crushed, destroyed, have to watch those I love suffer because of this?) Then I find the memory of the wrong generally fades first and eventually the entire thing dissolves into the vagaries of the past.
On the other hand, I find it exhausting to have to lug the burden of memory around, having to feed it regularly to keep it from dying for lack of attention. To keep it fresh, I have to expend attention that I frankly find far less enjoyable than watching paint dry.
So I have learned to be more discerning in the "funny little stories" I tell -- to dig out the barbs, the slights, the judgments and the possible ruts I may be running in. Many things are genuinely funny, but it is far better that it be funny because of my own foibles than to risk reinforcing negative things about someone who may be harmed by a story they can not stop me telling without making it all a "very big deal". I have learned to make sure that "nicknames" are affirming rather than reinforcing a less-than-flattering tag. I have learned to embrace the good memories and let go of the bad ones.
I've seen what hording the memories of past wrongs can cost the bearer and those they love.
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