When I am tempted to unforgive

by Laurie Krieg
There are moments when Matt triggers my anger.

Actually, he doesn’t even have to say or do anything in particular, but something happens to remind me of the past, and I have this insatiable urge to go and yell at him. 

Then I remember, “Wait, Laurie. Calm down. You have already grieved all of this. You have talked through what you need to talk about with Matt. You have already given your pain to the Lord. You have truly forgiven Matt. Give him back to God.” I do this, and after a couple of minutes feel better.

I told Matt this thought process I go through over our anniversary dinner the other day. (Super appropriate, right? High five to Laurie for amping up the romance... not so much.) “Why?” he asked. “If you have forgiven me, why do you want to suddenly yell at me again?” 

I sat there for a few minutes and thought about it. Why do I want to do that? I verbally processed my answer (a rarity for me as I usually need like four days to answer something so deep). “I think it’s because I am feeling a glimmer of the pain I felt back then, and I don’t want you to just sit there, happy, not feeling pain while I do. I want you to pay as much as I pay—or more.” 

That’s the ugly truth. 

Over the last decade, I have had a lot of conversations about forgiveness. I think I am only beginning to understand it’s depths—especially when I consider God’s incredible grace and forgiveness. 

Whereas before I thought a good Christian forgiver was someone who worked really hard to ignore pain, (“It’s fine!” “It’s in the past!” “No big deal!”) I am beginning to see that a Jesus-like forgiver is someone who feels weight of the issue, grieves it, gives it to the Father, and then allows him to be the judge and jury (see Jesus in Gethsemane and on the cross for an example).

I am set free. If the person never apologizes or changes doesn’t matter. My letting go isn’t dependent upon the individual asking for forgiveness. If they do, it’s icing on the cake. (I do believe restoration can be dependent on the perpetrator's movement toward you with sincere sorrow, however.) 

Matt has asked for forgiveness—dozens of times—and I have gone through this sincere forgiveness process and felt the freedom and restoration.

So, why is it that when I am triggered, I suddenly want to go punch Matt with my words? Does it mean I haven’t forgiven? Does it mean I simply didn’t do a good enough job of craning my neck the opposite direction from his affliction (which isn't forgiveness at all)? 

No. It means I am an in-process human. (See Paul in Romans 7 as another in-process human who dealt with doing what he didn't want to do.) I remember things. God doesn’t. And to “not remember” means God chooses not to bring it up to us. He physically can remember (he’s God, after all), but he chooses not to rub it in our faces.  

​As Charles Spurgeon says in this worthwhile read on forgiveness:

"[W]hat does [God's not remembering our sin] mean but this—that He will not treat us any the less generously on account of our having been great sinners? You that have been the chief of sinners, He will not put you in the second class of Christians, and treat you with a sort of second-rate love. He will not even remember that you have sinned, but treat you as if you had been perfectly innocent, and were totally clear from all iniquity." 

I can choose the same when triggered. I can choose to live in forgiveness instead of take back my "right" to punish.

This may seem like a small thing to write a blog post about, but I think it’s significant: the big, deep lament and forgiveness process needs to happen, but when we have done that and when we remember again, we need to remind our souls that the Lord has it, and to really let Him hold it--both the pain and our desire to punish.