The Fink waxes philosophic.
Consider my daily dose of Carafate. Those nasty things are tall as a quarter, and if you break them in half, they become still-enormous pills, but they now have sharp edges (and I’ve tried the crushing them up in applesauce/juice/yogurt blah, blah, no). What to do?
Just woman up and choke it down whole. And what a lovely idiom/metaphor for what I’ve experienced over the past couple of weeks, heh. Great big old difficult pill to swallow. I’m sure you’ve been there.
Do you find it’s harder to forgive than to ask for forgiveness? I’ll bet you do, at least on some level. Why is that, I wonder. We humans do love our emotional control and deep-seated self-preservation mechanisms, and I suppose that’s part of it. Maybe another part of us — the down-deep part that rarely sees the light of day — derives some weird satisfaction from being the wounded party so we can plot our revenge.
That’s where the wheels fall off for many, I think. And they almost did for me. I got slapped by someone, and I wanted to slap back, twice as hard.
Do you hate lessons like this? I do. More “fun” to be an angry victim, when what the other person needs is not your anger (they’re not ashamed of what they’ve done, so your indignation is misplaced), but instead, your grace and forgiveness — even if they neither want nor accept it. Does that mean I “lost?” Probably. But I need to be OK with that. And I will be. Tomorrow.
Have you experienced anything similar? Tell me about it. I will counsel you. That’s why you pay me.