I had coffee with a friend yesterday. We spent a lot of time talking about anger and forgiveness. She referenced a book she'd read that I knew I'd read and written an article about over a decade ago.
I had to come home and find that article. So many thoughts re-reading that 2014 article. Honestly, some embarrassment about who I have been. Some pride in who I'm becoming. And a big big reminder that in the moments we are getting angry about a life not going our way God is working our life toward joy. Joy if we'll simply stop and believe it and follow it. It is not lost on me that if I had received the life I was angry about not receiving way back then, I wouldn't be living the life right now I'm so grateful to have received. Here is that circa 2014 article: *** I can't tell you about the power of forgiveness without taking you to Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania. Here, on the morning of October 2, 2006, Charles Roberts entered a one-room schoolhouse in this Amish community and took the young students and a teacher inside hostage. He sealed the doors shut, then lined up ten girls between the ages of 6 and 13 and shot them in the head. Five of the girls died, the others suffered serious injuries. The immediate nightmare ended when Roberts shot and killed himself, but the horrific details of what had happened were just beginning to assail screaming parents and families waiting outside that bloody schoolroom. How these families and members of the Amish community responded in the aftermath of the shooting surprised many people, though. Before the tragic day was over, many of them had reached out to comfort the widow and family of the killer, a man from their community whom many of them knew. Jack Meyer, a member of the Brethren community living near the Amish in Lancaster County, would describe the response best in an interview with CNN: "I don't think there's anybody here that wants to do anything but forgive, and not only reach out to those who have suffered a loss in that way, but to reach out to the family of the man who committed these acts." The widow of the shooter would later write an open letter thanking the Amish community for their response. She said, " Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you." Donald Kraybill, an author and lecturer who has spent decades studying and writing about the Amish community, wrote a book about this event: Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy. In the book he said, "the Amish see forgiveness as a first step toward a more hopeful future." He noted that letting go of grudges is deeply rooted in the Amish culture. It has been taught. The lives of those who lost children and had children permanently injured, as well as those of the family of Charles Roberts, would have headed in a different direction had this community reacted with vengeance instead of forgiveness. A few years ago, a former boss, a man I'd worked for and with for over ten years, refused to offer a positive recommendation to a potential new employer. It cost me a chance at the job. Only he knows why he ignored the many favorable reviews he'd given me over the years. My guess is it was philosophical differences we had about our organization at the end of our time together. Maybe he was simply upset I left. It really doesn't matter, because my response to him eventually caused me far greater harm than his actions. I was angry. As angry as I can remember being in years. I felt like my former boss did me wrong, and I was determined to make him pay for it. I contacted attorneys. I emailed, phoned and sent letters all the way up the operational chain of command of my former organization, including the board of directors. I got angry with friends who still worked with this man and refused to hate him as much as I did. For days into weeks into a couple of months I snapped at my ex-wife as if she had attacked my reputation. I became so obsessed with the job I potentially lost, furious that it had been stolen from me, that I grew unappreciative of the one I had. It's embarrassing to write that paragraph when I consider that within hours the Amish community of Nickel Mines moved to forgive a man who left young girls lying with bullets in their heads on the floor of a one-room school house. And me, I couldn't whip the lasso of revenge fast or wide enough over nothing more than a perceived slight - mere words. In the end, vengeance didn't change my original circumstances. I never got that job. What I did do, though, was risk relationships and inject hate into the world around me. I was determined to make a situation that looked ugly to me look even uglier to everyone else. In fairness, forgiveness didn't work a miracle on the Nickel Mines shooting, either. Little girls still never came home from school that day. But as Kraybill acknowledged in his book, the Amish response of forgiveness transcended their tragedy. Through forgiveness, they were determined to take a situation that looked ugly, and miraculously make the world see love. Forgiveness is powerful. It can prevent years of struggle and anger in a relationship, and with a single thought, it can bring torment to peace. As a father, I am awed by the opportunity to shape the lenses through which our boys look at people they interact with, and in doing so, influence the meaning they'll draw from their relationships. I also understand what a daunting task I'm up against raising forgiving children - especially as I've recounted a recent period in my life when my thirst for revenge was quite alive and well. I blame that on my human nature, which refuses to allow me to delight in someone getting one over on me. It constantly encourages me to get even, convinces me I'm the one who deserves to stay one up on my fellow humans. The problem with human nature is it always involves conditions; treat me the way I want to be treated so I'm not forced to stoop to forgiveness. Maybe forgiveness is one of the greatest tools we have but hardest to use in the battle with our own human nature. And let's not be confused, our greatest source of contentment comes not from overcoming life, but from overcoming ourselves. When we know that, anger at the world can turn to healing of self. It's in that healing that we can find the power to forgive others, and maybe more importantly, the willingness to forgive ourselves. It's not easy. But like the Amish showed us so many years ago in Nickel Mines PA, easy or not, it is indeed a choice.
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Robert "Keith" CartwrightI am a friend of God, a dad, a runner who never wins, but is always searching for beauty in the race. Archives
February 2025
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