SIXTEEN
It’s Time to Move On
You Can Be Reconciled
Altogether, Abraham lived a hundred and seventy-five years. Then Abraham breathed his last and died at a good old age, an old man and full of years; and he was gathered to his people. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah near Mamre, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, the field Abraham had bought from the Hittites. There Abraham was buried with his wife Sarah.
Genesis 25:7–10
Wounding smashes relationships. We can never return to the way we were before the wounding took place, which in itself adds a dimension to our grief that is very deep. Yet it is possible for severed relationships to be reconciled.
For years, I had a best friend. We talked almost every day by phone and took every opportunity we could to spend time together, blending our families into lots of happy confusion for picnics, holidays, and special times. But one day I found myself helplessly standing by as my friend was deeply wounded by another, then chose to retaliate. She had many friends and family members cheering her on. But in obedience to what God put on my heart and seeking to be faithful to the insight I felt He had given me, I warned her of the consequences of her actions. While she was justified in her course of action, the long-term repercussions, I believed, would be exceedingly destructive, not only to her, but also to her children.
What I said was not what she wanted to hear. And so she severed our relationship and followed through on her decision to wound the wounder. Like fire hitting a fan, the sparks of her retaliation flew in all directions, burning hearts and hopes and homes and families and futures. While in one sense she had every right to do what she did, it turned out to be devastating. All I could do was weep and pray from a distance. The ache in my heart was almost a physical pain.
Years later, she sat at my kitchen table and, in a voice choking with emotion, tearfully said how sorry she was. She asked for my forgiveness, saying she wanted our relationship restored to what it had been. I wept too. I put my arms around her and hugged her, telling her I had forgiven her years earlier.1 I told her how much I appreciated her courage in coming to try to make things right. To reconcile. But I knew, even as we opened our hearts to each other, that we could never really go back and reclaim the relationship that had been. It was gone. However — and this is the encouragement I want to pass on to you — we remain good friends to this day. The relationship is different but sweet. I believe it has been healed because she was willing to die to her pride, to humble herself, and to ask for my forgiveness.
I recently came across a quote from John Ortberg that makes a helpful distinction between forgiveness and reconciliation: “You might distinguish between forgiveness as letting go of my right to hurt you back and reconciliation as that which requires the sincere intentions of both parties.”2 The amazing conclusion to Hagar’s story is that reconciliation seems to have taken place between both parties … between her son, Ishmael, and Sarah’s son, Isaac.
The Bible doesn’t tell us if Hagar ever saw Abraham and Sarah again. But we are given a tantalizing glimpse of a possible reconciliation that took place when Abraham “breathed his last and died at a good old age, an old man and full of years; and he was gathered to his people. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him.”3 Isaac and Ishmael — together again?
How I would love to know … had Isaac and Ishmael stayed in touch throughout the years? Had they met each other’s wives? And shared meals with each other’s families? Did they ever go hunting together? Were they cordial and friendly? When Abraham died, was it natural for Ishmael to participate in the funeral? Or had Isaac and Ishmael not seen each other or spoken since that dreadful day so long ago when Abraham exiled Hagar and Ishmael? If so, what would make Isaac reach out to Ishmael after so many years? In sending word to Ishmael about Abraham’s death, was he trying to reconcile with his half brother? Or was Isaac just doing what he felt was right and proper in notifying Abraham’s firstborn of his death? Maybe Isaac’s gesture was perfunctory, a dutiful effort to honor his deceased father whom he knew had deeply loved Ishmael. I wonder, did Isaac ever imagine that Ishmael would actually show up? But Ishmael did!
In asking Ishmael to come to the funeral, Isaac ran the risk of opening an old wound. But sometimes wounds that have not healed properly need to be lanced, or reopened, in order to purge an infection and allow deep healing to begin. As unpleasant as the thought may be, the wounds from your past may need to be revisited to truly heal.
My nine-year-old granddaughter, Sophia, somehow got a splinter in the back of her hand — a year ago! She wouldn’t let anyone, from her mother to her father to me to the pediatrician, touch the painful wound. A couple of weeks ago, we all noticed that the splinter was festering and had raised a blister on her hand that was becoming more and more painful. Finally, my daughter had had enough. She told Sophia to hold still and then pulled out the protruding splinter with her fingers. Sophia yelped at the sudden, sharp pain, but then smiled with relief as the pain she had lived with for over a year was almost instantly eased. A couple of days later, there wasn’t even any inflammation to indicate that the splinter had ever been under Sophia’s skin.
Wounds can be like Sophia’s splinter. We think we can live with them, but they don’t seem to go away on their own. Even small ones. Sometimes we have to reopen the wound in order to extract what’s causing the pain so that we can truly heal.
Some time ago, I talked with a handsome, gray-haired gentleman named David,4 who opened up in a surprisingly vulnerable way. He shared with me that he had been raped when he was about twelve years old by a babysitter who was considered by his community to be a mature Christian. For years, David carried that horrific wound as a secret deep within his heart. But the wound eventually began to fester. The guilt and shame surfaced at unexpected times in fits of rage and ultimately led to alcoholism and drug abuse.
When he surrendered his life in a deeper way to Jesus, David felt led, as an adult, to confront his rapist. And so he did. When they met, David described what had happened between them and then extended grace and forgiveness. But the rapist vehemently rejected David’s offer, insisting that the rape had never taken place. Grieved, David drove home, got on his knees, and revisited in prayer the hateful scene that had replayed in his memory so many times. Only this time, he imagined Jesus present in his childhood room, looking at him with infinite tenderness and forgiveness and the deep empathy of One who understands what it feels like to be brutalized.5 And through a truly supernatural, fresh touch from God, the wound that had been excruciatingly painful for years, and even more painful to reopen, was healed.
If the person who has wounded you, or has been wounded by you, rejects your forgiving words or gestures and refuses to move toward reconciliation, take it to Jesus in prayer. He understands what it feels like to make every effort to reconcile, only to be rejected. The relationship may never be reconciled, but Jesus can heal you — and your memories.
Isaac and Ishmael surely had vivid memories of the wounding that led to their separation. If there had been no contact between the brothers since Hagar and Ishmael were exiled — some seventy years — I wonder what the scene was when they finally met face-to-face. Did they stare at each other awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other? Did they formally shake hands? Did they politely embrace as they kissed first one cheek, then the other in the custom of the Middle East? Did Ishmael say, “I’m sorry”? Or did they just exchange a long, knowing glance that needed no words? Maybe it was enough that Ishmael had come to help bury their father — in the very same cave where Abraham had buried Sarah years earlier. Sometimes reconciliation begins with just a small gesture, doesn’t it? A tiny tendril of contact. Someone who is willing to take the first step, make the first move, say the first word.
If you have a relationship that has been shattered by wounds, would you be willing to reach out to the wounder as Isaac did to Ishmael? Just a small gesture. It can be a brief ph
one call, a birthday card, an anniversary remembered, a small gift, a few words spoken at a social gathering, warm eye contact instead of a cold stare. Take some action to let the person know you are reaching out, that the door is cracked open to reconciliation. You may never know if the relationship can be reconciled unless you make the effort to begin the process.
On the other hand, is there someone who has been trying to reach out to you? Have you been on the receiving end of a small gesture? At this stage in your journey, perhaps it no longer matters who was the wounder and who was the wounded. What matters is the fact that the person is reaching out and you need to respond. Why won’t you? Don’t make it hard for someone to come to you.
In time, there will need to be more than just a gesture. There may need to be a face-to-face, heart-to-heart, honest conversation in which you listen to the other person’s story and he or she listens to yours. Who knows? Maybe you will discover that a significant part of the problem was miscommunication or misinformation. Even if the conversation reveals you were dead wrong or the other person was totally at fault, you need to give voice to your apology or forgiveness. Don’t let pride keep you from genuine reconciliation. And that’s where death comes in, isn’t it? Death to our pride.
I know I have been a wounder. And I have been wounded. What I also know is that if there is any hope of reconciliation in the relationships that have been severed, someone needs to make the first move. My pride would defensively protest, They need to come to me. What they did to me was far worse than anything I ever thought of doing to them. I didn’t mean to wound them, but they intentionally tried to destroy me. They need to set their wrongs right first. So there has to be a death. Just as Abraham’s death seems to have triggered the reconciliation between Isaac and Ishmael, death is the trigger for reconciliation between my wounders and me. My death. I have to die to my pride and my position as the one whose forgiveness should be sought by them.
I need to be easily approachable, as Jesus has been for me.
I need to love those who have rejected me, as Jesus loved me.
I need to initiate the contact, as Jesus did for me.
I need to extend forgiveness to them before they even ask me for it, as Jesus did for me.
And so I have. I have tapped softly on the door of hope for a new beginning — a brief phone call, an email, a cup of coffee shared at Starbucks, a memory in the form of a gift tucked in the mail. Has every relationship been healed and reconciled? No. Why not? I have asked myself that more times than I can count. While some relationships have eased into friendship, others remain severed. I’m not even sure that some of my wounders have recognized my gestures for what they were. One thing I do know is that some things take time. I can’t force reconciliation. I can’t change someone else’s heart or mind. Only the Lord can do that. And so I continue to pray and wait.
As I wait, I seem to see with the eyes of my heart that same mysterious figure who hovered in the shadows of Hagar’s life, the Angel of the Lord. I’m reminded that He understands what it feels like to wait for those who’ve wounded Him to respond to His overtures for reconciliation. I know He truly feels my pain.
But this time, He’s not looking at me. I imagine Him gazing past me with an expression of infinite tenderness and longing. He’s looking at you. He not only made the first move toward you when He left His throne in heaven, came to earth, and went to the cross, but He put this book in your hands. Now He’s waiting. Waiting for you to respond and walk through the door He has opened with His nail-scarred hand. A door that leads into reconciliation with His Father and with Himself and, in time, with them — the ones who wounded you. Like Isaac and Ishmael, it’s a reconciliation that has been made possible through death … His death. You can be reconciled when you meet Him — and your wounders — at the foot of the cross.
CONCLUSION
The End of the Healing Journey
It’s Time to Come Home
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!”
So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
Matthew 11:28; Revelation 22:17; Luke 15:20–21
Sunday, June 10, 2012, would have been my mother’s ninety-second birthday. While she celebrated in heaven, I wanted to celebrate with my father. Because of a recent trip to India, a subsequent illness, and an overloaded schedule, I had not been to see him for almost two months. So the weekend of Mother’s birthday, I drove the four hours home in bumper-to-bumper traffic. The exertion of the drive was more than worth it, not only because I love being with my father anytime, but because of how he welcomed me. When I walked into the house, put my things down, and went back to his quarters, I called out, “Daddy.” As I walked into his room, his face lit up, he threw out his arms, gave me a strong, warm embrace, and then kept holding me. He knew that even though I am a grown woman, when I come home I’m just a little girl at heart who loves to be held by her father. In the midst of all of life’s stress, struggles, pressures, pain, and problems, there’s something for me that’s healing in my father’s love.
I wonder … have you been separated from your Heavenly Father for a while? Maybe you’ve taken a trip to a distant country, a place where you have lived in a way that is contrary to a life that pleases Him.1 Maybe your wounds have made you sick in bitterness or shame or guilt. Maybe you’re apprehensive about seeing Him because you don’t think He wants to see you. Maybe you’ve been so busy with an overloaded schedule that He’s been crowded out of your life. Maybe you don’t know exactly why, but you just haven’t felt your Father’s love for a while. For quite a while.
It’s time to put your things down —your busyness, fears, doubts, apprehensions, guilt, uncertainties — and enter into His presence on your knees. In prayer. Cry out to Him. Call Him by name, Abba … Daddy.2 Experience His arms of love wrapped around you, holding you close, because your Heavenly Father loves you. There is healing in His warm embrace. It’s time to come home!
Maybe you are afraid that after years of wandering, burdened with painful memories and all the emotional and spiritual baggage involved, you somehow can’t come home. That it’s too late, that your Father won’t receive you, that you have forfeited His blessing in your life, that His love for you somehow over time has been diminished. But dear wounded one, you are the reason He got up from heaven’s throne, took off His glory robes, and came into the wilderness of this world. Because He saw you in your hopeless, helpless, wounded condition and came to seek you, to draw you to Himself, and to give you abundant, eternal life. He yearns to hear your voice calling His name so that He can wrap you in His love and fill you with His joy and peace.
Recently, I was with a beautiful young woman who acknowledged her inner agony when she confessed not only to being wounded, but to being a wounder. She had had two abortions that had rendered her unable to conceive a baby she now was desperate to have. But greater than her insatiable longing for a child were her feelings of shame and guilt. She was convinced that her decisions, made years ago out of ignorance and desperation, now prevented her from ever being accepted by God. She was certain that God’s punishment for her actions was that she would be childless the rest of her life. The expression on her face was one of utter hopelessness.
While this young woman has yet to have a baby, she does now have hope. She learned that although there are consequences to our choices, nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. And He does not punish us for our sin by withholding a baby or any good thing from us. The wages of sin is death —not our own, but the death of His own dear Son in our place. So she tearfully opened her heart to Him and made the decision to stop looking back and to move forward instead. The same face that had expressed such hopelessness now is softened with the light of His presence.
And while she still longs and prays for a baby, she has embraced the magnificent obsession of knowing God and desires His purpose for her life. His love has healed her heart.
God is the God who loves sinners. He loves the wounders and the wounded. He is the God of second chances — and third and fourth! Rather than rejecting you, He seeks you and draws you into His loving arms so that you might be healed of your wounds. God gives hope when there is no hope because God loves you. He truly loves you! You have not been deluded. He is right here. Right there. With you. Now. But to experience the fullness of His healing love, you must close the door on your past.
When I was a teenager, I had horses that I kept at a place called Phillips Farm. To get to the barn, I had to drive down a dirt road that led through a corn field. On the far side of the corn field was a gated fence that surrounded a cow pasture. One of the instructions old Mr. Phillips gave me when I boarded my first horse on his farm was that I had to make sure I closed the gate behind me when I left the barn. Otherwise, the cows in back of me could get out of the fenced-in pasture and ruin the corn in front of me.
Dear wounded one, it’s time to close the gate behind you. Don’t let the memories and the mistreatment, the words and the wounds, the jealousy and the hypocrisy, the deceit and the dishonesty, the cheap talk and the inconsistent walk, the meanness, unkindness, rudeness, pridefulness, selfishness, sinfulness, injustice, and unfairness of people from your past creep into the present and ruin the promise of blessing and hope for the future. Don’t let them inflict the ultimate wound at the end of your life, when you discover that your life has been wasted. Shriveled. Less than God intended. Because you refused to close the gate. So … close it.
Let go of the past so that you can move forward into all that God has for you.
Let go of your resentment over the way you’ve been treated.
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