Keep it off the playground

Forgiveness is funny. It's one of those things we're taught when we're young - and we learn quickly. Someone hits us on the playground, the teacher makes him apologize, we say "apology accepted," and within five minutes we're back to playing.

It seems so simple. But then the mistakes and offenses get bigger. We deal with more than a sore arm. There's no one to remind anyone to apologize. Eventually, we forget how to forgive.

We start assigning value. Some things deserve an apology, and some don't. Some apologies are worth accepting, while others are not. We think we're hurting the other person by withholding that forgiveness; teaching him a lesson. We have completely forgotten how nice it was to return to the playground without anger or fear.

Forgiveness isn't something you pick and choose. It isn't a weapon or a lesson. A mistake is a mistake, and one hurt feeling is not worse than another. Forgiveness isn't a reward for an apology, or a long-standing friendship, or because someone is your favorite.

A forgiving heart is one that accepts hurt feelings and then lets the anger go. Forgiveness is a tool; a way to release ourselves from negative feelings and allow light back in.

Does that mean you never get angry? Does it mean that you allow yourself to be mistreated? Is a forgiving heart a weak heart? Of course not.

It means that you have the strength to realize that, at any given moment, everyone you meet is doing the best he can with what he's got. Sometimes that best falls short and leaves you on the losing end. Forgiveness means having the power to pick up the pieces, fix what you can, and move forward.

It keeps your heart light, and keeps those hurt feelings off the playground. So the next time someone says he's sorry, you won't be too hurt to say, "OK."

Supposed to be

We are all supposed to be someone.

I'm a woman, so I am supposed to want kids to raise and a house to decorate and a husband to love me.

I'm 40 - so I'm supposed to be sad that I have none of those things. I'm also supposed to feel all washed up.

I'm a "curvy girl" so I'm supposed to desperately try to lose weight (probably so I can attract that missing husband). I'm also supposed to have incredibly low self-esteem, and no self-confidence.

I'm a child of divorce, who is divorced herself, so I'm supposed to be cynical (at best) about love.

I come from a family that leaves - either physically or emotionally. So I am not supposed to trust, or know how to express my feelings. I am supposed to be scared and angry and depressed. I am supposed to react in anger.

I'm an only child, so I am supposed to be completely spoiled, selfish, self centered, and incredibly shy.

I'm sure some of that is true, or at least was true at some point. I certainly struggle with self-esteem and confidence. I am pretty spoiled. I haven't always been great at expressing myself. I'm sure some of those things come and go, depending on my circumstances. Some probably always will.

But those things do not define me. I have learned that every one of us can overcome who we are supposed to be. Things like family and childhood and past experiences do not have the last say in who we are.

In the end, we choose who we will become. It may be a long road, and we might trip and fall along the way - but the path is ours to make.

I am not who I am because of everything I have been through. I am who I am in spite of it.

Take the first step

When I tell people I have faith, they usually give me the, "C'mon, you don't really believe in that, do you?" look.

Well, yeah, I do - or I wouldn't have said so.

But I understand the question mark. For a long, long, long time, I had zero faith. I thought things had to be forced into shape. If it didn't fit, I pushed harder. I thought faith was an excuse to be lazy, and not work for what you want.

Over the last couple of years, I have learned that faith is a lot of trust mixed with a lot of work. Faith means you keep moving towards your goal - while trusting that whatever happens is part of the plan.

You still have dreams and wishes. You still set goals. You still make plans.  You still do all you can to get where you want to be. Keep up your end of the deal.

At some point, you accept that you've done what you can. What remains is out of your control.

Then you keep moving forward, as if you know how things will turn out. That's faith.

What's meant to be will always find its way - but you need to participate.