Mag 117 — forgiveness

Sitting on either side of Manuela at the table, both boys were thinking the same thing. She was the latest arrival at the center and would be asked by the missionaries to offer the blessing before all the children were allowed to eat. She seemed in shock and detached and they wanted to warn her about the rule.

Hoi said, "You will be asked if you want to say grace before the meal."

Banjo added in a whisper, "It will not be a request, but an order."

Manuela smelled the fishy broth and sweet fruit in front of them. She was no longer starving because she had been given hard bread, rice, and juice while en route to the center, but the thought of fresh food made her stomach rumble. The sound reminded her of nighttime warfare in the hills miles from her father's house. She sighed, remembering how the faraway rumbling grew closer and closer, then shivered thinking about the end of her world.

"I will do what I must to survive," she told them. Her words held forgiveness for the boys who three months before had slaughtered her family while she hid under her cot — boys as young as Hoi and Banjo.

Written for The Mag: Mag 117 that inspired with the above photo prompt
(The Meal, Paul Gauguin, 1891).

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bumpersticker wisdom

Self Forgiveness by Austin Sloan

Forgiveness: Giving up all hope for a better past

I was driving behind a car that had a bumpersticker with the above quote. Wow. It struck me as one of the best descriptions of forgiveness I've ever read or heard. When I looked for a photo or painting to accompany the quote I wasn't thinking in terms of self-forgiveness, but when I saw this beauty by Austin Sloan I thought it brought attention to an important act of forgiveness that many of us probably need to practice......but do not.


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Eino: a poem

With publication of this poem in my blog I free myself of all anger concerning my father, Eino.

I am awash in peace and forgiveness after having reeled him in to this space, where, over the past six days, I've taken a hard, honest (and, surprising to me: loving) look at him. Now I'm releasing him.

Truly, this is the first Father's Day that I recall feeling untangled. Thank you for sharing it with me, friends.



Eino

Finland won't claim your bones
when your last mocking whimper
flutters Her tongue.

America, where your parents sailed to bear you,
which you criss-crossed on trains and railed against
has soil in Her belly to digest your shell.

Thus eternity will absorb you, my father,
and your children may test peaceful waters
without endless ripples from your
stony negligence.

Heathen of my heart, maybe you loved me
when my letters came, when I sent books
to open up your boozy cage -
when I traveled to see you one last time.

Evenings now hang your face in the dark -
your watered red eyes, your monster walk -
and shaking hands reach through the night
to violate me again.

Ransom me and let the memory
be planted with your other horrors;
omit my name from your final plea,
your first prayer.

(copyright 1986: MLydiaM)