Sometimes I’m Sad

… that I can’t be the kind of Christian everyone expects. You know?

The kind with a contemporary Christian hymn in their hearts all the time. The kind who is always eager to tell someone about Jesus at the first excuse. The kind who goes to church faithfully, every time the door is open. The kind who gives generously every week he attends. The kind that can vote a certain way with no qualms in their conscience. The kind who believe God is in control of every minute detail all the time because He chooses to be. The kind whose kids turn out the way everyone expected them to. The kind who doesn’t question the traditions. The kind who gets along.

But that’s just not me. Some of those things were never me; I just didn’t make a big deal about them.

The fact is, I can’t be that kind of Christian. And I won’t pretend.

I’d rather be genuinely me than someone who says and does what must be done to fit in.

The contemporary Christian hymns — frankly, all the songs sung at church — are not the comfort they once were. They remind me of my departed Angi, who loved them and had them in her heart all the time and listened to them in the car and on her iPhone in the office. And that just raises difficult questions for me about God’s goodness that nobody actually has answers for, so it makes the faith and the trust in Him that I still have even more difficult.

My eagerness to share a gospel message is not what it was. For one thing, people find it off-putting and self-righteous and often not credible from people who can’t live up to it, and I am one of those far-from-perfect people. I’ll be glad to tell anyone who asks about the reason for the hope that lies within me (to put it in scriptural language), but most of the time it’s all I can do to try to be like Jesus of Nazareth. I used to preach. Now it’s just a matter of practice. In this case, practice won’t make perfect. He has to do that. I get that. I grasp the concept of grace, even if I can’t fathom the depths of it.

And I haven’t been to church but a couple of times in the past two years and more. I have questions and concerns about what church is and should be and how it’s done and what its purpose and expectations are that far exceed the word count of a readable post.

Giving to support some of those things I’m not sure I can believe in … well, that’s just not an option right now. I can give to support people I know who are in genuine need; I can give in other ways in total anonymity; I can give to the kinds of things that Jesus of Nazareth talks about giving to support. Did you ever notice He never once talked about giving to His church in scripture?

Frankly, I am horrified at the political tack that churches have taken to support a particular party and even economic/social ideology that I often find antithetical to the life that He lived and the way He loved and the extent to which He gave … even to His own life. For people who never earned it, never worked for it, never could, never will.

Because I can’t believe God shows favoritism, to rich or poor, one skin color over another, one ethnicity over another, one set of life choices over another, one religion over another, one soul over another. If He loves the whole world, then the Son He gave is for everyone. But God as micro-manager? Undoing everything in some karmic cosmic way that intentionally harms some people to the benefit of others; that’s one thing. But to undo the real-world consequences of it as if that doesn’t matter in this world at all? No. I can’t vote that way or believe that way because He doesn’t operate that way. Whether you take the story of Eden literally or not, the gist of it is that He gave us choice in the very beginning and He doesn’t interfere with the consequences and rewards of what we have chosen. Others might, but not Him. Evil still exists in this world because we still choose it; we choose self instead of others and Him. And that’s why there’s still death in the world, why there’s still suffering in the world, why there’s still inequity and hatred and greed and poverty and illness and crime and murder and bigotry and ….

Well, you get the idea. I don’t have all the answers. But that much seems obvious.

I choose. You choose. Our kids choose. Their kids choose. And we’re responsible for our own choices; no one else’s. I’m glad and proud that my kids are into adulthood, still forming their own spirituality just like their dad is. I’m proud that Angi and I helped instill and nurture a yearning for a deep spirituality in them. I can hope it leads them into good lives that care deeply about others. So far, it’s looking that way to me. What they do for a living, as far as I’m concerned, is relatively inconsequential compared to how they live their lives.

If they turn out anything like me, they’ll never accept tradition for the sake of tradition; never choose to go along just to get along; never be solely what someone else expects of them.

But sometimes I’m sad I can’t.

Rarely. But sometimes.

Because that would be easy.

Farewell, Old Friend

Well, dear ones: My companion of 16 years, Roadie, passed quietly this evening after a brief illness.

He did everything quietly, though. Unless he barked while visiting at the homes of his friends Jean or Tracellen while I was traveling, he had not done so for years.

About the only sounds he ever made were whimpers while dreaming of running in his sleep.

He had gone deaf over the last couple of years, and his eyesight was beginning to dim — after all, he was at least 18 years old. But he could sniff, and loved to do so on his morning and evening walks.

He had compression in his 5th-7th vertebrae, his vet in Sylva told me in 2015, and in his last few months I could tell that the walks — and especially the steps — were becoming more painful to him. His pace slowed. I closed off the staircases in the cottage so he wouldn’t try to follow me up- or downstairs and break a limb.

He was friendly to all creatures, from cats to other dogs to any person he ever met. He was fond of little ones, especially my grandson Kayson, and was happy to be a headrest and back pillow for him when he watched videos on my computer.

Many of you know that I often referred to him as Roadie, The World’s Sweetest Dog™️, and if any dog ever deserved that trademark, it was surely him.

I Get It, Mom

Today my mom would have turned 95, but we lost her five years-and-some ago.

She and Dad would have been married 50 years in 1995, had he not suddenly passed at the age of 66 a couple of years before that golden anniversary. My older sister had already begun thinking about an event for them while he was still alive, and she hosted it anyway, and it was a wonderful tribute to their marriage.

Dorothy L. Brenton

I think we both asked her from time to time in the years that followed if she would date again.

She didn’t express any interest in it. In fact, I remember her telling us that a couple of older gents had asked, and she had politely declined.

I think, as much as anything, my sisters and I wanted to let her know that we’d be fine with it if she did. We knew how deeply she and Dad loved each other, and there would be no replacing him, and no one ever again like him. But we told her that we would love to see her happy in another relationship.

We didn’t want what had happened with a cousin of ours and his dad, when his mom had passed away — and our uncle soon married again; married a gal so much like our aunt that she even had the same first name. It caused a rift between father and son, and they didn’t speak for years.

I understand that you can love someone different from the one you’ve lost, and love them differently, and still love them as much. I can grasp that it’s not an insult to the lost spouse to seek another, as much as it is a compliment that marriage was so good with that spouse that a relationship like that was worth seeking again. And could have the potential to be just as wonderful, or — in some ways you can’t anticipate — even better!

But here I am, now … looking this year at turning the age my dad was when his cardiac episode took him home. Almost eight years out from losing Angi.

And I’ve sought, and tried, and failed.

For a lot of reasons, I’m sure. It’s a different century, and I don’t know how to date or even ask for a date in the 21st Century; how to strike up a conversation, even; or where to go to meet someone.

I even resolved at the end of 2019 to give it one more year, then give it up. So of course, the year I’d pick would be pandemic year 2020.

In spite of it, I had three dates. (Four, if you count taking out a couple of former co-workers for Thai lunch and reminiscing together, both of whom already have sweet fellas!) They were latte-and-a-long-walk dates, and they went pretty well. Things didn’t go well after the first one with the neighbor I asked off-the-cuff and without premeditation, but the other two with a very sweet lady just a couple of years my junior were wonderful.

It just felt like there wasn’t anything special there, between us, for either of us.

And I guess I’ve started to realize why Mom didn’t pursue the dating game.

It’s just kind of sad when you hit it off with someone, but that magic just isn’t there like it was with your spouse. It’d be even more sad to pretend it or try to make it happen. It’s there, or it’s not. And downright tragic to get into a relationship hoping that it would develop, or having it develop for one of the two of you, but not the other. Or maybe worse, for neither of you.

It’s not a matter of expecting your other to be just like your spouse, or even just a little like your spouse, or to live up to any kind of expectation. It’s just that the indefinable “something” that has to be there to make it work … well, just isn’t there.

So I’ve made the decision. I’m retiring from the dating-and-romance thing. The pandemic is not going away soon. The pressure of the years on me is not going to let up in a minute. I’m not exactly a bargain package to the market at large. And I’m just not sure the full value is there for me anymore, either.

I know that sounds selfish, and it probably is, but that’s the way things are.

So, I’m sorry, Mom, if I pressured you by asking or encouraging when I was a lot younger, and deeply in love, and couldn’t possibly understand the reasons why you might not ever feel the same in a relationship the way you felt with Dad.

I get it now.

On Grief

It’s that time of year again when I remember the day my dad passed away in the bitter cold of winter twenty-three years ago, with some measure of warning (he had a cardiopulmonary episode weeks before) but more importantly, with the warm hope of someone who knows Whom he has believed and has lived out that faith to the very last.

When someone you love dearly leaves your life, you mourn. You grieve. You put your life down where theirs ended. And for a while, it feels like yours has, too.

You keep doing what you have been doing, but it cannot really be called “living.” Colors lose a measure of their splendor. Flavors and fragrances seem less sweet. Humor falls flat. Comfort does not connect. People say things, and you hear them, and you know they have meaning but you are at something of a loss to perceive what that meaning might be.

Time trudges.

Then, little by little, you begin to pick up your life where you left it.

Memories begin to comfort and soothe rather than haunt and taunt.

You begin to feel the love that others have for you, and you begin to feel that love for them again, too.

You can smile without forcing it. Then you can smile without poignancy. At some point, you remember how to genuinely laugh.

And you begin to realize that life can go on; that you have survived this death with the help of others who love you; that you could do it again if you had to. You can live again.

And you do.

And you will.

But every once in a while, you will look back in a wistful moment, and remember how good and perhaps how bad it sometimes was with the one you cherish and miss; wonder how good and how bad it could be were they still here with you; and you wish.

And you accept.

And you go on living.


Norman William Brenton
September 24, 1926 – February 25, 1993
Brazil, Indiana and Indianapolis

From his three children, read at his funeral:

In the two and a half weeks since Dad’s heart attack, we have often found  ourselves commenting on his fine qualities: his kindness, dry sense of humor, love of children and people in general, his efficiency and thoroughness–meticulous and logical in all areas; his gentle spirit. In fact, the “fruit of the Spirit” in Galatians 5:22-24 and the admonition of II Peter 1:5-8 to “add to your faith, virtue, etc.” were reflected in his life. Perhaps most often in our thoughts and conversations, the Beatitudes  of Matthew 5 came to mind, especially verse 9: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.” Certainly our Dad is a son of God.


Sometimes when things just don’t seem right and we see no good in them, we need to stop and remember that God works all things together for the good. In our lives we experience what the Bible calls trials and sufferings, but when we are children of God, we are to consider them great joy. My father loved people like no one else I knew, except for God himself. He will continue to live through those of us who knew him and those of us who learned from his faithfulness to God our Father, and from his patience toward everyone. I pray we all will be worthy, as he was, to see Jesus Christ. He suffers no pain and no sorrow. He’s with our Father in heaven and that makes me joyful.


My father gave me life, of course; but you may not know that on at least two occasions, he also saved my life.

One time, when I was about two years old, I had gotten hold of some hard candy, and had managed to get a piece of it stuck in my throat. Upon hearing me choke, Dad hauled me up by my feet and slapped my back until the candy was dislodged and I could breathe again.

Another time – when I was eight or nine, and we were on one of our vacation trips together – we parked on a lot overlooking Royal Gorge. The lot was marked off by big wooden posts threaded together by a chain. I hopped right over the chain, heading for a slope where some gorgeous quartz crystals had been dumped like fill dirt. The slope was about 45 degrees, and it ended in about thirty feet with a vertical drop of about a thousand feet to the Arkansas River below. The quartz crystals began to give
way underneath me as I struggled back to the top. Dad started to vault the chain, too; but I yelled back “Don’t! The rocks won’t hold you.”

So, holding the chain in one hand, he stretched himself as far as he could and reached out to me with the other hand. I had to take the next couple of steps myself, but then I felt his hand grasp mine and he pulled me to safety.

Maybe Dad didn’t do anything that any father wouldn’t have done. But he taught me a powerful lesson through those two episodes. He taught me that God saves people in two ways.

One way is when you feel like you’ve been picked up and turned upside down and life is hitting you from behind. That’s God telling you there’s something stuck in your craw called sin and you’ve got to turn loose of it or it will kill you.

The other way God saves us is when he vaults the chain in the person of His Son and, holding firmly on with His hand of Justice, He stretches Himself as far as He can and reaches out to us with His hand of Compassion. We have to take the first few steps on our own; then we feel His hand grasp ours and pull us to safety.

— Keith

On Her Own Terms

This will be a very, very long post.

On June 30 of last year, I found a secret diary that my late wife Angi kept 13-1/2 years ago (2002) when she was seeking diagnosis and treatment for a difficult, painful and widespread skin condition. She feared it was cancer. Though I knew of her condition, I never knew of her fear.

The diary revealed that one doctor’s diagnosis was that the condition might be melanoma, and of a rare type that often proves fatal. Another doctor disagreed. I didn’t know this, either.

Angela BrentonShe took light treatments for many years, and the condition improved but never really resolved. We would pray about it together, but she didn’t share the contradictory diagnoses.

All this while our children were 9 and 6 years old, and her career was really taking off.

In the diary, she poured out her heart: her fears, concerns, love for friends and family.

This is what she wrote:


Today marks the fifth week of living with the possibility I may have a rare form of skin cancer — cutaneous t-cell lymphoma. On June 13 I went to my dermatologist, giving one last shot that someone could give me a cream or lotion that could rid me of the unsightly red blotches that had increasingly appeared on my legs over the past 4 years. I thought my worst problem was appearing in public in shorts or a swimsuit. I came away wondering if I will live to raise my children, Matthew, 9, and Laura, 6.

My doctor and I decided that we would wait for the biopsies until I returned from the vacation that started three days after my appointment. He told me not to alarm myself by reading all the stuff on the internet. It’s sobering when you consider yourself a youngish healthy 49-year old to have a disease with a limited life expectancy. If they catch it early, the prognosis is good — 32 years. But stage 2 drops to 12 years — barely enough to see Laura through high school. And if you’re at stage 3 or 4 the numbers drop to 2 or 3 years — scary stuff. It’s amazing how the new knowledge plays with your mind. Only yesterday I felt young and invincible. Now with this new knowledge, I touch a lymph node in my neck. Swelling in lymph nodes is a sign of stage 2 or 3. Is it slightly enlarged? Is that recurring abdominal pain a sign of something? Are there lymph nodes in the abdomen?

Yet with all the uncertainty for five weeks now, I’m amazed how God has responded to my prayers by bringing me a tremendous peace. I don’t know what lies ahead for me, but I’m confident that God will be beside me, and that he will resolve the situation for the best. He can heal me if he chooses to, no matter what stage the disease. There may be some reason I can’t understand now — perhaps knowing they have a shorter time with me will give my children more openness to my influence, or maybe it was never God’s plan for me to take them all the way to adulthood. Maybe that is someone else’s role.

What I fear the most is not the pain of chemotherapy, radiation or bone marrow transplants — all possibilities if the condition is advanced. I fear leaving my family. I love them so much. They are the best part of my life. I fear for Laura. She’s already lost her birthmother through adoption and at some subconscious level that affects her so deeply. Can she recover if she loses another mother? Her little emotional identity is so fragile now. She follows me like my shadow. I am her security, however flawed I am at times. She’s my heart. How can I leave her?

Then there’s Matthew. I’m so proud of the person he’s growing to be. I never thought I could love anyone the way I love him — have from the first moment I saw him when he was 4 weeks old. He is everything I’ve ever wanted.

And Keith — my soul mate & love. We took too long to find one another but have had such a joyous 12 years together. Keith is so strong & so good. I know he would do better than most as a single parent. But he would feel incomplete without me as I would without him. Could he make it without my income? I’ve checked on taking out  additional life insurance, but if I get a negative diagnosis it may be too late.

All these imaginations haunt me during the darker hours. Most of the time, however, I’m just leaning on God’s strong arms. He’s prepared me to trust him through so many times in my life when I was helpless — from my divorce to infertility to adoption. God has led me to the point where I know I can just put my life in his hands & lay all my burdens at the cross. After all, Jesus knew the agony of anticipation & uncertainty, praying at Gethsemane for the cup to pass, yet submitting himself to God’s will. I’m trying to do the same.

There have been so many life lessons I’ve drawn over the past weeks of waiting. One is that going in one day from feeling healthy to a painful realization that health may only be an illusion is so much the same reaction as truly confronting our own sinful nature as we stand before the cross. One day we can feel complacent as good-self-sufficient people but confronted with the image of the cross we must acknowledge the disease of our sin and our utter dependence on God.

I think I’ll fast & pray tomorrow. It’s about time to get the biopsy results back. I need the special peace & reliance on God that I feel when fasting to receive the news — whatever it turns out to be.

Funny, I’m having knee surgery day after tomorrow. I would have been dreading the pain & effort of recovery. It seems like a minor interruption now.



Well, it’s several days later and I’m still waiting. I had knee surgery Wednesday and the Lord has blessed me with a good recovery. Still no word from the biopsy. I called last Tuesday, but the advanced tests required for t-cell lymphoma just take longer. There was a time when I would have gone nuts waiting six weeks for such news. I know the peace I’ve experienced has to come from God. Only this morning when preparing to teach 1st grade class, I was led to Matt 6 and the passage on worry. It was a comforting reminder. I cannot control if I have lymphoma or what stage it may be. I can only wait, pray & trust.

I had another startling discovery this week when I found a small lump on my left shin. Could it be a tumor connected with lymphoma? There are so many questions & so few answers right now.

While I wait for the results from my biopsy my doctor has prescribed UVA light therapy. I stand in a big metal light box 3 times a week. It is a recommended treatment for an inflammatory skin condition whether I have lymphoma or not. The first few treatments burned me badly — funny how you have to get worse to get better at times. My skin looked so much worse after the first few treatments it was hard not to become discouraged. Reminds me of our spiritual walk & how we must often be forced to confront how bad our sin is before we seek the healing power of Christ’s blood.

It’s frustrating to me now that my dermatologist in Abilene recommended light treatments 3 years ago. He didn’t say anything about the potential seriousness of the condition & wanted me to come in every day. It didn’t seem as important as the work I’d have to miss. How I wish I had followed through then.

After 3 weeks, I can see the light treatments are helping. I just hope they can help enough.

There’s so much I’m unsure of now. But the important things I know. Christ has won the final battle over death & Satan. God is strong enough to give me & my family the courage to face whatever is ahead. He will never leave me. He can use this challenge for his glory. That is enough.



The results of the biopsy finally came last Thursday. I was sitting in interviews in Benton on the Saline County water study. It was Dr. B——– and the results were positive for CTCL — cutaneous t-cell lymphoma. I had wondered how I would react if the news was bad. I just felt mainly relief to finally have an answer, to finally have a some direction, something to do. I dread what lies ahead, but it feels good to be out of limbo. Dr. B——– suggested I might contact drs. in Houston at M.D. Anderson or drs. at Yale in Connecticut. This is such a rare condition that it’s hard to find drs. with expertise. We decided that I would first see the head of dermatology at UAMS, the local academic medical center & go from there. I was fortunate to get an appt. w/ Dr. T– H— on Monday. We’ll have discussions on follow-up & treatments after that.

God continues to be faithful. I feel hopeful & strong. I am so grateful that somehow I had the urge to see another dermatologist. It was also really providential that I ended up seeing the doctor I did. I was scheduled to see another dr. that specialized in skin allergies, but he wasn’t on my insurance list. I almost didn’t see Dr. B——– — more insurance issues, but he decided to make an exception for me. Going to someone who made me aware of the CTCL possibility may have saved my life.

It is a sobering time, and I know there are hard times ahead. I still feel fortunate. One young man at church is battling terminal cancer. My best friend C—- lost a baby to a chromosomal abnormality. I’m sure either would have chosen to be in my shoes instead. My friend C—- is a physician & has been so encouraging to me. Of course Keith is a rock — so loving, so dependable & so unflappable. I am blessed to have him by my side. God is good.



Yesterday I met with the head of dermatology at UAMS, the state medical school complex to get a second opinion. It was frustrating that none of my medical records or the slides of my biopsies had been sent to him. In many ways he was in the dark, yet on a brief physical exam and my account of the biopsy results, he indicates a real doubt about the diagnosis of CTCL. He is also cautiously critical of my doctor’s decision to do UVA therapy. It means that we can do no further diagnosis because my skin has been treated. He is going to get the biopsy slides, do an independent analysis & let me know what he thinks late next week. My emotions are on a roller coaster again. On one hand, it would be a great relief to learn I do not have a potentially fatal disease. On the other hand, I would be back to uncertainty about my condition. The doctor was encouraging in his assessment that if I have CTCL, it would be extremely early & no aggressive treatment would be indicated. Overall I came away impressed by the knowledge & currency of information of this doctor.

I will make a shift to using him as my dermatologist or “the quarterback directing the game plan,” as he phrased it.

I got really annoyed today reading a column in the newspaper. One of the columnists is getting married this fall & was agonizing ad nauseam because the post office had discontinued the love stamp, leaving her without an appropriate choice to send her wedding invitations. I had the strongest urge to write her & say, “I’ve been wondering for most of the summer whether I’ll live to raise my children. You need to stop wasting time & energy on things so utterly unimportant. Focus on the joy of your wedding and on building your relationship with your future husband.”

I wonder how often God wants to send the same message to me about my anxieties & how I’ve ordered my priorities. If nothing else, I hope this experience produces in me a permanent shift in valuing what matters & treasuring each moment with those I love.

I wonder about how I’ll look back at this summer. Will I be thinking, “That was the summer I thought I was dying” or will I look back at it as the turning point when my perception of myself turned from strength & invincibility to frailty?

I had a moment in Indiana this summer that was so poignant. Keith, the kids and I had gone to Nashville, IN with Keith’s sister and brother-in-law. They decided to ride a “train” that gave a brief tour of the tourist town. I opted out both because I wanted to avoid the sun & I could spend a few moments in artist shops without kids. I stood waving on the sidewalk as the train started off with Keith & the kids accompanied by Aunt Linda and Uncle Dick. A part of me wondered whether I were seeing the future — Keith alone with the kids, supported by his sweet family. It was all I could do to hold back the tears.

Maybe the book hasn’t closed yet. I’m continuing to hope & to trust God.


I stayed with Mom most of last week as she had a procedure to remove basal cell carcinoma from her nose. It was of special concern because she had the same procedure three years ago in Dallas. If this was a recurrence of her previous cancer this was very bad news. Mom told me about her diagnosis just as we were returning from vacation. At the time it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. I just didn’t know how much more stress & uncertainty I could stand. In a way hearing about her condition was worse than worrying about my own health. Mom is 84, and I know I won’t have her too many more years. But I love her so much & she has been such a source of strength & inspiration to me, it’s hard to think about. We’ve both really been dreading her surgery for the past month.

Again, God was so good. He gave us both the strength to get through it & the results were good. There were only a few cancer cells — in a spot different from her previous surgery. Because it was such a small spot, the plastic surgeons was able to do a skin graft rather than the more extensive reconstructive surgery we were told to expect. She came through the surgery great & has suffered little pain as she recovers.

It’s amazing how my spirit has lightened this week. I feel like I’m emerging from a long, dark tunnel. There has been so much to dread & fear. As I’m passing each marker, God has shown mercy & has provided strength & courage to meet each challenge. Each challenge has confirmed that as I trust my Father, I have nothing to fear. God will not remove all challenges, but he will give me strength sufficient for each day.

The diary ends there.

To address the obvious question: I do not know if she sought, or received, a final diagnosis on the skin condition from Anderson or Yale or anywhere else. All I know is what you’ve read. I doubt that she did; I certainly wasn’t aware of any travel.

If I were her, I’m not sure I would have asked for one. Without knowing how limited your future is, you are free to live your life as you wish. You don’t have to tell your spouse because you don’t know. You don’t have to face the temptation to lie. You don’t have to endure the looks of pity and the awkward silences from others. You can live, knowing that — just like everyone else — someday you will die, because only God can cheat death, and He only does so on the rarest of occasions. The cost of not knowing is that you live the life of Schroedinger’s cat. You’re alive but you aren’t. But at least in not knowing, you can have a kind of peace.

That’s just the way I feel. I think that’s the way she felt. And I think I know her heart.

Angi continued to take UVA light treatments for many more years. Sometimes the skin condition would flare up a little; most of the time it seemed no more than a slight discoloration.

And so she lived — really lived — for another ten years, until a few months after moving to North Carolina to serve as provost for Western Carolina University, when another kind of cancer reared up within her cells, stage IV pancreatic cancer, which usually snuffs out life using a very short fuse. I suppose it’s possible that the second cancer could have metastasized from the first, but that process usually moves faster than 10 years as I understand it. I’m no doctor.

She passed from this life on May 8, 2013 — our daughter Laura’s 17th birthday.

Today would have been Angi’s birthday. But she still had a few things to share with us and tell us, a gift left behind for us.

This brief diary is something that our children and I can cherish so that we can know how much she loved us.

It also has answered a big big question I’ve had these two-plus years since Angi passed away: How did she face the threat of stage IV pancreatic cancer with such utter calm, grace, and resolve? How did she keep working, decide on the degree of treatment aggression, manage to have so many things prepared ahead of time in case she passed away?

Because she had already faced death and decided on the terms of engagement a decade before.

She left us this final gift, discovered among the work papers and documents that I waited a couple of years longer to examine and sort: her thoughts, her feelings, her decisions about how to face the worst and be stronger in faith even when physical, intellectual and emotional strength can fail.

I am still learning so much from her.


Read Angi’sDiary in her own handwriting.


IMG_2500It was time for a new set of flowers at Angi’s grave. I brought a yellow rose (her favorite) each for Matt, Laura and her mom, Harriette. The little white silk flowers are from me. They remind me of the baby’s breath in her wedding bouquet.

I’ll take back with me the sun-faded yellow roses Matt first placed there, the hydrangea (another of her favorites, and mine) that someone else brought, and the two bright purple blossoms (WCU purple!) that another kind soul added.

I don’t visit long there. It doesn’t feel like that’s where she is. When the kids and I were in Eureka Springs Saturday through yesterday, it felt more like she was there. I could see her smile in all our old favorite places.

Some of them are gone or going. Both Christmas stores are gone now, and the toy store where we used to take our children is going out of business. Things change. Things pass. But some never really change … like the feel of the town itself; the unique personalities of the residents; the heritage it tries to maintain.

I realized this weekend that I first visited Eureka Springs thirty years ago. Steam engines were still running on the railroad. The tourism boom was just beginning its resurgence. Bed and breakfast homes were opening like the flowers in the homes’ gardens come springtime.

I’d like to retire there someday. I’m pretty sure I’ve got at least three or four more years of career work left in me, and it makes more economic sense to retire then than now. I really enjoyed cruising and walking the streets, looking at the houses for sale, getting a sense of the land and the market.

If it’s possible — as John Denver’s song phrases it — to go home to a place you’ve never been before, I think it will be one of the homes in Eureka Springs.

Somewhere I can plant real flowers in a garden.

Angi loved them so much.

The Wound That Wants to Be Whole

The following is the text of the keynote address to the Communication Ethics Praxis Conference at Azusa Pacific University, February 9, 2012, delivered by my late wife, Angela Laird Brenton. She received her initial diagnosis of possibly advanced stage pancreatic cancer almost a year to the day later.

I want to express thanks to Brooke Van Dam and the Conference committee for inviting me to visit Azusa Pacific University. I am honored and humbled to deliver the keynote address on the 25th anniversary of the David C. Bicker Communication Ethics conference and to follow in the footsteps of so many of my friends and esteemed peers. I’m eager to enjoy the day with you, and to learn from you.

Angela BrentonOn a bright sunny crisp autumn morning on Oct. 6, 2006 a 32-year old milkman named Charles Carl Roberts IV walked into a one-room school house in Amish Country, the West Nickel Mines Amish School. He ordered the teacher and a visiting parent and all the male students out of the schoolhouse and ordered ten little girls aged 7-13 to lie on the floor in front of the chalkboard. He tied their hands and feet.   He told them, “I’m angry at God and I need to punish some Christian girls to get even with him.” Then he proceeded systematically to shoot each of them in the head, starting with Anna Mae Stoltzfus, 12, who begged him to shoot her first, hoping to spare her friends. Besides Anna Mae, Naomi Rose Ebersole, aged 7, Marian Fisher, 13, Mary Liz Miller, 8, and her sister Lena Miller, 7, died that day. Two of the other girls suffered massive injuries that resulted in lifelong disabilities. Finally Roberts killed himself.

In several suicide notes he left for family members, Roberts talked about two motives. He talked about having sexually assaulted two family members over 20 years ago and not being able to live with his guilt, although when family members were interviewed, they said the assault never happened. He also expressed bitterness, rage, and anger at God that had been building in him for nine years since his wife had given birth to their first child, a little girl that lived only 20 minutes.

In the midst of the shocking violence and loss, the Amish didn’t cast blame or demand vengeance. Forgiveness is so engrained as a value and a way of life that family members immediately reached out with grace and compassion to the killer’s family. They went to visit his wife and children to offer sympathy and to encourage them to stay in the community. They invited his family to funerals of their children. More Amish people than his own family turned out to his funeral to offer respect. A week later, his wife wrote an open letter to the community. It said, “Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy you’ve extended to use. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.”

The Amish school shooting case has fascinated scholars, journalists, and theologians in the last five years because of its sharp contrast – Charles Roberts, the killer who was tormented by the inability to give or receive forgiveness contrasted with the Amish community with forgiveness woven tightly into their very identity and culture.

Critics were quick to criticize the Amish, arguing that it is not natural or healthy to forgive so quickly with such a staggering loss, or saying that such immediate grace trivialized the loss and undermined justice. However Donald Kraybill in his book Amish Grace wrote: “The Amish willingness to forego vengeance does not undo a tragedy or pardon the wrong, but constitutes the first step toward a more hopeful future.” In fact only a few weeks after the shooting, the Amish razed the old school building and built a new school in an undisclosed location, a school named, “New Hope.” I think few of us given a choice to leave in the grace-less and unforgiving world of Charles Roberts or the grace-drenched world of the Amish would choose unforgiveness, yet we often find ourselves wounded and trapped in a maze of bitterness, anger or guilt without a clear way out.

In fact, Thomas Kahane offers an excellent metaphor on forgiveness in his book Solving Tough Problems, a reflection on his years of international peacemaking from South Africa to Columbia. He had related an account of a particularly amazing session of confession and forgiveness to a colleague. He had been amazed by the ability of human beings to recover from unimaginable brutality after they had an opportunity to tell and hear the truth. His colleague commented that his experience reminded her of an incident with her husband. They had been boating on Lake Michigan when her husband fell from the boat and was sucked into the motor, causing a deep gash in his leg. They rushed him to a hospital, seeking help. The surgeon, upon examining the horrifying would counseled them, “This kind of wound is too serious and too prone to infection to stitch up. We can only keep it clean and sanitary. The wound wants to be whole, and eventually the sides will come together.”

This morning I’d like to explore the theory and praxis of forgiveness, the wound that wants to be whole. I would also make the rather audacious claim that forgiveness has more potential to affect our lives and our world than any other form of ethical communication.

Let’s first look at forgiveness through three frames, theology, building better worlds and pragmatism. Each vantage point offers a different perspective of what forgiveness is, our motivations for forgiveness, and how we can find the path toward making the wound whole.


The first frame is, of course, theology, our concept of God and how he relates to us. Forgiveness is an important construct of most world religions. Consider this statement from Hinduism: ‘What is there that forgiveness cannot achieve? What can a wicked person do to him who carries the sabre of forgiveness in his hand?” or this from the Bahai faith: “Love the creatures for the sake of God and not for themselves. . . Humanity is not perfect, but if you look toward God you will love them and be kind to them for the world of God is the world of perfect and complete mercy.”

The Judeo-Christian God is a God of compassion and mercy toward his people. Nehemiah 9 provides a long view of God’s relationship with Israel. Even when his people chose evil over good, were unfaithful to their God, and exhibited pride and a lack of gratitude, time and time again God refused to turn his back on them and rescued them from distress. Consider these passages; “But you are a forgiving God, gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love. Therefore you did not desert them, even when they cast for themselves an image of a calf and said, “This is your God.” After years of evil when he allowed them to be captured by their enemies, he again heard their distress and “From heaven you heard them and in your great compassion, you gave them deliverers who rescued them from the hands of their enemies . . . and when they cried out to you again, you heard from heaven and in your compassion, you delivered them time after time.”

Jesus took human form and came to earth as a bridge to reconcile the relationship between God and man that had been severed in the garden of Eden. Romans 5: 6-11 “You see at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. . . God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us . . . Not only this but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.’

Perhaps no story is so poignant in showing God’s love and forgiveness than the parable of the prodigal son. You all know the story. The younger son asks his father for his inheritance (which at the time was equivalent to telling his father he wished he were dead). He goes to a far country and blows everything having a high ol’ time. Pride keeps him from returning until he finally finds himself, a good Jewish boy feeding pigs and not making enough to keep from starving. He prepares his apology and with humility prepares to ask his father to hire him as a servant. While the son is still far away, his father sees him and runs in an undignified way to meet him. He doesn’t even let him get the apology out of his mouth. He falls on his dirty, disgusting, beautiful boy, hugs and kisses him and commands his servants to bring him clothes and a ring, to kill the fatted calf and to throw a party on his return.

What does this tell us about God?

1. He never gave up hope for his son’s return and stood waiting and watching for him every day.

2. He gave his son free will. He allowed him to leave. He waited for him to return.

3. He forgave before his son returned. He didn’t wait for an apology.

4. He forgave with joy and completely restored the relationship.

5. He reached out with forgiveness to the judgmental older son as well.

Brendon Manning in the Raggamuffin Gospel writes, “What a word of encouragement, consolation and comfort! We don’t have to sift our hearts and analyze our intentions before coming home. Abba just wants us to show up. We don’t have to be shredded with sorrow or crushed with contrition. We don’t have to be perfect or even very good before God will accept us. We don’t have to wallow in guilt, shame, remorse and self-condemnation. Even if we still nurse a secret nostalgia for the far country, Abba falls on our neck and kisses us. Even if we come back because we couldn’t make it on our own, God will welcome us. He will seek no explanations about our sudden appearance. He is glad we are there and wants to give us all we desire.”

When Jesus taught his disciples how to pray in Matthew 6, he sent a clear message about the relationship between God’s forgiveness of us and our forgiveness of others. Remember the passage in the Lord’s prayer, “Forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.” He follows the last stanza of the prayer with an admonition: “For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” I used to think that was the scariest verse in the Bible. Will God really withhold his forgiveness of us if we can’t forgive others in some divine quid pro quo? I’ve thought about that a lot, and that explanation doesn’t fit with God’s nature as revealed by his relationship with Israel, as revealed by his sending Jesus to reconcile the world to himself while we were still sinners, in the mad dash to welcome the prodigal son. God doesn’t need us to forgive or to be sinless for him to lavish his love and mercy on us. Because he made us, he knows that if we are not people of grace and forgiveness, it will be hard for us to accept and receive his forgiveness. And if we truly, deeply understand the depth of our sin and what we’ve been forgiven, it will be impossible not to have grace gush out from us and overflow to others.

Go back to Charles Roberts, who deliberately murdered five little girls because he felt he couldn’t be forgiven by God, and thus couldn’t forgive God. When we can’t accept grace and feel forgiven, it is hard for us to forgive others.

Max Lucado writes In the Grip of Grace “To believe we are totally and eternally debt-free is seldom easy. Even if we’ve stood before the throne and heard it from the King himself, we still doubt. As a result, many are forgiven only a little, not because the grace of the king is limited, but because the faith of the sinner is small. God is willing to forgive all. He’s willing to wipe the slate completely clean. He guides us to a pool of mercy and invites us to bathe. Some plunge in, but others just touch the surface. They leave feeling unforgiven.”

To summarize forgiveness from a Christian theological perspective, we changed into people of grace by being reconciled with God through forgiveness of all of our sins through Christ. Because God showed compassion and mercy to us even though we were completely unworthy, we overflow with love and compassion for others, even when they are unworthy. We are never more Christlike than when we are able to forgive and restore relationships with others, reflecting the glory of God.

Building Better Worlds

A second perspective through which to think of forgiveness is the theory of social constructivism. Barnett Pearce, my dear friend and a former keynote speaker at this conference, who passed from this life only a few months ago, wrote a wonderful book, “Making Social Worlds.” He explained the ways in which we create the character of our relationships, organizations, and societies by the ways in which we individually and collectively communicate with one another. If in our communication with our children we engage in blaming, criticizing, and threatening speech acts we will create selves and relationships that are threatened, insecure and disaffirming. Especially in turning points in conversations and relationships, the quality of our communication will determine the path that relationship will take. Most of us would acknowledge that we have developed a toxic nature of public dialogue with little space for respectful discussion of areas in which we disagree. How could we develop communication skills and commitments that create a different social world in which to deliberate public policy and priorities? Russel Eans wrote in an Op Ed in the Pennsylvania Tribune Democrat shortly after the Amish school shootings, “I wonder if the Amish are not giving a message to America at a time when we are so polarized and gripped by an ethos of violence . . . I wonder if we as a nation did not miss the mark after September 11. What if instead of vengeance we had spoken of grace and forgiveness? I believe now that such a response would have done more to ‘shock and awe’ our enemies more than all the bombs and cruise missiles dropped on Iraq and Afghanistan.” Whether you agree with Ean’s conclusions or not, his point is well made that our communication response, whether on the personal or international level is consequential. We could project forward in considering where our current communication patterns are leading us, or could think backward when we are in a hostile social world about what communication patterns led us to this place, and how changing our communication patterns could shape a new social world. The work of Barnett’s life was discovering, teaching and modeling the forms of dialogue, listening and affirmation that led to understanding and respect among people of different races, different moral convictions, and different ideologies.

Forgiveness is a form of communication that builds more positive affirming social worlds. Gary Hawk wrote eloquently, “When we forgive one another we uphold the possibility of defining ourselves not simply in relation to an opponent across the table, an enemy across a line, or a violator of our trust, but in relation to something far more creative. When we forgive, we create conditions in which it is possible to learn from one another rather than defend ourselves against each other. When we forgive, we affirm that the world is much larger than the injury that consumes us. The closed door opens and we step out onto a stage where it is possible to associate with one another in ways less constricted by old memories. In this light we subjugate the memory of past harm to the hope of a new future.”

A particular form of building better social worlds is the African concept of ubuntu. Desmond Tutu in his beautiful book No Future without Forgiveness about the truth and reconciliation process in South Africa describes “ubuntu.” “Ubuntu is very difficult to render into a Western language. It speaks of the very essence of being human. When you have ubuntu you are hospitable, you’re generous and friendly and caring and compassionate.   It is to say, ‘My humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up in yours. We belong in a bundle of life. A person with ubuntu . . .know(s) that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished when others are tortured or oppressed, or treated as if they were less than who they are. To forgive is not just to be altruistic. It is the best form of self-interest. What dehumanizes you inexorably dehumanizes me. .”

He describes how ubuntu is involved in the most controversial aspect of the truth and reconciliation process in South Africa – that fact that oppressors guilty of unspeakable atrocities in south African would receive complete amnesty for their crimes if they told the complete truth about their crimes before tribunals organized to hear the stories from oppressors and victims. He speaks of restorative justice in the spirit of ubuntu in which the central purpose is healing breaches, rehabilitating both the victim and the oppressor, who should be encouraged to be part of the community he or she has injured.

The amnesty given to perpetrators was so complete that victims had no recourse to sue or press charges, as long as the offenders told the complete truth about their offenses. Tutu explained, “This is indeed a very high price to ask the victims to pay. That happens to have been the price those who negotiated our relatively peaceful transition from repression to democracy believed the nation had to ask of victims. But to compute the price properly, we should compare the high level of stability that we enjoy with the turmoil and upheaval that have so sadly characterized similar radical change in other countries.”

I was struck by the contrast between Tutu’s description of the sacrifice that victims made in South Africa with the account I heard of the aftermath of the “troubles” in Northern Ireland when I took a group of students there a couple of years ago. We had the opportunity to interact with Anne Carr, a remarkable Catholic woman who had spent her life in Northern Ireland. She had lost dear friends and family members to the violence. She was a member of the Northern Ireland Women’s Coalition, which was instrumental in the negotiated peace settlement. One of the students asked Anne about how the victims were working toward forgiveness and she replied that she felt the burden of forgiveness should be on those who committed violence, not on the victims. Brian Lennon in his book Peace Comes Dropping Slow explains this perspective: “Why should the victims of violence make some move toward reconciliation if the perpetrators do not? This makes the victims doubly burdened by the perpetrators’ crimes.” I was struck by their language casting forgiveness as a burden for victims, rather than as the way that Tutu described forgiveness in South Africa as an opportunity for healing breaches and restoring community.

Tutu writes: “ We have survived the ordeal and we are realizing that we can transcend the conflicts of the past, we can hold hands as we realize our common humanity . . . The generosity of spirit will be full to overflowing when it meets a like generosity. Forgiveness will follow confession and healing will happen, and so contribute to national unity and reconciliation. And no one in South Africa could ever again be able to say, “I did not know,” and hope to be believed.

To wrap up the second perspective on forgiveness, the ways in which we communicate create social worlds, both at the personal and international level. We can create relationships and organizations that are open, affirming, and hopeful by communicating in ways that are open, affirming and hopeful. We can also do the reverse, creating cycles that are hostile, cynical and closed. Communication plays a key role in building better social worlds – the world of the Amish rather than the hopeless and angry world of Charles Roberts. The principle of ubuntu offers a particular approach toward building an open interdependent society through seeing forgiveness as enlightened self interest. In forgiveness we seek restorative justice in which both the victim and offender are healed and restored to community, ending cycles of revenge and retribution.


A final perspective through which to view forgiveness is pragmatism. In this view, we seek to find forgiveness as an internal process because it is the only route toward our internal healing. William H. Walton coined the apt phrase, “To carry a grudge is like being stung to death by one bee.” Lewis Smedes writes, ‘To forgive is to set the prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” Research has shown that unresolved anger and bitterness have serious physical and emotional consequences. My husband Keith and I saw this firsthand as we worked with a divorce recovery group a few years ago. Everyone healed in different ways and in different time frames. However one young woman had been so devastated by her husband’s leaving her for another woman that her anger and rage was as fresh five years after the divorce as if it had happened yesterday. The effects on her were tragic. She gained a huge amount of weight. Her daughters, 8 and 12 at the time of the divorce were repelled by the venom in her home. Her older daughter got married at 17 and moved 2000 miles away. Her younger daughter chose to live with her father at age 16, another blow and betrayal for our dear friend. I’m happy to say that she finally found a way to forgive and move on with her life, but after such a cost. Today, she is a happy and serene woman who works with inner city youth. She’s re-established her relationship with her daughters and now dotes on grandchildren. All the time when our sweet sister was literally eating herself alive with her anger and bitterness, her ex-husband was going on blithely with his life, unaffected by her desire to strike back at him.

Not only could we look at the pragmatic effects of forgiveness in our own lives, but forgiveness can also have a dramatic effect on those we forgive, especially when someone is weighted down and paralyzed by guilt. I have the opportunity to teach once a semester in a prison program which prepares inmates for their ultimate release from prison. Various teachers spend an evening talking about skills and perspectives the men will need to lead a successful life in the outside world. I teach about interpersonal conflict and forgiveness. I’ll never forget one middle-aged man named Louis sitting on the front row. As we began talking about forgiveness, he started to weep so loudly that everyone in the room could hear. Now, this is a tough place, a maximum security prison where many of the inmates have been convicted of murder, assaults, rape, or other violent crimes. Men don’t let themselves be vulnerable to the others too often. Yet, here was Louis, weeping like a child. When he could speak, he simply said, “I killed a family’s only son. I took their seed. I’m so sorry. I’ve written them a dozen letters begging them to forgive me. But they’ll never be able to.   Why should they? I don’t know how I’m going to be able to live with this for all my life.” Think of the new beginning and hope that forgiveness would have given Louis.

At times extravagant gestures of forgiveness have impact far beyond the two parties. In the era just before the end of apartheid an idealistic young American named Amy Biehl went to South Africa to join in the movement to enfranchise blacks in the political process. As she was leaving a meeting one night, her path crossed an angry mob of young black males, and she was brutally murdered. Her family flew to South Africa to be at the trial of one of young men accused of her murder. They shocked the whole country when instead of demanding vengeance, they begged for mercy for the young man. They said to do any less would dishonor the memory of their daughter who gave her life because she wanted a future for young men exactly like the one charged in her death. The picture of the Biehls embracing the mother of the man accused of their daughter’s murder inspired a nation with the hope of reconciliation.

There are times when our forgiveness means nothing at all to the person who harmed or hurt us. Perhaps they are unaware they have hurt us, or maybe they don’t care. Maybe they have developed rationalizations or excuses for their action. Whether our forgiveness means a thing to the other party, forgiveness ALWAYS benefits us. John McArthur wrote: “Forgiveness unleashes joy. It brings peace. It washes the slate clean. It sets all the highest values of love in motion.” Hannah More adds: “Forgiveness is the economy of the heart . . . forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, and the waste of spirit.” Forgiveness in this pragmatic sense heals us, allows us to let go of past hurts and move forward to a more hopeful future.

These three perspectives of forgiveness are obviously intertwined to some degree. If we are people of faith who believe our forgiveness flows through us from God, we probably also feel a strong commitment to create better social worlds and feel that God asks us to forgive primarily because it benefits us. Yet there are also differences. Not all people who believe restorative justice and the potential of forgiveness to restore community have a religious basis for their conviction. And not all Christians would agree that in forgiveness we may seek restorative justice, absolving offenders from the consequences of their action in order to heal them and restore them to the community. Some who write about the pragmatic benefits of forgiveness as an internal process do not necessarily believe that forgiveness leads to interpersonal forgiveness or reconciliation, while reconciliation is at the heart of a theological model.

Defining Forgiveness

So with these frames in mind, let me try to define forgiveness and talk about how we work toward forgiveness. Definitions of forgiveness vary based on which of the three perspective you adopt. Enright and his colleagues offer a definition very much aligned with a theological frame: “forgiveness involves the casting off of deserved punishments, the abandonment of negative reactions, the imparting of love toward the other person, a self sacrificial nature, the potential restoration of the relationship, and positive benefits to the forgetter.” Whereas Lewis Smedes offers a simple definition that fits the pragmatic frame: “forgiveness is the art of healing inner wounds inflicted by other people’s wrongs.” Waldron and Kelly in their book Communicating Forgiveness offer one of the more comprehensive definitions that might fit any of the perspectives: “Forgiveness is a relational process whereby harmful conduct is acknowledged by one or both partners; the harmed partner extends undeserved mercy to the perceived transgressor; one or both parties experience transformation from negative to positive psychological states; and the meaning of the relationship is renegotiated with the possibility of reconciliation.”

Several questions emerge when we consider the nature of forgiveness:

1) Is it an intrapersonal or interpersonal process? Do we have to tell the other person we forgive them or can we just come to an inner state of acceptance and peace? The answer to this question varies based on the paradigm you adopt. David Augsberger, a theologian at Fuller Seminary calls “internal forgiveness” an artifact of our self-absorbed society and argues that true forgiveness is always a dyadic process with the goal of restoring the relationship and healing for both parties. Since our forgiveness for others flow out of gratitude for our forgiveness from God, we practice the ministry of reconciliation just as Jesus restored the relationship between God and man. From the perspective of ubuntu, in which we are all connected and mutually responsible for each other’s well being, it would be hard to maintain an internal peace in the face of our neighbor’s torment who pleads to be released from his guilt. Forgiveness can only occur when both are healed and restored to community with one another.

However, Lewis Smedes who operates more from a pragmatic perspective states that forgiveness is always an internal process, while reconciliation must be negotiated interpersonally after forgiveness. We need not wait for repentance or a request to forgive before we forgive someone. He says requiring another person to ask for forgiveness is like being in a prison with the keys in your own hand, but waiting for your tormentor to give you permission to unlock the door. Yet the restoration of the relationship must depend on the offended party perceiving genuine repentance and a commitment to a different relationship in the future. There are times when we need to forgive people even though we have no way of communicating our forgiveness to them – finally reaching forgiveness for a parent who is dead, or forgiving a friend who we no longer have contact with. In cases of violent crime like rape, can we really expect a victim to seek out and express forgiveness for her attacker even when she achieves an internal state of peace and acceptance about the event?

Gary Hawk illustrates the relationship between intrapersonal and interpersonal processes of forgiveness with this tree diagram:

The base of the tree trunk represents the offense. The small branches from the base of the trunk represent early decisions to withhold forgiveness. The left hand large branch is a route toward internal forgiveness and healing, letting go of the offense and focusing on the future rather than the past. The right hand large branch involves negotiating forgiveness interpersonally with the party who harmed us. In some relationships, we may move immediately in one direction or the other. Yet, you will note at the top of the tree, sometimes the branches which grew separately become intertwined again in the top branches. Sometimes long after we have achieved an internal state of forgiveness, we may be motivated to reach out to the other person to try to restore the relationship, such as a child who was abandoned by a parent who never desired a relationship, but at some point when the parent is ill or when the child has children of his own place greater value on restoring some type of relationship with the estranged parent.

2. A second related question about forgiveness is whether forgiveness always involves reconciliation. The answer from a theological or ubuntu perspective would usually be yes. Once in a class when I had expressed the perspective that we can genuinely forgive another person without feeling it is wise or safe to continue a relationship with him or her, one of my students challenged, “How would we feel if God had taken that perspective with us, and told us that he forgives us but doesn’t want to have anything more to do with us?” Ubuntu sees the purpose of forgiveness as healing breaches and restoring both the offender and the victim to a cooperative community.

3. A third important question is the relationship between justice and forgiveness. Some would argue that expecting parties who have been enslaved, tortured, and oppressed to forgive without first restoring justice is placing all the burden of forgiveness on the oppressed party. This is the perspective taken by some in Northern Ireland. It is also deeply embedded in Jewish law and religious practice. If I have offended or injured a party, before I can ask for forgiveness¸ I must demonstrate repentance and make restitution. Once I have done so, the party I have offended is obligated to forgive. Dag Hammarskjold, the former United Nations leader, took a different perspective. He stated, “Forgiveness breaks the chain of causality because he who forgives you out of love takes upon himself the consequences of what you have done. Forgiveness therefore always entails a sacrifice.”   Sara Paddison offered the additional thought, “Sincere forgiveness isn’t colored with expectations that the other party apologize or change. Don’t worry about whether they finally understand what they have done. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time.” It is a difficult issue, but when we withhold forgiveness until the scales of justice are somehow balanced, the scales are never perfectly balanced, and the person who suffers the most from the forgiveness delayed is the victim who continues to live with bitterness, anger and vengeful feelings.

A final question that often emerges about forgiveness is whether it involves forgetting and absolving the offender of consequences. From a theological perspective, this is what God offers us when He forgives. Yet as humans, it is difficult for us completely to forget an offense. At times, it may be wise to remember to avoid being a victim again.   While we may not be able to forget, when we forgive, we don’t “wallow’ in an offense any more, or to make it a focus of our attention. We may not have control over legal or natural consequences of an action, but we remove consequences that are under our direct control. If we forgive, we don’t continue to remind, keep score and punish the person we have forgiven. To do so undermines any future for the relationship.

Healing Through Truth

With an understanding of forgiveness, how do we do it? How do we heal the wound that wants to be whole? Gary Hawk discusses four “strands” of forgiveness. The first is truth. We cannot forgive until both parties have told the truth and faced the truth. That is why truth was the prerequisite for reconciliation in South Africa¸ and why truth was so important that victims were willing to give up legal recourse in exchange for truth. I’m presently working with an Institute for Race and Ethnicity facilitating inter-racial dialogues in communities long divided and stunted by years of segregation and oppression. The wounds cannot be healed until they are opened and the infection of years of denial and silence cleansed. Only when we have had a chance to tell our stories and hear the stories of others can we hope to build a stronger community built on acknowledgement of the painful truth of the past.

Healing Through Restraint

Hawk says that a second strand of forgiveness is restraint. We must suppress our natural instinct for vengeance – for the other person to experience hurt in the way that we have been hurt, to try to achieve some justice on our own.

Healing Through Empathy

A third very important strand is empathy. We must see our abuser or betrayer as a fellow human being rather than as a monster. Smedes tells a touching story in his book of a survivor of a concentration camp during World War II. She was tormented by a brutal guard who leered at her, continually, threatening to rape or abuse her. Her hatred became so intense for him that she feared it would totally consume her, so she sought day by day to find a way to see the humanity of the guard. She said she finally saw small indications of his better nature, a smile as he talked to a fellow guard, a brief touch on the head of a child, and that was enough for her to feel empathy and realize that he was as much a victim as she of the cruel concentration camp.

Healing With Commitment

Finally is the strand of commitment. Especially when we move from forgiveness to reconciliation or toward trying to integrate our enemy back as a valued member of a community, we must express our full commitment to the relationship. Ken Sande in his book the Peacemaker says that we make several commitments when we promise to forgive:   a commitment that I will no longer dwell on this offense, bring it up against you, or let it interfere with our relationship.

There is no formula or time frame that works for every individual in working toward the difficult process of forgiveness. A friend of mine was brutally raped. She worked with a Christian therapist who helped her understand that she could never heal emotionally from the attack until she could forgive. She told him she didn’t feel she could ever forgive. He asked her if she could pray to God for her attacker. Again, she said she couldn’t honestly pray to God on his behalf. So finally he asked her just to pray to God that he would open her heart to mercy, and slowly over time as she prayed, God opened her heart to that request. Then she began to pray that God would change her rapist’s heart. Eventually she came to peace and forgiveness.

I have come to see forgiveness not just as a command of God, but as a gift of God. Ken Sande writes: Above all remember that true forgiveness depends on God’s grace. If you are trying to forgive others on your own, you are in for a long and frustrating battle. But if you continually ask for and rely on God’s strength, you can forgive even the most painful offenses.” We can see the offense and struggle to forgive not as a burden, but as stewardship and an opportunity to glorify God.

I’ll end with a final quote from Gary Hawk that offers the most beautiful description of the grace that God offers in healing our wounds that longs to be whole:

“Even though people may labor toward forgiveness through numerous internal states and stages, it is the experience of many people that one morning, we wake up and discover that what was done to us is no longer the focus of our daily attention. Like a river thawing in the middle of the night, we find that the hardness of our self-protection is falling away. Though we have knocked on a certain door a thousand times without gaining entrance, one morning it is suddenly and simply open. Though all of our best energies have been tied in the knot of memory, one day we discover that the knot has slipped out of the rope. Suddenly we are free of this constriction and the rope may be used to bind things together. This is the experience of transcendence. At times it comes to us more as an inexplicable gift than the result of a series of steps of our determined labor.”

In the end, only the Great Healer can knit together the wound that wants to be whole.

For Better or Worse

A year ago, we received the initial diagnosis of Angi’s stage four pancreatic cancer.

A couple of days ago, I lost my uncle Mark Alfred.

A couple of hours ago, I posted on Twitter and Facebook, “I was going to whine, but I decided I am too blessed for that.”

And I am.

Whether you believe in a loving, forgiving God who brings people back to life, or an angry all-powerful God who strikes people dead, or both, or neither … you can bank on this:

Things can always be worse than they are.

There, I’ve said it. I’m not taking it back. Cheap, televangelist, sop wit philosophy.

Nevertheless: true.

One year ago and less, things were much worse than you know in my world and you still don’t need to know how bad or what it was that made it that bad. Some of you prayed about it, not even knowing what you were praying about, and that didn’t matter because I believe God heard.

And He kept things from being much worse.

You see, last night I dreamed about Angi. Dreams don’t make sense, so just ride with me. Angi and I were touring the local high school. Maybe it was a parent night; I don’t know. In this dream, Angi could talk.

But she couldn’t make sense. Just as she couldn’t in reality, those last few days of her life.

In this dream, she could walk. But barely, and she couldn’t mount stairs without a lot of help — just as it was in those last weeks of her life, while the cancer attacked her brain.

You know, she could have survived. Angi could have survived like that, for a long long time, suffering and struggling to climb steps and make sense and express herself. She could have had the kind of life no one would wish on themselves, and no kind person would wish on anyone else.

It could have been worse than even that. I could have lost her, and a child, or both children, more family, more dear ones. It happens to all kinds of people all the time, in crimes and terrorist acts and wars and disasters.

I could have been widowed plus childless, jobless, homeless, penniless, friendless, hopeless. Any combination, or all.

None of that took place. People who loved us and cared for us … edged quietly in from every part of my life to help, provide, shelter, comfort, to mourn, and to respect the sudden vacuum created in my family’s lives without trying to replace the dearest one that we had lost.

You can choose to believe they did it of themselves. You can choose to believe that God worked through them. Whatever you believe, they were there.

Keeping things from being so much worse than they could have been.

I know what I choose to believe.

I don’t think the phrase “for better, for worse” was a part of the wedding vows Angi and I repeated to each other. We wrote our own, and in the joy of the moment, each forgot much of what we’d written — and winged it. I remember promising “… in good times and bad, wealth and want, prosperity or poverty, illness or health ….”

Things were always better when Angi was in my life.

And I choose for them to remain better because Angi was in my life.

I don’t think it has taken me a lifetime or the 22 years of our marriage or even the past year to come to that conclusion … just to put it into words.

Those are my two-bit words of wisdom: We choose.

We choose how we view and how we deal with what life brings us, and what it takes away.

Every hour, every day, every year.

For better or worse.

Not Exactly a Prayer


I think I understand now why the Charlie Anderson character in “Shenandoah” feels more comfortable talking to his dead wife than he does talking to You.

I understand Charlie’s dinner-table prayers better now. The anger. The insistence on self-sufficiency. The determination to pray anyway because that was what she had done and it would have made her happy if she were still there at the dinner table.

I comprehend better what he feels to have a son distant and a daughter to whom awful things have happened.

Is that what this is all about, God? Becoming more compassionate toward a character in a drama?

No. Of course not.

But it’s not like You’re going to tell me what it’s all about, either. Those days of You speaking out of the whirlwind are gone, aren’t they?

Even Your answers to Job were mostly questions. Like that would help.

And It’s not like I blame you that Angi’s gone. You didn’t do that. I know who did, and I hate the evil that urges sin that leads to death at least as much as You do.

Yet you permit it. Sin and death, I mean. You let it happen. And there are millions of us who are trying to figure out why. Some will pin their disbelief on it. If You existed and You are good, they say, You wouldn’t permit it.

As if they understand all about You and can judge You any better than Adam and Eve did. Or what good is. Or what love really means.

Oh, I have my theories. That You created us to choose, and to make the choice fair You make it based entirely on faith and our perception of good in what we experience. You give us the choice to love You and others more than self or to love self more than anything else. And it doesn’t always work. A lot of us choose to love self thinking somehow that in spite of all the consequences of social alienation and personal guilt and even some perception of Your absence in our lives, being in love with self feels so good that it’s the best thing ever. I get that.

What I can’t fathom is why You would put someone in my life and the lives of so many others who loved self less and others more — someone who did that with such grace and abandon, like Angi — only to allow her to be taken away when so many years of that exemplary love could have blessed so many more, and so deeply.

I don’t get that at all.

I suppose it’s part of this whole faith environment that You remain inscrutable as a stone Buddha on the matter.

No, I haven’t forgotten Your Son. I know you allowed the same thing to happen to Him, and worse, and at probably half Angi’s age. I also know she went out of this world with all of the confidence in Your power to bring life back and better that He did.

Is that what this is about? Faith at the end? Faith that doesn’t quit? Faith that looks ahead in love?

Because I’ve got to tell You that, even with all the faith I can generate, life without her seems pretty awful right now, no matter how many other blessings You may send. Maybe I should see them better for what they are, but the proportion of pain seems so gigantic in my life that they are often eclipsed.  Life is empty and dark and cold, and its purpose is murky and its foundation is shaky and its ultimate end is never in sight — like the horizon of a planet too big to circumnavigate in a thousand years.

My friends say it’s all right to be angry with You. That Job got angry with You. That the psalmists were often angry with You. That You’re big enough to take it.

But being angry doesn’t help. And blaming doesn’t help. And being theoretical about theodicy doesn’t help. And being overwhelmed by grief doesn’t help.

Nothing. Helps.

Angi’s gone. And I’m still here. And, with the tiniest fraction of all her extraordinary gifts, I’m supposed to muck through all of this life stuff without her.

I get that, too.

She’s not around to talk to anymore. She’s not here to listen, not here to offer advice, not here to comfort or counsel or give warmth or a sweet embrace when words don’t work anymore. She was never stingy with any of that.

So I hope You understand that, just like Charlie Anderson, sometimes I’d rather talk to her.

Than to You.

And I trust that You really are big enough to take that.


I Feel a Little Betrayed

I admit it.

I thought they were a few words from God, whispered by His Spirit into my mind:

“You could be very happy married to this woman for the rest of your life.”

I thought that they implied somehow that I would, in fact, be married to Angi for the rest of my life.

That I would go first, because she was the stronger and smarter and sweeter and more spiritual of the two of us and she would be able to handle everything better without me than I ever could without her.


The pain. The loss. The alone-ness.

There was no second phrase, “if she outlives you.”

Or “until she succumbs to pancreatic cancer.”

I feel a little betrayed. Because the implication seemed so clear.

And those words 23 years ago (and a little more) proved to be so very prophetically true.

was happy. Blissfully happy. Gloriously happy. Sometimes ridiculously happy.

But that’s not what the words actually said; those words that I heard in my mind and heart in that once-and-once-only-in-a-lifetime moment when I thought I heard God.

“You could ….”

I could have chosen to be unhappy anyway, married to the sweetest person God ever put in the path of anyone ever.

I could have decided to hurt and betray her and end our marriage in divorce and wound our children and friends and family and church – not that it was ever a temptation, ever.

The point is, those were possibilities; things I could have done, among many other things that I could have chosen.

And she could have chosen. Not that it was ever in Angi’s nature to choose anything that didn’t, to the best of her ability, strengthen our marriage and benefit our kids and honor God.

And He could have chosen something else.

He did. He chose to let His Son take her home, long before I was ready, long before we had enjoyed the retirement years we had just begun to talk about, and just before our kids are fully though nearly grown.

That’s what I’m beginning to realize, and what I’m trying not to feel betrayed about.

What I heard in my heart all those years ago was an opportunity.

A chance to do-over, since my first marriage failed.

A choice that I could make to be happy with the once-and-only-once-in-a-lifetime Angela Laird.

That’s what I chose.

The hard part is choosing the same thing now, without her in the years ahead that we had envisioned and hoped for and had begun to plan for.

Those words were not a guarantee, implied or expressed.

They were an opportunity.

I don’t have to hear them whispered into my mind again to know that I have the same opportunity now that I did then.

Or to know that, in that way, you and I are no differently blessed.

I could be happy.

You could be happy.

Did I hear those words from God?

In this life, I may never know.

I only know that they were true.