On Forgiveness, Firetrucks and Feedback

Forgiveness.  Apparently this is one of the greatest lessons I need to learn in my lifetime. In the past few years, I've been given the opportunity to work through some profound hurt and betrayal.  In the process, I've found my "recipe" for forgiveness.  Here it is: 

1. Find a lesson in the painful experience; 
2. Experience gratitude for this lesson; 
3. Translate that gratitude into an appreciation, for some aspect (no matter how small or seemingly insignificant) of the person to be forgiven; and
4. Eventually, (not always a quick process for me,) the appreciation leads to compassion which releases me from the anger and resentment I was holding onto.

Some things I've discovered along the way:

• In my closest relationships, I need to "rinse and repeat."  The closer we are, the more opportunities for hurt.  The more I use this process, the less baggage I'm holding.
• Forgive and forget?  I do not forget. If I forget, I've lost the lesson and I'm doomed to repeat it.  It is possible for me to forgive and love someone, while recognizing behaviors that don't work for me.  This allows me to choose if and when I can safely engage again.
• I can't take it personally when others won't forgive me.  We all learn at our own pace.  I am choosing to heal and grow.
• If I can express my appreciation and compassion TO the person I am forgiving it increases my liberation exponentially.

If you follow my blog, you are familiar with my history and how I am working to find peace with my birth family.  The Christmas season is challenging because my husband, children and I are no longer part of that family.  Last week I was inspired to write some "poetry" (and I use that term loosely!) to my Dad.  I expressed appreciation for some of the good times I could recall with him.  It felt good to write; I was certainly seeking a deeper level of peace for myself but I truly hoped it would bring him joy as well.  The poem is below although the formatting doesn't work here.  (It may also help you to understand that my Dad drove an LP gas truck for years and that Amanda is a firetruck, purchased by the City of Washington, Missouri in 1946 with funds willed to the City by Amanda Kloentrup.  "Miss Amanda Kloentrup" was painted on the front bumper of the firetruck which remained in service until the early '70s....1973 I think?)

My best memories of you involve a truck, Dad. I thought I'd share some of them....

A Truck

When I was young, there were some very special days.

A big surprise!  I’d get to ride along with you in The Truck!

Into the cab of the big gas truck I’d climb.

In the passenger seat I’d ride, feeling special, chosen to share time with you.

All the day, on what must have been your longest routes, the powerful truck carried us.

I can still recall the smell of the cab, the metal folder that held your receipts, the rumble of the seat beneath me as you changed the gears with ease.

Excitedly, you took me places I had never been and I can’t even say where.

Once we stopped at Cuivre River and had a picnic lunch; a fairy tale to have all your attention and see the places you went to work each day.

Each trip ended the same way, with a trip to Riecher’s Station.

I’d get to choose some candy, like Kentucky Mints.

You’d have a bag of peanuts, the dancing peanut, with monocle and top hat, smiling at me.

There was always a fire truck in your life.

The days of Amanda were the best.

It was a tiny firehouse, there was a basement that seemed scary to me, but I think that’s where the sodas came from???  so it was worth the trip down there after all.

There was a wonderful heater upstairs.  I felt so cozy and warm in the cold, damp garage when that furnace would run.  Do I remember seeing the flames from a grill in the front?

Was there a metal plate in the concrete floor?  Through a small hole in that plate I think I could peek into the basement?  It was so long ago.

Then came the Mack, the bulldog Mack firetruck.  

I was jealous of that truck!  From my 9 year old perspective, it stole you from me every Sunday when you worked on the blueprints and plans.

But we got to ride first, mom made sure of that.

I remember being in the “new” firehouse with you, being charged with cleaning the truck windows.

Apparently my childhood Windex skills couldn’t measure up and you had to redo my work.

Guess what?  I still don’t use Windex.

I hope by now the fire department has discovered SPRAYWAY, World’s Best Glass Cleaner

And that 10 year-olds aren’t the best window washers. Ha ha!

It is fitting that I have a photo of you and Claire in your antique fire truck on my wall.

As time went on you were able to have your very own big red truck.

I recall two days distinctly,  when you drove and I rode along.

One day we drove in Washington.  To and from where I do not recall.

We spoke honestly and sincerely.

You expressed gratitude for me getting you started in “the business.”

You also expressed regret that you couldn’t have paid for my college.

Few things in life have brought me greater joy

than watching your quality of life improve as the business grew.

A child will ALWAYS seek the parent’s approval.

Simply hearing you acknowledge my efforts was wonderful.

I was happy to have made a difference.

As far as my college tuition,

Paying my own way made me who I am today.

Everything happens for a reason.

Each experience in life offers a lesson.

I learned discernment; the difference between  “want” and “need”

in those years when I wrote a check to MOHELA each month.

I was blessed to be able to write those checks and grateful I could do so.

Finally, there was the day we moved to Westwood.

You were supposed to wait at the house for Laclede Gas.

You ended up schlepping who knows how many loads for us in your big red truck;

the moving company underestimated the volume of our earthly possessions.

I rode with you.  

Your truck carried tons of cargo that day, but the heaviest load was my heart.

I had to be brave for my girls; in your truck I could cry as the quicksand of life shifted beneath me.

Life had thrown David and me a curve ball.

Everything we’d planned and worked for seemed null and void.  

Our daughters’ hearts were broken.

We were doing what we had to do, like it or not.

Moving into a neighborhood where we didn’t fit in,

Paying an obscene mortgage for a home we didn’t really like,

so that our beautiful, brilliant girls could make the most of their talents.

We’d do it again, no doubt.

But, the bright spot in that day came with you.

When the last box was off the truck, we took a rest.

Do you remember?

My beloved, crazy realtor stopped by with a 6 pack to say WELCOME TO LADUE!

We sat in the kitchen.  Surrounded by towers of boxes that contained our disheveled lives.

What did we do?  We got our priorities straight.

We found a bottle opener and cracked open some beers.

Then it seemed like life would go on, in our own way, on our own terms, in this foreign land.

We had so much work ahead, but

we took the time to celebrate the end of one way of life and the beginning of another.

I believe you were sitting on the only available “chair;”

a cooler holding the sadly random contents of our fridge.

We laughed among the chaos and disorder of our lives.

I was so glad you were there.

With your truck.

I wish I could ride again,

just the two of us in your truck.

That environment seems like sacred ground to me.

Safe and private, it seems to draw out the best of times.

Thank you for those times.

I love you!

I signed the letter and mailed it with no expectations.

Since I started my blog I've shared my history, struggles, triumphs and crazy "stuff" from the Universe.  Through my writing you've witnessed much of my "healing journey," and you know my eyes have been opened to much beyond this physical world.  You know I'm searching for a way to get back to that experience of Oneness I found in my near death experience; I'm walking paths I would have once deemed "for crazies only!"  One path led me to understand that our souls try to communicate with us through our dreams.  I figured this is a pretty important resource so I started journaling my dreams.  After studying with some amazing teachers, I've gotten pretty good at interpreting my own dreams and in my coaching practice, I am helping others interpret theirs as well.

The night I was sure my Dad received the letter, I had a dream.  I could only recall a tiny fragment of the dream, but it is said you recall what is important so I interpreted it as always. 

Here is my dream:

David (my husband) gave me a gift of a BEAUTIFUL necklace; like none I've ever seen.  It was a very modern choker made of layers of shiny, thick, silver links.  From the choker dropped an antique heart locket.  The locket had a beautiful, design engraved in it.  It came with a tiny piece of silver, also in the shape of a heart, with a lengthy serial number etched in it.  I don't recall the number but I do know "23" was part of the sequence of numbers.

This might seem inconsequential but this dream fragment is rich in valuable symbols:

David, my spouse, represents the aspect of me that is committed to wholeness. This is the part of me that knows the importance of aligning my conscious mind with my subconscious "essence" in order to fulfill my purpose in life. 

The necklace was a gift.   A gift that is received is some value that is not of my effort; it is some "natural talent" possessed when I came into this world.  I believe my gift is writing.

Jewelry is the value I hold in how I express myself to others.  The way I express myself to others makes a difference in my life and theirs.  The necklace was exquisitely beautiful; I place great value on the way I express myself to others.

Silver represents purity.  The expression was pure; in this case pure of heart!  My only desire in writing the poem was to create peace and perhaps joy.

Heart shape can represents many things: life, soul, the essence of a person, love compassion, caring.

Antiques are longstanding ideas which have great value.  Ideas of enduring value promote soul growth.  In a dream, an antique shows an understanding you possess that is valuable to your soul.  I believe the antique nature of the locket represents my understanding of the value of forgiveness.

Locket represents a long lasting relationship.  My relationship with my father is the second longest of my life.

Serial number is a unique means of identification.  I wish I could recall all the digits, but those of you who know me know that 23 is my "special number."

So what does this feedback mean?

I believe my soul is telling me that the poem I sent was a big step for me in my journey of forgiveness.  I'm aligning my conscious acts with my soul's purpose.  With pure intention, I used my writing skills to express love to my aging father in a unique way, with sentiment that only I am capable of conveying.  I know the value of forgiveness.

So I will continue looking for opportunities to forgive.  It feels good, it's getting easier for me with all this practice and besides, my soul approves!

Epilogue:

I finished writing this post this afternoon.  I thought maybe it didn't have as much "zing" as some of my other posts.  Insecurities set in and I thought maybe nobody would be interested in reading it.  I decided it wasn't worth posting and when my daughter invited me to see a movie with her, I said sure, why not?

We saw the film Carol.  Imagine my surprise when I saw, on Cate Blanchett's wrist, a bracelet that looked EXACTLY like the choker in my dream.  (Well the bracelet was gold, my choker was silver.)  I took this as a sign from the Universe that I needed to post what I'd written.  

Please forgive typos and grammatical errors.  This writing comes in a flow from the heart and I admit, I am not perfect!