This week is the last chance to practice forgiveness. Not really, of course, but it marks the completion of the series in which we convened with the intention of breaking the boundaries of compassion. Our time together has been dear. 

 

The members agreed to ninety minutes on Sunday mornings. Not a huge investment. Spread out as it was over May and June it paralleled the metamorphosis of foliage, increased light, and warmer air. Each of us expressed how the group has effected change. Yawned our hearts to one another, and to our own past hurts. 

 

For giveness. Cleaving the word in two invokes the chance to become more generous. Giveness, a sister to kindness. Brother to openness. All facets of the single stone that reflects sunrays in fresh directions. 

 

Forgiving each other for the thousand paper cuts of offenses brings us closer. I never did the blood brother ritual of sliced fingertips, but this comes close. Having been a witness to the stories of people who have upgraded from victim to conquistador brings depth to the prayer "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." For the first time I realized that those words are not a bribe to entice us to amnesty, but rather a cause and effect description of what is as unchanging as the return of longer days in the spring.