Here’s a card I wouldn’t mind sending to a few people:
Okay, I know some people who would love to hand deliver one of these to me.
Candy coated hostility steeped in sunshine, smothered in syrupy sweet insincerity and strung taut between the teeth of seething animosity–it’s what happens when being nice fails to deal honestly with being hurt.
A few faces come to mind. I see them, palms rubbing together as I open the envelope, an evil gleam ricochets off squinted eyes as I pull out the card. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning, and . . . well–I’ve done things.
Some people would like for God to repay me for what I’ve done, or what they thought I’ve done. Or what they told others I’ve done, or heard from someone else who thought I must have done something–or maybe that I’d failed to do something, or didn’t quite live up to their expectations. Or just that I look like I’ve done something I shouldn’t have done and that somehow offended them after hearing about all the other things I’ve done or failed to do from others who’ve heard about the fame of my failing to do certain things I may or may not have failed to do.
A few things come to mind, too. Some ‘not so funny’ things that have cost me years of anguish and grief. Some miserable failings; some outright nasty things; some careless flippant things; things I have deeply regretted.
I didn’t get to be a saint by being a saint all my life. I got in the same way anyone who gets forgiven gets in: Grace. Why does it seem to have disappeared from our vocabulary these days?
*originally posted March 28, 2010