Ours was the home friends gravitated to. Where the door was always open and some homemade delicious meal to feed an army was baking in the oven. It was a place in which it was impossible not to feel a heart full of love and peace.
As I worked to forgive myself and others, and truly accept the smallest bit of care, regardless of how it was expressed, everything felt meaningful.
Forgiveness is for the forgiver more than it is for the one being forgiven, because you’re the one who carries the weight of the hurt and the anger. You’re the one who is eaten up by it. You’re the one who remains a victim, and the one left feeling powerless and helpless.