Say You're Sorry

Welp. It's been something like 36 hours since I returned home from a long trip and I have already had an opportunity to say I'm sorry not once but twice. Once to my husband for calling him an unfortunate name, and twice to my daughter for . . . . .oh, I'll let her tell you.

So let's get down and dirty here. Why should I even bother to say it? "Hey, I'm really sorry about what I just did. It was a mistake and I hurt your feelings. I feel bad." Why can't I just get away with whatever surprise is coming out of my mouth and ignore responsibility for what I say? Because that is NOT the way it works, my friends. And family. And acquaintances. And leaders.

When a person says, "I'm sorry for having hurt you", that person is accepting responsibility for inappropriate actions and words. There is acknowledgement. There is an effort to make amends and to make things right with other human beings. Asking somebody for their forgiveness requires a humbling of a proud heart. If it's done right, there is growth and understanding. There is a promise to do better the next time around. Saying you're sorry makes you more human and yes, more divine.

It's so ironic. We tell children all the time that they should be sorry. In addition, they ought to think of some way to make the hurt they may have caused go away. We could learn a lot by sitting in a nursery class and observing. Children understand. They get it. They know that being contrite will make their little nursery world more civilized.

How healing it would be if government leaders, ecclesiastical leaders, families and friends could say they were sorry. How wonderful if we could all remember that no one is above seeking forgiveness for mistakes.  Rectifying the wrongs. Binding the wounds. Healing the broken hearted.

So think about it. If, like me, you're just as surprised at what comes out of your mouth as anyone else, you will have plenty of opportunities to humbly ask for forgiveness. Say you're sorry. Be sincere. Mean it. Change your behavior. Show forth afterward an increase of love.

I'm going now. I need to call my daughter. Say I'm sorry. Tell her that I love her. And that my offense to her spirit won't ever happen again.

Life is beautiful when things work out, isn't it?

DONE. WITH. THAT.

Hi. It's been awhile since I wrote anything on this blog. I'm not sure why. I still have stuff to say that I really shouldn't tell people. Perhaps I have lost my nerve. Or I decided that no one was listening. Nothing I have to say would make any difference, so why bother?

WRONG. Regardless of whether you listen or not, whether you agree or not, whether you ever speak to me again, I've got something to say. Hang on.

I began this blog shortly after returning from India in 2012. I have always enjoyed writing, though it's a difficult mental exercise and sometimes it's an emotionally draining experience. When I started
stuffishouldn'ttellpeople.blogspot.com, it had a very different purpose and a different tone than the blog I wrote from India. Sometimes, my topics were all too personal and I addressed controversial subjects near and dear to my heart. I'm sure some of what I wrote offended some. That's a risk I took.

It's a difficult thing to really hang yourself out there for all the world to see, especially when there's a chance you are going to be losing friends. Blogging can be fun. It can be therapeutic. It can also be dangerous. Sometimes the comment section can be a hurtful experience.

This morning, I realized that by my silence, I have voluntarily surrendered my freedom of expression. I am still that little girl trying to be all things to all people, afraid of censure, unwilling to churn the waters. . . . . . . . DONE. WITH. THAT.

That changes today.  I'm done with the pretense. Done with disguise. Done with acquiescing. Done with silently standing by while actions are taken in my name that I adamantly oppose.

Spend some time reading a little bit of what I have already written. If you are uncomfortable with it, your options are very clear. Stop reading my blog. If yours is a tone of condescension or condemnation, or even worse, silent exclusion, you are in the wrong place.

I have big fish to fry. Welcome to the picnic. And I don't mind if you take a pass. We will both be happier.