Packing up our house this weekend, I opened a random box under our bed and a loose letter fell out. I instantly recognized my own handwriting and my stomach danced because I knew what it was: a letter I wrote to the person who abused me. I stuck it in my pocket and finished packing.
A year or so ago, I heard he was in a bad car wreck. I didn’t know many details, like whether he’d die or live, but at the thought of his death I had an unexpected response: I wanted to tell him I forgave him. I chose to forgive him years ago, but as time went by, I actually developed deep empathy towards him.
I opened the letter and started reading:
“…I realized I have not said all I wanted to you. I honestly don’t know what condition you’re in— whether or not you’ll even be able to read this— but I need to write it regardless.
With every year that passes, especially ones I have spent in therapy, I grow in empathy towards you. You stole something from me and others, no question, but your heart must have been in a devastated place to do such things. As an adult, I look at you as a child and feel deep grief for the ways you lashed out for the pain you carried.
My life was affected in a thousand ways because of your abuse. I have spent the past 6 years healing from the abuse and the system that protected you instead of defending me. But it was a system that ultimately hurt you, too. I see that now.
I am never going to excuse or make light of what you did because it is devastating. But I want you to know I fully and 100% forgive you. I release you from ever repaying me. I hold no bitterness towards you. No anger.
I pray you find healing. I hope you take this fragile season of life to reflect. To repent and take ownership of your actions so that healing might take place. Wholeness is not on the other side— it is, by grace, an invitation for you in the present.”
He recovered from the accident and I never sent the letter. Honestly, I thought I threw it away. But reading it a year later makes me grateful for the healing process. Sometimes it feels like I’m ten steps behind where I ought to be, like God is disappointed with me for still being “in process.” But submitting to the process without a timeline produces fruit. Otherwise, you’re just in a pressure cooker of perfection.
Healing is messy and the letter’s still in my pocket and who knows if it’ll ever reach his mailbox, but I wanted to crack open a bit of the unfinished-ness of my journey and remind you: it’s okay if the letter’s written but not yet sent. It’s okay if the thought of writing a letter makes you sick. It’s okay if you’re angry. It’s okay if you’re sad, even after all these years. Wholeness takes time and sanctification is a life-long pilgrimage. You can celebrate where you are today, knowing it’s good enough.
