What's in Your Garden?

"Forgiveness is something I don't align with," a friend told me.

"What does that mean?" I asked. "You've never forgiven anyone?"

"No," she said. "I don't mean that; it's just that forgiveness doesn't make sense to me."

I'd called her asking for advice about someone I can't seem to forgive, and her response shocked me.

"I've always heard that saying," I said, "'forgive doesn't mean forget.' Is that kind of what you mean?"

"No. It's more of... Who am I to forgive?" she said. "Isn't that up to the Creator? If someone wrongs me," she paused, "I just get away from them. That's it. Fool me once doesn't apply to me. If someone tries to fool me, I throw all my walls up and leave."

"I knew you were a tough person, but… I don't know what to say." And after I hung up the phone, I thought about how much I want to forgive. Instead, I keep thinking about this person from my past, and with each thought, it's as if I'm tying myself to them with invisible strings. The strings of… bitterness. 

Although my rigid friend had views that differed from mine, at least she wasn't bitter, overthinking the past, and ruining the present. 

I called another friend the next day. It'd be interesting to hear what she had to say.

 
"Elisa! How are you?" Her voice lit with such excitement that it brightened my whole morning.

"I need your advice," I said. "It's about forgiveness."

She asked for more information and listened while I told her the entire story. (I even cried at one point.) "Getting cancer treatments makes me feel so gross, and I'm honestly exhausted. I need to let this go. It's like another kind of cancer," I finally said.

"You should surround yourself with positivity and people who love you. Especially with what you're going through right now."

"I think so, too," I said. I should surround myself with people like her. "Otherwise I won't be strong enough to keep going for Mike and our children." I sighed, then told her what I'd recently learned about the word "forgive." I'd looked up the etymology, and its meaning completely surprised me. "The root of 'forgive' actually means 'to no longer punish' or 'to not enforce a penalty.'" Oddly enough, I felt like I'd been punishing myself and not the person who wronged me. They were out there skipping around, enjoying that they'd left so many people behind. Yet, instead of letting the past go, I clung tighter, like a flippin' squirrel gathering nuts for winter! Except in this analogy, the food would be rotting and useless. How ridiculous? I need to hold onto goodness and hope. I need to hold onto the people who love me, like my husband and our kids, instead of the friends who stopped talking to me right after my diagnosis.

"I should let this go," I said after picturing myself as a frantic woodland creature desperately holding onto rotting things. "Do you…" I whispered then, so fatigued. "Do you have any advice for me?"

My friend said the most wonderful thing after that. "What do you want growing in your garden?" 

"Excuse me?"

"Metaphorically." Her words held such empathy. "What do you want growing in your garden, Elisa?"

"Good things," I said. "Definitely not weeds."

"So, let me explain what works for me: Every time I think about someone who I'm having a tough time forgiving, I've promised myself to immediately wish them well. I'll even sit and pray for them if I have to. And before long, I've always felt better because it changes my thoughts."

After we hung up the phone, I already felt better. It was so intriguing to get two different views on this topic. I don't think either person is wrong; they simply do what's best for them. And it hit me that I could take a page from each of their books.

It's good to protect myself from people who might hurt me. Before, I'd stay through thick and thin and often become a doormat for people, but now I can remove myself from bad situations earlier. Fool me twice… 

But I also found such wisdom in my second friend's words.

The next time I felt sad about this person who treated me differently than I'd hoped, instead of planting seeds of rejection and maybe even bitterness in my heart, I planted something much better: goodwill. 

Sometimes, I don't know if anyone hears prayers, much less answers them. I've often thought about creation being like a gigantic clock. It was formed, and no one meddles with it. That way, sickness, and hardships aren't personal. Instead, no one steps in, so everything will be fair. It's all chance? Maybe? 

Despite that, I did decide to pray. I prayed for this friend who abandoned me. I asked for her to be healthy and happy. I begged for her to never experience what I've gone through with poor health. I asked for her to have a wonderful marriage and grateful children. And by the end of this massive prayer, peace flooded through every bit of my being, and I knew I'd weeded my garden.

That evening, as I rested in bed, I thought how ironic it is that the root of "forgive" means "to no longer punish" because the only person I'd been punishing was… myself. And as a newness bloomed in my heart, I was ready to keep fighting, so I could spend more time with the people I love.

 

S'mores in the Sky

 Not long before my grandma passed away, she started her "happiness file." It's a simple recipe box filled with index cards. There are dividers for A–Z, months, and a section for photographs. Who knew a conglomeration of plastic and paper could offer courage and hope? Who knew it could help someone have the strength to keep living? Well, apparently, my grandma had an inkling... 

She'd write down every good and happy thing she could think of: advice and words of wisdom. And whenever she felt depressed, like a burden, or even sorry for herself, she'd open the file and feel at peace once more.

She could make it through life... for her family. And her own positivity somehow showed the way.

My grandma has been gone for quite a while, but the happiness file helps me feel like she's still with me. I love seeing her handwriting and reading her words. Anything from "Let people live their own lives!" to "Who are you becoming and how does that relate to the person you want to be?"

Just last week, I read something she'd written not long before her death: "Take a second look."

I thought about her words all day, and even when I went to a potluck at our local synagogue that night, I wondered what my grandma had meant. It's just that normally, the index cards' meanings are obvious, but this one seemed different. 

At the potluck, a woman I'd never met sat next to me, and after a moment of chatting, I decided to tell her about the words my grandma had written. "What do you think she meant by 'take a second look'?" I asked. "Something about perspective?"

"I think so," she replied. "That reminds me of something I've recently started doing." The woman explained how she leaves for work around 2 a.m. "I hated it," she said. "Hated the dark. The drive. The cold. Everything. Then, one morning, I decided to look up at the stars, take a few deep breaths, and just appreciate the morning. Now, it's one of my favorite parts of the day just because I took a second look."

It was incredible how she let go of fear and accepted the moment. "Your story about living in the present," I finally said, "is so inspiring. You know, just the other day, a friend of mine said that when the sun is out, we can't appreciate the beauty of the stars. I guess a lot of his loved ones have died, but he believes that stars are their campfires in Heaven. So at night, he sees those campfires and remembers all the people looking out for him even on the other side."

She smiled so thoughtfully. "When I go to work tomorrow, I'll remember the campfires in the sky. That's beautiful."

After I drove home, I gazed at the stars and thought about my grandma, her happiness file, and the campfires in Heaven. Maybe she's up there, roasting marshmallows and thinking about the irony that her happiness file helped her so much, and now it's helping me. I'm so grateful for her wisdom and the friendships I've made because of her words. Who knew I'd go to a potluck, meet a stranger, and leave inspired by a new-found friend?