M E R I D I A N     M A G A Z I N E

The Ultimate Freedom
by Jan Nelson

I didn't have to cling to my hurt feelings.

Some childhood hurts take years to heal. A steady diet of criticism not only hurts feelings, but it wounds the soul. My father was an intolerant, critical man. It is hard to picture him without his eyes rolling back in disgust, or his nose and mouth wrinkledup in a "what are you talking about?" grimace. It has taken me so long to forgive him. Lugging around anger, resentment, and hatred for any length of time is no fun. I became so weary of it, wanted so much to unload it all, but found it very difficult to convince my heart to agree with my head's wishes. Knowing the formula for forgiveness does not guarantee that the process will be swift or easy.

I never felt like my father was pleased with me. He had no problem punishing me in public, which was devastating when I was very young and humiliating as I gotolder. I was asked regularly, "You think you'll ever amount to anything?" My grades werenever good enough, and my interests and ideas were frivolous and ridiculous. Being told, "Well, you thought wrong, and that's what you get for thinking" doesn't exactly foster warm fuzzies. The physical insecurities common to most adolescent girls were magnified by the presence of Playboy magazines in our house. I remember looking at those my father watched at the beach and knowing that was another category in which I would never measure up.

Because of my father's work, we lived all over the world, never in one spot for more than 2-3 years. There was never a sense of belonging anywhere. Alcohol was a major player in our family dynamics. Religion, according to my father, was a crutch for theweak. My mom would take my sister and me to an interdenominational church occasionally, but my dad called it "poppycock". I recall a dear friend, meeting my father for the first time, telling him how much she liked me and what a nice person she thought I was. His response was, "Still fooling them, huh?" Reason said he was joking, but my past experiences sent my thoughts into a whirlwind of insecurity. My mother's heart had been broken by some of my father's selfish choices. She learned to numb her feelings with alcohol. My wounds were deep, and I remember hoping that someday I would get to see him hurt as much as he had hurt me.

I joined the church in my mid-twenties and by the time I was thirty, I was well aware that my spirit was in conflict. I knew it was right to forgive and to love unconditionally. I knew I had to honor my mother and my father. I knew all the right things to say, sang the song about families being together forever and being happy about it, but I did not havethose feelings towards my father. My prayers became pleas for help in ridding my heart of this awful bitterness.

At an education week class on the BYU campus I heard this story in a talk by Brother Terrance Olsen. I retell it the way the ears of my spirit heard it:

A young soldier during WWII had the dreadful assignment of taking the news of the deaths of fighting soldiers to their families. He hated his work, but was anobedient soldier. He approached his final home for the day and was met by a middle-aged woman who, after greeting him at the door and looking in his eyes for a moment, took over the conversation and would not let him speak except to answer her chit-chatty questions. She seated him in the most comfortable chair in her living room, commented on the weather, his shinny shoes and belt buckle, and then excused herself to get her husband who was in the back yard. Detouring through the kitchen, she brought out some cookies and a drink and proceeded to serve this young man with all the grace of a hostess. Then, taking her husband's hand, she turned to the soldier and said, "And now, my young friend, I hope that you feel comfortable enough in our home that the sad news you have brought us will not be too difficult for you to share."

I will never forget that moment. The spirit flooded me with understanding and my heart received the messages. It is true that life has its injustices, its deep hurts, its seemingly unanswerable why's. But a higher truth is that agency is the ultimate freedom. My response was my choice! The mother in the story had no control over the message. She chose compassion for the messenger even at the moment of greatest pain. I had no control over the messages I'd received, but I could chose compassion for my father. Yes, not only could I, but I must! Though I had read and heard this idea before, never had it sunk into my heart as spiritual truth! I felt differently than ever before, and began to see 'my story' in a whole new way.

In the weeks that followed this experience, I did some very difficult emotional and spiritual work. Remembering a lesson on the therapy of writing, I began writing with a purpose - to get it all out! Pages poured out of me. Memories flowed back. At times my pen pushed through the paper. Tears stained every page. Many sentences started with "I hate that you.." When I finished, I was physically and emotionally drained. Brother Olsen's story had lanced my wounds, and writing drained the infection. Several days later, I returned to my desk ready to write with new vision. " I got in trouble for everything. the spankings hurt.I was always on restriction" became, "I am so grateful you cared enough to discipline me sothat I would grow up to be a decent human being." "Just when I about figured out how to fit in, you came home with news that we were moving" became instead, "I am so grateful that your job not only supported us well, but I have seen the world, have known many cultures, and am comfortable with differences in people.". "Money was used in place of tenderness and approval" became instead, "I am so grateful for your example of generositythank you for teaching me to give." I can't say I have found a way to be grateful for anything about alcohol. I still hate what it does to people! It destroys families. The process took me several days, but when I finished rewriting, I had a private ceremonial burning of my work. Reverend King's thoughts on being "free at last" had a different meaning to me at that moment.

The years since that turning point have seen their occasional setbacks, but I've been blessed with more steps forward than back. Once I tried rehearsing my old monologue again at a high school reunion. A dear friend stopped me and said, "You know what, I don't want to hear about your Dad anymore. I think you enjoy telling the stories over and over." I remember quickly finding a reason to excuse myself and found privacy for a hard cry, begging for forgiveness for sinking back into old ways. I knew better! Later I found that friend and thanked her from the bottom of my heart for being so painfully but mercifully honestwith me.

Even recently I was telling a friend about something my father had done that was so cruel and was reminded that this particular journey was not quite over. I felt anger and deep resentment towards him again. It was at this same time in my life that I was contemplating the atonement as I had never before, and was praying to more deeply understand my relationship with my Savior. Not too long after, my father suffered some severe heart problems. I was telling that same friend about him and how I had prayed that through this experience Heavenly Father might physically heal and spiritually soften his heart. I prayed that God would open the eyes of my father's understanding and let him to see how his manner injured tender souls. I told my friend that I also asked Heavenly Father to please be merciful and ease my father into this awakening so it didn't hurt him too much. She asked if I heard what I was saying.

It was at this moment that I became aware of a whole new dimension of the atonement's power. I wanted mercy for my father, not pain. My heart had been changed and it was because of my Savior and his all-encompassing atonement. I wept for joy! My Savior had been helping me since the first time I prayed for help. He was with me when I did my share of the work and now He was letting me see the fruits of his love.

I love my life! I love my earthly father. I see more in him than intolerance and criticism. I love my Heavenly Father, and I love his son Jesus Christ. I am so grateful for my Savior's deliverance from sin, from ignorance and from spiritual pain.

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