Tight Fist

Little tight fist clutching hurt
Determined, resolute, stubborn, strong
Grasping pain and pain-giver.

God requests release, surrender
But little me closes fingers tighter
Drawing fists nearer the heart.

I won't let go! He hurt me!
She declares, standing poised for battle.
I won't give this up!

This same pain, reminiscent of excruciating anguish
From one she loved
Broke her trembling heart
So long ago.

Now another comes
Whom she adores
Slashes her heart again
Though not with cruel intention
But out of his own scarred-over grief.

Statue still
She turns her eyes up to the Forgiver
Brow still furrowed in resistance
Yet, weary, she wants another way.
God will not pry her fingers open
Only help, upon request.
She can't do this alone.
Will You help me? she petitions.

He squats down to her level
Looking deep within her heart
Asks gently
Are you ever selfish or unfeeling?
Slowly she nods yes.
Would you like Me to forgive you for that?
Slowly she nods yes.
First, you need to forgive your friend.
She ponders.
Child, everybody fails.
Forgiveness is like waves
Going back and forth from one to another.

In a tiny voice she says, Lord, help me.
Take him, my anger.

He helps loosen her tight fist
Can you give all the pain to Me?
She hesitates. She still hurts.
Yes, Lord. I want it gone!
I need Your love, lost in my anger.

She reaches out to take His hand
Free now that hers no longer carries
Imprisoned resentment.

Wanda Viola
July 30, 2002