The Time I Repented

 I'd like to think I've repented many times in my life. 

In a theological sense, we do repent when we come to Christ - and this does bring us to a place of having a relationship with the Living God.

But it seems many think of this as the end-point of repentance. That, having considered ourselves sinners, and in need of the mercy of God, we say, 'God, I agree I'm a sinner, please forgive me and save me.' And it ends there.

It seems it is easier to think of ourselves in that big general sense of  'SINNER' than to actually take a look inward (and perhaps outward, depending) and see the actual sins that make us feel icky and low and dejected inside. At least, on some occasions we feel that. On others we may feel like, 'Hey, I recognize these things are wrong, but I don't feel very icky about it, though I think I probably should.' Even that sentiment has a hint of repentance, as we observe ourselves and see the incongruity between what we claim to believe and the reality in our own hearts. I'm not one who tends to dwell on sin much. I mean, I believe we can wallow in sin-guilt-shame and this isn't generally helpful or productive. Godly sorrow, with repentance, is great gain. Woe-is-me-I-am-undone might lead to godly repentance, but it may also lead to more woe-is-me-I-am-undone-ad-nauseum. You catch my drift I hope.

Maybe I've lost you at this point. Maybe you haven't given a thought to this at all. Maybe I'm alone in my mental wanderings (and soul-searching). But if not, read on and I'll tell you of a time I felt I tasted what it really means to repent.

You see, I have not been, nor have I claimed to be a perfect parent. In fact, much of my journey involves being an abusive parent. Yes, I say this publicly and without fear of the powers-that-be to come storming down my door. They've been here already, and I've welcomed them with open arms. I'm not kidding when I say I've been an abusive Mom. 

Is it scary for me to admit this - here - now?

No. I am sad that it is something I need to be clear about in my life. It would have been better if I had figured it out sooner. But I didn't, and so repentance is needed.

I had what I call '7 years of yelling.' I call it that because...well, it lasted about 7 years. I yelled at my kids and flew into rages at the snap of my nerves pretty much from 2006-2013. I didn't have many pauses in there. And it didn't totally abruptly end in 2013, but the beginning of the end did come in a particular moment when I snapped and interiorly vowed to myself, 'This is the last time you will ever do this.' And pretty much, that has been the case. I'll eventually write about that.

But I'm trying to stay with the theme of repentance here. 

I thought I had done my work of retracing my steps, apologizing to my kids, attempting to undo the damage. I had, over the years, repeatedly confessed to my children when I was out of control; I had humbled myself before them, sought their forgiveness, named what I did exactly and prayed that God would fill in the gaps of my parenting. 

There was actually one missing element, however. And when I encountered that I began to learn what repentance really is. I say, 'began' because I'm pretty sure I have barely scratched the surface. The missing element is hard to define in a single word. 'Sorrow' maybe? 'Empathy' perhaps? The missing element needs explanation. It might be something along the lines of: willing to listen and hear, to my own shame and regret, exactly how my sin hurt another. If there's a word for that, please do let me know.

About a year ago I was annoyed with a particular child of mine, and for good reason. I forget what he did, but it was wrong and I was certain I needed to address this wrong of his. I reasoned that being a good mother involves correction and rebuke. I don't always excel at these, but I went after him and made him sit down to discuss how he had been wrong. I think it was something in how he responded to me. I confronted him and was pretty forceful. At that moment he decided to bring up things from many years before. 

In that moment I could've said, 'Hey, don't play the victim, you were wrong a few minutes ago and I want to address that. Let's not get sidetracked here.' But I had recently done an exercise in reading the story of the Prodigal Son in the Gospel of Luke. We were asked to imagine being in each of the characters shoes throughout the story, and to slow it down so we could see what it might feel like to be the Father, the Son or the Older Brother. We had to work through things like, how we've wronged others, how we haven't forgiven others, how God must feel towards us when we come to him repentant, how God might feel if we resent His generosity towards others...etc. Because I had recently done this exercise, instead of laying into my son with all his wrongs I stopped and decided to listen. What he was saying in that moment was important.

He told me: "You don't know what it was like when you flew into a rage and pinned me to the floor yelling in my face!" I know I had apologized and repented of that many times over. But in this moment this is what came to his mind. He wasn't playing a victim. He was telling me the truth.  Would I listen? Would I dismiss his hurt? Would I downplay it and say how difficult a child he was? Would I shift blame and say his behaviour warranted this kind of treatment?

Not if I was listening to God in that moment. In that moment I was called on to practice genuine repentance.

It hurt me to hear how I had hurt him.

I hated hearing it. I wanted it to stop.

But it was true: all of it.

When he paused, I didn't jump to an apology. I knew a quick apology is my easy-out: a bandage for gaping wounds that need careful surgery.

Instead I said, "I need to hear more of what this was like for you. It might be hard to tell me, but I want to listen and understand how I've hurt you."

And so he proceeded to tell me just how I'd hurt him.

It was horrible and cleansing all at the same time.

It made me hurt for him and brought me to tears.

Each time he finished, I would say, "If there's more, please continue. I did these things and the least I can do is share in the pain and suffering I've caused you." And he would go on, 'You did this. You did that. When you yelled, here's how I felt. Here's what I thought. You were bigger than me, I couldn't fight back. I was terrified of you.'

How does it feel as a mother to hear these things. Downright awful. Absolutely horrid.

But how can healing and restoration take place if we don't make space for the one we wounded to speak and name his hurts?

It can't.

Don't imagine an apology, peace gifts, special treatment, or anything other than open listening with repentance will do a shred of good if you have harmed someone in your life.

As he told me these things, I was already stunned and shocked inside. I then told him that I didn't expect or deserve his forgiveness. That it would be audacious of me to ask for this from him. But I asked that if he would consider forgiving me, I'd be grateful.

I told him how what I did to him, no mother should ever do to her kid, no matter how upset or difficult the situation was. I told him there was no excuse, that I was an adult and had not controlled myself, my anger or my words. I told him it was entirely wrong and none of it was his fault, at all.

This was a beginning taste of repentance.

As a side note, I do not expect this will be the last time I have to eat humble pie for how I treated a child of mine. If I've learned anything about abuse as victim or abuser, I realize it is not a straight and clear-cut path to restoration and healing. Especially if a child experiences aggression and hostility, the scars are lasting. If my child brings this up again, I will not say 'Let's let bygones be bygones!' or 'Someday you're going to have to quit blaming your parents!' I will instead take the time to sit with him and again open the conversation further: Please tell me how I have hurt you. I want to do anything I can to make it right. I am willing to listen to the pain you carry. After all, it's the least I can do.

True repentance shows up in a willingness to humble myself over and over, again and again.

If you've hurt someone, and have rushed an apology, I urge you to take the time to allow the one you've hurt to speak - as often and as openly, as harshly, as clearly and as painfully as they are willing. True repentance is demonstrated in humility, owning our faults, giving careful and loving attention to those we've wronged.

I invite you to consider how repentance has looked in your own life. 

It is a subject I don't like a whole lot - you might be able to understand why. 

And yes, it is with a bit of trepidation that I have written this. But I think we need more openness in the sub-Christian-culture of owning our sin - of sharing openly what it looks like to walk the path of radical trust in the loving mercy of God. If I claim to believe in this great God of mercy, I'd better be able to show from my life how I've seen that in action.

And this is one small taste of that.

If this at all blesses you, I'd love to hear from you.