Every year my daughter and I take my mother to a rendezvous with her two sisters. One of my cousins comes with her daughter and granddaughters as well. While all of us raised glasses full of various liquids, (anywhere from water to wine), my cousin proposed a toast. “To the strong women of this family!” Looking around, I found that she has spoken truly.
Around the table
I see faces I love.
and behind the smiles are women
who have faced
For each of us has our own story.
Stories of love and laughter,
of faith and forgiveness.
Stories of boating accidents that left one with a broken neck,
and doctors who cared more about pocketbooks than pain.
Stories of explosions
and horrific death
all due to the negligence of another.
Stories of husbands lost too soon
with seemingly no explanation.
Stories of women abused
by immature and broken men.
scabs over and over again.
We forgive and pick at the scab,
and we feel the wound once more
and forgive again.
And we heal better this time.
the Scab grows back a little smaller this time.
We draw a little Closer to God this time.
Now, there are smiles on the faces
of these women I love.
I hear stories of faith
Not quick hurried forgivenes
that comes in a fleeting moment.
and hurries away faster than it came.
But the daily practice of forgiveness
that takes a lifetime of faith to finish.
This is my heritage.
Women who won’t quit
They keep going…
Walking toward forgiveness.
Walking toward the Forgiver.