No Strings Attached

Guy de Maupassant, the French writer, tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecome who came on market day to the village. While walking through the public square, his eye caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. His actions were observed by the village harness maker, with whom he had previously had a dispute.

Later in the day, the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecome was arrested on the accusation of the harness maker. He was taken before the mayor, to whom he protested his innocence, showing the piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and was laughed at.

The next day, the purse was found and Hauchecome was absolved of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the indignity he had suffered because of a false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. He neglected his farm. Everywhere he went, everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. By day and by night he brooded over it. Obsessed with his grievance, he became desperately ill and died. In the delirium of his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, "A piece of string, a piece of string."

With variations of characters and circumstances, that story is relived many times in our own day. How difficult it seems to be to forgive those who have injured us! We are prone to brood on the evil done us, and that brooding becomes as a gnawing and destructive canker. Are there virtues more in need of application in our day, a time marked by litigious proceedings and heated exchanges, than those of forgiving, forgetting, and extending mercy to those who may have wronged us or let us down?

There are those who would look upon these virtues as signs of weakness. But it takes neither strength nor intelligence to brood in anger over wrongs suffered, to go through life with a spirit of vindictiveness, to dissipate one's abilities in planning retribution, or to press a grievance when someone else is "down." There is no genius or peace in the nursing of a grudge.

Paul speaks of "the weak and beggarly elements" of our lives (Galatians 4:9). Is there anything more weak or beggarly than the disposition to wear out one's life in an unending round of bitter thoughts and scheming gestures?

There is great wisdom and restraint in turning the other cheek, and, in the process, trying to overcome evil with good. General Omar Bradley is quoted as having said: "We have grasped the mystery of the atom and rejected the Sermon on the Mount...Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we know about peace, more about killing than we know about living."

Those who nurture in the hearts poisonous enmity toward another would be well served to ask the Almighty for strength to forgive and to extend the hand of mercy. Hatred always fails, and bitterness always destroys. Selfishness is the cause of most of our misery. The willingness to forgive is a sign of spiritual and emotional maturity.

So many of us are prone to say we forgive, when in fact we are unwilling to forget. Have we not all made mistakes? Have we not all lived beneath ourselves from time to time? And have we not all also been in a position to extend a hand of forgiveness and fellowship? Our Redeemer reaches out to us in forgiveness and mercy, but in so doing He commands that we repent of our wrongdoings. A true and magnanimous spirit of forgiveness will become an expression of that required repentance.

-Gordon B. Hinckley, Standing For Something, p. 70-73

Something really cool happened/is happening. Shortly after we moved I was asked to volunteer with the young women of the church. I had to choose people to help me to do so. I prayed about who to pick and relied on heavenly insight since I scarcely knew anyone. I selected seven women to assist me in teaching and serving the youth. They obviously knew nothing about me or about the open wound I'm nursing because I can't find the last percent of true forgiveness to heal it. Ninety-nine percent forgiveness doesn't cut it, sadly.

One recent night I found myself visiting with two of these women. Somehow the word vegan entered the conversation and I rolled my eyes and made a mockery of vegan cheese made from cashews. The new friend next to me said, "I love cashew cheese. I make it all the time." It wasn't even close to the worst time I've put my foot in my mouth, truly this was a 0.2 out of 10 on the whoops-o-meter, so I quickly confessed I have no problem with vegans, I just don't have the time to make my own fake cheese. She laughed and assured me, "I can't be offended." I asked her if that was true in real life as well as vegan inquisition. She nodded and reiterated she simply couldn't be offended, that she refuses to let herself be offended. I was amazed. The second friend added she was physically incapable of holding a grudge, even when a grudge might be a good thing as far as emotional protection goes. I was astounded. I mentioned to another of the women that my photographic memory is terrible for forgiveness; I truly can't forget how I've been wronged. I remember everything (except to pick up my kid from Nursery). She replied that notwithstanding her super smarts she "can't remember the wrong done to her." They are all forgivers, the whole lot.

Even the select few I made fast friends with before this assignment are paragons of this virtue. It would seem everybody in Suncrest forgives (and washes their car). It is another lived-and-learned testimony of divine design and non-coincidence. The Lord loves me and knows me individually; He knows all about my oozing wound and how much first aid I've tried. He knows what I'd give for a scab or a scar. Here I thought I was all special and chosen, using my elite calling to pick classy ladies to help me with the youth, but what really happened is the Lord put me in my place (ow, but it's good to be humbled) and helped me build a human hospital without me knowing I was the patient. He booked my last round of healing. He intentionally surrounded me with a string of righteous women to help me release my tattered piece of string.