Mornings like this at the cottage

Are my favorite

The wind so strong

The waves so high

You almost feel as if you are on the deck

Of a boat at sea

It feels like a storm may be coming

But the skies are a lovely blue

Not a storm cloud in sight

This morning as I watch the choppy waves

I reflect on the fact that all the women in my family are writers

My mom was a sometimes freelance journalist growing up

My mother-in-law at this very moment is working on writing a sermon

My daughter’s a poet

Aunt Ginny can rhyme like no one I know

And my sisters are both writers

The youngest often appearing on podcasts and radio programs

As much as we disagree politically

And spiritually

She is a gifted writer

Then there’s my middle sister

I remember reading things she wrote

With laughter so hard, tears fell

A typical middle child

She was the funniest one

By contrast I was always so serious

So contemplative

We do not speak

My middle sister and I

She has cut off ties with all of us

It has been years since I have allowed myself

To think about her

It’s a sad thing when family members do not speak

But the cost of relationship she set

Needing to agree with her about all things

Was just too high

Still, it is sad

An occasional angry email

Is all I ever hear from her

I do not read them

I once did

But they are all the same

Intended to wound, not to heal

I have enough wounds already

I do not need to put myself

On that particular firing range

It makes me think about bitterness

Sometimes I, too, have drunk of its poison

“Drinking poison

And expecting someone else to die.”

I don’t know who first said that

But it is the truest and best definition

I’ve ever heard

Truth be told,

I have struggled with forgiveness at times

But because I know it is hurting me

More than it hurts them

Because I have already been forgiven

Of so much

Forgiveness does not seem like an optional thing

God gave it as a command

For a reason

He knew our hard hearts

Would hold onto hurt if we could

Becoming the victim in our own stories

I’ve never understood why anyone

Would want to stay there

To live as a victim

Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge their own faults

Blaming everyone but themselves

It is a toxic way to live

I feel sadness for my sister

For all that she is missing out on

As my parents age

They never stopped loving for her, of course

I don’t think a parent can

Always hopeful and praying

That God would move mountains

But finally accepting

He might not

I believe in free will

That we all have choices

And they are real

We aren’t simply marionettes

Pulled by hidden strings

Pharoah, it is true, had his heart hardened by God

But then he chose to harden it also

Falling back on his own self interest

Not allowing God’s people to go

God prevailed, of course, because He is God

But there is no evidence Pharoah repented

A man broken by the death of his firstborn

But still sending legions after Moses and the people

Legions that would drown in the sea

The great walls of water

Rushing back in

And that’s the real problem of it

Our sin never just impacts us

It always impacts other people

I let tears flow on the dock in the wind

I have spent many months holding them in

There is no one here to hear me cry

The wind wipes the tears off my cheeks

Before they can fall

It feels as if God himself

Is drying my tears

Reminding me of His love

His presence

His faithfulness

I spend some time examining my heart

Asking God to reveal areas of sin in me

And speaking aloud words of forgiveness

“My flesh and my heart may fail

But God is the strength of my heart

And my portion forever.” (Psalm 73:26)