In the early 50’s, my family consisted of four brothers and two grownups named Mom and Dad. America hadn’t discovered soccer and so the minivan was still a gleam in Lee Iacocca’s eye, leaving families to lumber around in bulbous sedans. We had a 1950 Mercury with a back seat the size of Massachusetts. Because kids just weren’t as important then as they are today, no one gave a rip if we roamed around the car while it was in motion. There was as no such thing as a child seat, let alone seat belts. The front seat was reserved for adults. The back seat was first come, first served. As we boys grew, it became SRO (Standing Room Only).
Picture four rambunctious boys scrambling for shotgun and you’ll easily imagine the wrestling matches that would have made Lex Meyers proud… that is, until the big guy with graying temples yelled from the reserved seats in front, “That’s it! I’ve had it!” followed by the obligatory, “If I have to stop this car…” However, he never, in my memory, had to stop the car.
Dad was tall and lanky with a telescoping right arm. Eyes straight forward—like a gifted athlete—he maintained a light touch on the steering wheel with one hand while the other honed in on that soft spot behind your knee. His vice-like grip could reduce you to tears in seconds. Singlehandedly, he dropped four pre-pubescent boys to their knees without missing a shift from second to third. I know I’ll never be the man my dad was; I still can’t change radio stations without swerving.
One hot summer day as we neared the Dairy Queen on East Main, I excitedly jumped to my feet, straddled the driveshaft hump (I’d obviously lost the fight for a window seat) and begged Dad to stop for ice cream. Squinting through the smoking Winston that dangled from his lips, he slowly shook his head in the negative.
I pressed my case, imprudently whining, “But whyyyy Dadddd…?”
“There’s just too many of us. It would cost a fortune,” he mumbled.
You might consider this a confession as well as a feeble apology to my little brother, Stevie. Without a twinge of conscience or thought of remorse, I looked at my little brother leaning there against the passenger door, barely tall enough to peer out. I’m sorry, but I vividly recall thinking, “If I could pop that door handle down, Stevie would fall out. Then maybe Dad could afford ice cream for the rest of us!” Thank goodness, I thought better of it and continued to plead my case. But it was to no avail.
I actually considered throwing my little brother under the bus for ice cream. That reminds me of Joseph in the Bible. His jealous brothers tied him up and left him for dead in an abandoned well—then thought better of it and instead sold him as a slave. But it doesn’t end there for Joseph. He went on to become the most powerful person in the land. Instead of revenge, he later offered forgiveness to his brothers!
I know Steve, he won’t hold this against me…one of his qualities is his willingness to forgive and move forward. Like Joseph he’s discovered it’s better to forgive than to harbor resentment toward those who’ve wronged you. You’ve probably heard the quote from Nelson Mandela, “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” Forgiveness is one of most counter-intuitive emotions with which we wrestle, yet it is the foundation for personal peace and happiness. Forgive others for your own sake.
Jesus, who is so generous in forgiveness, encourages us to do the same.
“But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too.” Matthew 11:25
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.