Today, we are throwing a big rock into the lake and those ripples will reach places you would not expect. You already know what I want, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid I do,” Mack mumbled, feeling emotions rising as they seeped out of a locked room in his heart.
“Son, you need to speak it, to name it.”
Now there was no holding back as hot tears poured down his face and between sobs Mack began to confess. “Papa,” he cried, “how can I ever forgive that son of a bitch who killed my Missy. If he were here today, I don’t know what I would do. I know it isn’t right, but I want him to hurt like he hurt me . . . if I can’t get justice, I still want revenge.”
Papa simply let the torrent rush out of Mack, waiting for the wave to pass.
“Mack, for you to forgive this man is for you to release him to me and allow me to redeem him.”
“Redeem him?” Again Mack felt the fire of anger and hurt. “I don’t want you to redeem him! I want you to hurt him, to punish him, to put him in hell . . .” His voice trailed off.
Papa waited patiently for the emotions to ease.
“I’m stuck, Papa. I just can’t forget what he did, can I?” Mack implored.
“Forgiveness is not about forgetting, Mack. It is about letting go of another person’s throat.”
“But I thought you forget our sins?”
“Mack, I am God. I forget nothing. I know everything. So forgetting for me is the choice to limit myself. Son,” Papa’s voice got quiet and Mack looked up at him, directly into his deep brown eyes, “because of Jesus, there is now no law demanding that I bring your sins back to mind. They are gone when it comes to you and me, and they run no interference in our relationship.”
“But this man . . .”
“But he too is my son. I want to redeem him.”
“So what then? I just forgive him and everything is okay, and we become buddies?” Mack stated softly but sarcastically.
“You don’t have a relationship with this man, at least not yet. Forgiveness does not establish relationship. In Jesus, I have forgiven all humans for their sins against me, but only some choose relationship. Mackenzie, don’t you see that forgiveness is an incredible power—a power you share with us, a power Jesus gives to all whom he indwells so that reconciliation can grow? When Jesus forgave those who nailed him to the cross they were no longer in his debt, nor mine. In my relationship with those men, I will never bring up what they did, or shame them, or embarrass them.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” Mack answered softly.
“I want you to. Forgiveness is first for you, the forgiver,” answered Papa, “to release you from something that will eat you alive; that will destroy your joy and your ability to love fully and openly. Do you think this man cares about the pain and torment you have gone through? If anything, he feeds on that knowledge. Don’t you want to cut that off? And in doing so, you’ll release him from a burden that he carries whether he knows it or not—acknowledges it or not. When you choose to forgive another, you love him well.”
“I do not love him.”
“Not today, you don’t. But I do, Mack, not for what he’s become, but for the broken child that has been twisted by his pain. I want to help you take on that nature that finds more power in love and forgiveness than hate.”
“So, does that mean,” Mack was again a little angry at the direction of the conversation, “that if I forgive this man, then I let him play with Kate, or my first granddaughter?”
“Mackenzie,” Papa was strong and firm. “I already told you that forgiveness does not create a relationship. Unless people speak the truth about what they have done and change their mind and behavior, a relationship of trust is not possible. When you forgive someone you certainly release them from judgment, but without true change, no real relationship can be established.”
“So forgiveness does not require me to pretend what he did never happened?”
“How can you? You forgave your dad last night. Will you ever forget what he did to you?
“I don’t think so.”
“But now you can love him in the face of it. His change allows for that. Forgiveness in no way requires that you trust the one you forgive. But should they finally confess and repent, you will discover a miracle in your own heart that allows you to reach out and begin to build between you a bridge of reconciliation. And sometimes—and this may seem incomprehensible to you right now—that road may even take you to the miracle of fully restored trust.”
Mack slid to the ground and leaned back against the rock he had been sitting on. He studied the dirt between his feet. “Papa, I think I understand what you’re saying. But it feels like if I forgive this guy he gets off free. How do I excuse what he did? Is it fair to Missy if I don’t stay angry with him?”
“Mackenzie, forgiveness does not excuse anything. Believe me, the last thing this man is, is free. And you have no duty to justice in this. I will handle that. And as for Missy, she has already forgiven him.”
“She has?” Mack didn’t even look up. “How could she?”
“Because of my presence in her. That’s the only way true forgiveness is ever possible.”
Mack felt Papa sit down next to him on the ground but he still didn’t look up. As Papa’s arms enfolded Mack he began to cry. “Let it all out,” he heard Papa’s whisper, and he finally was able to do just that. He closed his eyes as the tears poured out. Missy and her memories again flooded his mind; visions of coloring books and crayons and torn and bloody dresses. He wept until he had cried out all the darkness, all the longing and all the loss, until there was nothing left.
With his eyes now closed, rocking back and forth, he pleaded, “Help me, Papa. Help me! What do I do? How do I forgive him?”
“Tell him.”
Mack looked up, half expecting to see a man he had never met standing there, but no one was.
“How, Papa?”
“Just say it out loud. There is power in what my children declare.”
Mack began to whisper in tones first halfhearted and stumbling, but then with increasing conviction. “I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.”
Papa held him close. “Mackenzie, you are such a joy.”
When Mack finally collected himself, Papa handed him a wet cloth so he could wash his face. He then stood up, a little unsteady at first.
“Wow!” he said hoarsely, trying to find any word that might describe the emotional journey he had just waded through. He felt alive. He handed the kerchief back to Papa and asked, “So is it all right if I’m still angry?”
Papa was quick to respond. “Absolutely! What he did was terrible. He caused incredible pain to many. It was wrong, and anger is the right response to something that is so wrong. But don’t let the anger and pain and loss you feel prevent you from forgiving him and removing your hands from around his neck.”
Papa grabbed his pack and threw it on. “Son, you may have to declare your forgiveness a hundred times the first day and the second day, but the third day will be less and each day after, until one day you will realize that you have forgiven completely. And then one day you will pray for his wholeness and give him over to me so that my love will burn from his life every vestige of corruption. As incomprehensible as it sounds at this moment, you may well know this man in a different context one day.”
Mack groaned. But as much as what Papa was saying caused his stomach to churn, in his heart he knew that it was the truth. They stood up together and Mack turned toward the trail to return back the way they had come.
“Mack, we are not done here,” he stated.
Mack stopped and turned. “Really? I thought this was why you brought me here.”
“I did, but I told you I had something to show you, something you have asked me to do. We are here to bring Missy home.”
Suddenly it all made sense. He looked at Sarayu’s gift and realized what it was for. Somewhere in this desolate landscape the killer had hidden Missy’s body and they had come to retrieve it.
“Thank you,” was all he could say to Papa as once more a waterfall rolled down his cheeks as if from an endless reservoir. “I hate all this—this crying and blubbering like an idiot, all these tears,” he moaned.
“Oh child,” spoke Papa tenderly. “Don’t ever discount the wonder of your tears. They can be healing waters and a stream of joy. Sometimes they are the best words the heart can speak.”
Mack pulled back and looked Papa in the face. Such pure kindness and love and hope and living joy he had never stared into. “But you promised that someday there will be no more tears? I’m looking forward to that.”
Papa smiled, reached the back of his fingers to Mack’s face, and ever so gently wiped his tear-tracked cheeks. “Mackenzie, this world is full of tears, but if you remember I promised that it would be Me who would wipe them from your eyes.”
Mack managed a smile as his soul continued to melt and heal in the love of his Father.
“Here,” Papa said and handed him a canteen. “Take a good swallow. I don’t want you shriveling up like a prune before all this is over.”
Mack couldn’t help but laugh, which seemed so out of place, but then on second thought he knew it was perfect. It was a laugh of hope and restored joy. . . of the process of closure.
Papa led the way. Before leaving the main path and following a trail into the strewn mass of boulders, Papa paused and with his walking stick tapped a large boulder. He looked back at Mack and gestured to him that he should look more closely. There it was again, the same red arc. And now Mack realized the trail they were following had been marked by the man who had taken his daughter. As they walked, Papa now explained to Mack that no bodies had ever been found because this man would scout out places to hide them, sometimes months before he would kidnap the girls.
Halfway through the boulder field, Papa left the path and entered a maze of rocks and mountain walls but not before once again pointing out the now familiar marking on a nearby rock face. Mack could see that unless a person knew what they were looking for, the marks would easily go unnoticed. Ten minutes later, Papa stopped in front of a seam where two outcroppings met. There was a small pile of boulders at the base, one of them bearing the killer’s symbol.
“Help me with these,” he said to Mack as he began peeling the larger rocks away. “All this hides a cave entrance.”
Once the covering rocks were removed, they picked and shoveled away at the hardened dirt and gravel that blocked the entrance. Suddenly, the remaining debris gave way and an opening into a small cave was visible; probably once a den for some hibernating animal. The stale odor of decay poured out and Mack gagged. Papa reached into the end of the roll Sarayu had given Mack and pulled out a bandana-size piece of linen from the end of it. He tied it around Mack’s mouth and nose and immediately its sweet smell cut through the stench of the cave.
There was only enough space for them to crawl. Taking a powerful flashlight from his own pack, Papa wriggled into the cave first with Mack right behind, still carrying Sarayu’s
gift.
It only took them a few minutes to find their bittersweet treasure. On a small rock outcropping, Mack saw the body of what he assumed was his Missy; face up, her body covered by a dirty and decaying sheet. Like an old glove without a hand to animate it, he knew that the real Missy wasn’t there.
Papa unwrapped what Sarayu had sent with them and immediately the den filled with wonderful living aromas and scents. Even though the sheet under Missy’s body was fragile, it held enough for Mack to lift her and place her in the midst of all the flowers and spices. Papa then tenderly wrapped her up and carried her to the entrance. Mack exited first and Papa passed their treasure to him. He stood up as Papa exited and pulled the pack over his shoulders. Not a word had been spoken except for Mack muttering occasionally under his breath, “I forgive you . . . I forgive you . . .”
Before they left the site, Papa picked up the rock with the red arc on it and laid it over the entrance. Mack noticed but didn’t pay much attention, busy as he was with his own thoughts and tenderly holding the body of his daughter close to his heart.