WATERCOLOR ART BY PAUL BOECHER & SHORT STORY BY KATHY BOECHER

There are days when forgiveness seems impossible. Someone has wronged you and made you feel insignificant or useless. Their words and actions have left you empty. Forgiving a person for hurting you in such a way is difficult, but God commands us to do so. Paul’s watercolor painting seems to fit the short story that follows.

I guess I was about five when I realized I could climb up that maple tree in our backyard.  Dad said, his father planted it when he was just a young boy.  I grew up in my grandfather’s house, you see. He died before I was born, but I could feel his presence each time I pushed my way through the aging branches of his tree. 

There was a swing, attached by heavily woven rope which had endured the years of storms and weather.  It was still there when I came along.  I guess my dad couldn’t bear parting with it because of the memories it held.  Grandpa died when he was only 56 years old, leaving my dad in charge of the family business. Grandma didn’t take any of it very well. Eventually she passed away too. Dad was well into his 30s before he met mom.  The old timber frame house became dad’s.  He carried mom over the threshold when they married.  He hustled her out the front door to make it to the hospital in time for me to be born.  Two more babies would come through that front door after me. 

Dad showed me how to straighten bent nails so they could be reused. A lesson in patience I guess. Yet there were times I didn’t understand dad. He was strict. Never hurt me, mind you, but a glance of disappointment would burn like a scalding branding iron.

I was thirteen when dad went to heaven. It’s hard to believe I made it through that time. For a while I blamed God for taking him away from me when I needed him most. I was angry that He didn’t let him attend my wedding or meet his grandchildren.

Why did he have to die? I wanted to die too. My life was a mess. I’d spend hours in that treehouse.  I remember sitting there during a terrible rainstorm.  The wind was blowing. The walls began to shake. I thought this might be the end of the simple refuge in grandpa’s tree. Dad’s words whispered in my ear. “If you have a good foundation, you can count on a sound building.” 

Things began to deteriorate. I got mixed up with the wrong crowd, starting using drugs and alcohol to numb the pain of losing the most important man in my life. I saw how my behavior was affecting my mother and my siblings, but nothing seemed to wipe away the tears that burned in my heart. I missed my dad, even that steely glare he’d send my way.

Eventually nothing would heal the pain. I hit rock bottom. I remembered the words of my mom after dad died. “God will never leave us, even in our darkest times.” I didn’t put much stock into those words, but as days turned into nights and life reeled into darkness, I heard her words again. Once more I retreated to the safety of the tree. I knelt down and asked God to be with me. I couldn’t go on living the way I was. In that moment I realized that God had been with me through it all. He never gave up on me. In spite of my resistance, God forgave my drifting from Him and He still loves me as I’m sure my own father did. Now it was time to forgive myself.