Forgiveness is not easy.

How many other ways can I say that?!? I can't. There aren't any other ways. It is what it is.

I'm writing a song about forgiveness right now. It takes up all my head space. For days it's been sitting on the edge of my pen, trying to live on the paper . . . and . . . just like the act of forgiveness, it shies away and is reluctant about being realized.

Why do I ever write a song about anything? Because it's happening to me. Because I'm going through it. Because I'm trying to learn it or understand it.

Lots of artists become creative because they are trying to learn or grow. And I think for many of us, the creative process can end up mimicking the subject matter.

A couple of years ago I wrote a song to play for a Good Friday service - something to go with the scripture where Christ gives his spirit over to God as he dies. The words and music for that song came straight from my head out into the air, over the piano keys. It was the kind of songwriting that almost never happens. So beautiful a moment that I sat at the piano and cried for a long time after it was set down in the notebook.

This isn't a particularly good recording, but I was excited to share it.

I was thinking about this song today because of the chorus, "Into your hands I commit my spirit." 

Those words were freely said. Not easily said . . . but freely said. A forgiveness and acceptance I don't know much about as a human who hasn't been brave enough to look so far inward yet.

I stumble toward forgiveness like a drunken person. And I've written about it a lot - about other people's forgiveness. About other people receiving forgiveness. About me receiving forgiveness. Not often about giving it. 

I wrote the above song for somebody I love who I have forgiven many, many times. Painfully. Slowly. Forgiven and forgiven and forgiven.

Someday I'm going to finish this new song about giving forgiveness freely. And then I'll sing it often. And maybe learn how to forgive better.

But for now, I'm doing the hard work of breathing in and breathing out, remembering that God has a claim on my spirit, and that God has asked me to hand over the heavy stuff. It's hard to do . . . but worth it.

I don't have a whole lot more to say about it. I guess I'm just glad that Jesus walked on human feet and felt human feelings. And I'm glad that when he breathed out, he breathed acceptance . . . my brother, my Saving One . . . my Teacher. Maybe I'll be able to learn that better because of him. That would be a big celebration.

Now, friends, I will leave you all with a delightful selection written by one of my favorite modern songbirds, Regina Spektor. I thought about it today, too - because it reminds me that we're all human . . . and we're all trying to figure this out . . . oh - and also because I just love the whole concept of this crazy little song. There's that, too.

Peace&Goodness (and sorry I haven't written much this year),

OLL

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