Back in December, I bought stocking-stuffers from a small
local vender and swiped my card for $21.30.
Whether it was (as she insisted) a glitch in technology, or whether she
was padding her wallet to pay for her kids’ Christmas, the charge that showed
up on my statement days later was $213.00. Panicked, I began a battle with the
merchant that continues to this day. She admitted the error and promised to
refund it. And didn’t. Then she didn’t answer or return my calls. Then I went
to her store and confronted her in person. She admitted the error again and
promised to refund it. She didn’t. Finally, I went to my bank and filed a claim
against her. She lied to the bank. Increasingly, it is becoming obvious that
this isn’t someone who is flighty and forgetful; she’s a liar and thief
masquerading as a small business owner. And it looks like she might win.
I’ll work for five hours to earn the money she stole from
me, so this isn’t a situation where I can just flippantly “let it go”. And
frankly, I am absolutely flummoxed at her boldness in lying and stealing from
someone. I mean, who does that and goes to sleep at night? And posts pictures
on her business page of her children at church? Perhaps that’s what burns me
the most. A Christian.
In addition to fervently asking God to go to battle for me
(because at this point, I’m pretty much out of options), I’ve also been
wrestling with this anger. It’s righteous anger, for sure. I don’t share the
blame in this one. It’s taught me a thing or two as well: demand a receipt,
keep it, check your account balance regularly, use a credit card instead of a
debit with local merchants. But that anger? It’s eating me up. I can be reading
to Violet, and I’ll think of that woman and my heart goes sour. (It is hard to
have a sour heart with Violet around, so that should tell you something.) That
anger steals the joy in taking walks and teaching spelling and finishing a
project. It hurts my soul even more than it hurts my wallet.
As I keep taking it to God, I keep hearing the word “forgive”.
Holding this anger isn’t going to get my money back. But it will make me sick.
I’ve learned my lesson, and it’s time to leave it to God. Because you know
what? God can take care of my family. He can provide that money in other ways.
I can trust him, even if I can’t trust people on earth. I’ve been trying to let
go of my claim against her, and praying that the love of God will find her. And
that God will care for me as well. I’m not sure if it’s working, but
forgiveness is heavy stuff.
I have a lot of forgiving to do. My husband routinely speaks lies over me: his
favorites are lazy and liar. You’re lazy.
You’re lying to me. He’ll insist that I did things years ago that I know
full well I didn’t do. He’ll insist that I said something that I didn’t say. He’ll
insist that I thought something that I never thought. Even in the face of proof
to the contrary, he’ll stand by his story. I fight back. I speak the truth. But
the burn of the dishonesty remains. I don’t dwell on it as long as I’ve managed
to dwell on the stolen money, but it impacts me the same way. How dare he speak
these things to me? Why won’t he acknowledge the truth?
It's especially hard to forgive when the hurt keeps piling up, when you can't just cut ties and never seen the offender again. I can resolve never to shop with the dishonest merchant again, but I wake up every day in my husband's house. The criticism is new every morning. I know this has built up a wall of scar tissue around my
heart. It’s a source of protection, really, but it hurts me in its own way. If
nothing else, this theft has taught me the words to say to God when J hurts me.
“God, please take this battle from me. You know the truth. I can trust you to
take care of me – even my heart – even when people on earth try to harm it. I
forgive him. Please let your love reach him.
I’m not going to lie. It feels like being a doormat. But
what other choice do I have? Fighting for myself isn’t getting me anywhere except
sad. The act of forgiveness is really the highest form of trust. It says, "I trust God enough to obey Him. I trust Him enough to let Him fight for me. I trust him enough to believe that he'll take care of me regardless of how He intervenes in this moment."
Trust is hard, people.
I don’t yet have any resolution to share with you,
just the acknowledgement that I’m trying to handle this God’s way. I don’t
always do the right thing, and because of that, I’m grateful that He shows grace
to people who make mistakes. And He can make things right in ways I never could.
