When I was in the fifth grade, my teacher did some things that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. To save him embarrassment we’ll call him Mr. Richmond. He was a nice enough guy, and I liked him but, I didn’t really like his class. Mainly because he would randomly call on different students to read, and I was a terrible reader.
I could do better though if I had read it to myself first, so while someone else was reading a paragraph, I would read the next one to myself in case he called my name. As you can probably guess, I didn’t learn much in History or Reading that year.
Another reason I didn’t like his class was because of two particular incidents that happened in Reading class, and History class. In Reading, there was a story about a cat named Gato. That’s the Spanish word for CAT, if you didn’t already know. Well, when we started reading about Gato, Mr. Richmond pronounced his name wrong. He called him Gaytoe (Gay-toe). I was shy but I mustered up enough courage to tell him that the cat’s name was Gato. I knew because I had seen it on Public Television, either on Sesame Street or the Electric Company.
Well, he didn’t believe me. He said, “Well, we’ll call him Gaytoe.” I hated calling him that because I knew it was the wrong pronunciation, but when it was my turn to read, I reluctantly said, GayToe out of respect for my teacher.
Another time, we were reading a story about a native American named Sequoya in History class. Once again, I knew how to pronounce the name, and I told Mr. Richmond, but again, he didn’t believe me. He said, “Well, we’ll say Sa-Jaw-a.” Ugghhh!
I was taught to respect my elders, and people in authority, so I went along with him, and once again pronounced another name wrong in his class.
Sometime later, my grandmother bought me a brand new basketball. I don’t remember how much it cost, but I know she didn’t have much money, and that made it even more special to me. I loved it, and I was so proud of it.
Low and behold, the day came when I wanted to take my new ball to school and show it off to my friends. I wanted to write my name on it so nobody else at school could claim it, but we didn’t have magic markers at our house, so I wrote my initials on it with an ink pen. After bouncing it around at home for a while that afternoon, the ink started to wear off, even though I had made it pretty bold. I had another idea. I actually took a knife and carefully carved my initials into the ball, like carving them into a tree. The next morning, I headed to school to show off my new favorite toy to my friends.
Later that day, at break time, two older boys from a higher grade, took my ball away from me and wouldn’t let me have it back. They were bigger and taller than I was. I tried to get it away from them but they just ignored me and kept playing with it. I tried everything I could think of but there was nothing I could do to get it back. So, finally, I went inside and told my teacher, and he called them in. I told him I could prove the ball was mine by my initials carved into it. One of the boys said the ball belonged to the other guy, and the initials meant something else. Guess what? Mr. Richmond believed them, and once again, he didn’t believe me.
I was pretty mad at those two guys, but I was really, really angry with Mr. Richmond. I was angry with him for years. My school, at the time, only went to the eighth grade, so when we graduated and went on to high-school, we had to go to another school, in another town. I wasn’t seeing the teacher every day, so I didn’t think about it all that much anymore. I never forgot what had happened, but my anger toward him wasn’t as strong as it had once been. When I would see him in town I would say, “hi,” and keep walking. He never said much more than “hi” to me either. I don’t know if he even remembered me or not, but I sure remembered him.
Even after I became a Christian, those old memories were stirred up every time I would see him again. I wanted to go up to him and tell him he had made a mistake in giving my basketball to those two lying thieves. I wanted to go to him and say, “You owe me a new basketball.” I never did, though. No matter how much I wanted to, I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I knew I needed to let it go. I knew Jesus said that if we don’t forgive people for wrongs they have done to us, then God won’t forgive us when we do wrong (Matthew 6:15).
My teacher was not the only one I needed to forgive. There were others I had been withholding forgiveness from. I knew I needed to forgive them, but I didn’t really think any of them deserved it. I guess I just wanted to hold on to my anger for a little while longer. Plus, I thought that by forgiving someone you were saying that what they did was okay. Some people teach that forgiving others means you have to repair the relationship and open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt again, but that’s not what the Bible says. I think this teaching is one of the reasons so many people today refuse to forgive.
Forgiveness is not really for the other person. We can actually forgive someone without them ever asking, or even knowing we have forgiven them. So often, some people are not even aware that they’ve hurt us at all. When we have something against someone, we’re the ones suffering. Most of the time, they’ve already moved on with their lives, and aren’t even thinking about us, or what they did. When we forgive, it frees us from bondage, and we can be forgiven by God for our sins.
The phrase “Forgive and Forget” sounds good, but the Bible doesn’t actually say that. When we truly forgive we may still remember what happened, but we no longer hold it against that person or bring it up to them again. When I really understood forgiveness, I was able to truly forgive all those who had hurt me, including those boys, and Mr. Richmond. What a wonderful feeling it is to be free from that burden. I probably won’t ever forget what happened, but I know Mr. Richmond did the right thing. He had two witnesses against one, and I probably would have done just what he did if I had been in his shoes. So, Mr. Richmond, I forgive you.
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