Someone reminded me of a brilliant Robert Frost poem over Thanksgiving. And since then, I haven’t been able to erase the powerful- yet totally interchangeable- words out of my mind.
When I previously read THE ROAD NOT TAKEN, I thought of the small yet significant choices we make in our everyday lives that significantly change ourselves over time.
But right now, I find myself at a juncture in life that has given this poem a whole new meaning.
Let’s consider forgiveness.
After 20 years of teaching kindergarten, I can attest that 5-year-olds are not the only ones who have trouble with the concept of forgiving.
Because if I’m being honest, it is a concept I profoundly struggle with everyday.
Eight years ago, my husband and I opened our home to a 6-year-old that we fostered and later adopted. Since that time, our life has been nothing short of complicated.
Our adopted son has struggles stemming from trauma, neglect, abuse, and quite frankly- poor genetics. As a biological son of two drug addicts with low cognitive abilities, he has suffered a vast array of difficulties that severely affects his day-to-day functioning.
When I take a moment to consider this long list of obstacles, I can begin to show compassion, patience and understanding. But when I don’t take that moment, I can become resentful and frustrated… and that’s just naming a FEW of the many strong emotions my body regularly elicits.
But why the resentment and frustration? Why all the strong, negative emotions?
To answer those questions, I need to look deep inside myself. And that’s not fun.
Did I go into the foster and adoption process to be thanked?
Did I expect my son to show gratitude and shower me with praise?
What exactly were my intentions?
If I consider those initial intentions, I think back to when my husband and I were naive newlyweds, ready to conquer the world and change the world’s youth for the better.
But now, at 42 years old, I know that it takes MUCH, MUCH more than two educated and loving people to help just one child. It takes a WHOLE F-ING VILLAGE.
I am borderline embarrassed to think about how many people we have called upon in times of need. Our neighbors. Our family. Our friends. Members of our church. Therapists. Counselors. Teachers. Social workers. The police. Children and youth services.
And here we are, eight years later, with a teenager who openly denies help, defies rules and expectations, while still finding time to insult and offend his closest friends and family on a regular basis.
My initial reactions to his misbehaviors are often the same. They come from a deep, dark place inside of me, where I expect him to follow norms and expectations out of love and care for the people who have SELFLESSLY raised him with the ongoing help of the whole F-ING VILLAGE.
But if I’m taking the time to consider those thoughts, then I’m really being the opposite of selfless.
A selfless person would push back those ugly, damaging thoughts and consider the commitment I made while at the same time doing one of life’s most challenging tasks…
forgiving.
Right now, I forgive my son for the wrongs he has committed and the words he has spoken that have deeply hurt me.
However, I must keep in mind that tomorrow is a new day. And it is quite possible that when faced with a new burden, I will need to quiet my soul and seek forgiveness again.
This week, I challenge my readers to partake in the difficult task of forgiveness. Forgive someone who has hurt you, or wronged you beyond repair. For in the words of Robert Frost, I think we can find that it makes ALL THE DIFFERENCE.
Take a moment to consider this poem with two separate roads.
We can not be on both roads at the same time.
One road holds bitter resentment, and one road offers refreshing forgiveness.
Together, I hope we make an exciting discovery on the road less traveled.
After all, forgiveness is not for the well-being of the one who has wronged us. In the end, forgiveness is for ourselves.
And that is one thing we should all be a little selfish about.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost
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