Over a year ago I wrote a post cataloging the difficulties I had experienced in the 2016 and 2017. I wrote that I felt at times that I was forsaken and alone, yet as I recounted the challenges I had experienced, I found that I had received needed help.
See: There is Always Hope
It might have been reasonable to expect, then, that 2018 should have been better, yet it was not.
After a few years of unemployment or underemployment, I still had a steady job, which was good, and that job had previously given me the opportunity to be a trainer, which was awesome. Trainer was a great thing to put on the resume, and I wondered if I should not try to find a better job. But I wanted to be a trainer again -- because, again, it was a blast, and also to beef up that part of the resume -- so I stayed.
In the spring I interviewed for a promotion to permanent trainer. Part of the interview process involved giving a presentation, to demonstrate skills in front of a classroom. I thought I gave a great presentation, but they didn't think it was hands-on enough. There were three spots open, and I finished fourth in the running -- and the margin between three and four was paper thin.
As I thought about what I could have done differently, and not being able to think of anything that involved actual hands, I decided that next time I would repackage it as a minds-on presentation, selling it as an exercise in analyzing verbal and visual information -- which happens to be a useful skill in a call center.
It was either the same day I heard I didn't get the promotion or the day following when I went for a walk on main street in my smallish town. I was trying to listen to an audio book on my earbuds, but was distracted by the not getting a promotion thing. Suddenly I saw an old high school friend up ahead, walking toward me.
This friend and I had had a falling out of sorts a few years ago. She showed up at a social media site I had been at for a few years and when I sent a friend request, she unexpectedly blocked me. But it took a few months for me to realize it. I didn't know if there was a problem, I didn't understand why, but I tried to find a way to communicate with her and apologize for anything I might have done. Eventually I was able to do that through a mutual friend: the only response I got back was that I was forgiven, but that she did not want to talk. She also said that I should just move on. Move on from what? Frankly, this didn't really feel like forgiveness.
A couple of years later, the father of a different mutual friend passed away. I knew there was a very good chance I would see her at the funeral, and I did! I found a place to sit, looked up, and there she was sitting two rows in front of me. The person she was sitting with saw me, but she never turned around to look, and after the service she got up and walked out without ever turning her head. It was surreal!
I saw her next at our 30th high school reunion in 2017. As the reunion was approaching, I felt like I was becoming a basket case, stressing about how she was going to react if and when she saw me. At the reunion, most of the evening passed without our being in close proximity, though I was very aware of her presence on the other side of the large room. Finally, before leaving, I maneuvered into a position where she would be sure to see me -- because I had to know what she would do. We just looked at each other for a moment, no words were exchanged, and then she turned and walked away.
The next day, I talked with the same mutual friend who had acted as go-between before, wondering if I should try to make a peace offering. She talked me out of it, but then got a call from our friend, and on her own initiative broached the idea of a peace offering. The answer from my old friend was that the offering was not necessary, that there were no hard feelings. I decided that this would have to be enough to give me peace, and I figured I probably would not see her for another ten years, anyway, until the next reunion.
But now, several months later, here we were on Main Street, approaching each other. She must have seen me first, because she had her hand up by her eye -- like you do when you don't want someone to see you. It all happened so fast, and I was so distracted by not getting the promotion at work, that at first I told myself it might not have been her. I tried to tell myself it was only 50-50, but as time passed, and I thought less about not getting the promotion, the more certain I became that it was her -- there had been no wind, and we were in the shade -- the only thing that made sense was that she was trying to hide from me.
By small and simple things, great things can be brought to pass, but also not so great things. We have no idea how much good we can do with a kind word or a smile. At the same time, we have no idea how a much damage we can do with a careless word or a simple joke, even a simple act of omission.
The promotion, this encounter on Main Street, were like a one-two punch; I have felt as though I were torn asunder. It has been a battle ever since, sticking it out at a job that is often frustrating, and feeling rejected by someone I thought of as a best friend in high school. I started, again, to question everything about myself and about friendship. Yes, I was hurt, and I didn't understand why she did what she did. But I was trying not to hold a grudge, and so I turned the anger onto myself.
I felt so much shame, what could I have done that led my old friend to cut me out of her life? This person I admire so much has, it seems, a smile for everyone but me. I wondered, what small and simple thing had caused her so much pain that after several years she still could not acknowledge me; wondering brought more shame.
This became a struggle of many months; I could find no solace, no peace, even when turning to the scriptures or attending church meetings. One day I read one of my favorite chapters in the Book of Mormon, Moroni 7, but instead of finding serenity, I felt my heart break.
Then I saw a quote from President Thomas S. Monson: "Blame keeps wounds open. Only forgiveness heals."
This was distressing. I didn't think I needed to forgive because, I told myself, I was not carrying a grudge. I was not thinking angry thoughts about my old friend, I was not hoping for bad things to happen to her. I had prayed for my friend, that she might have peace -- I had even prayed that God would send her ministering angels. Yet there I was, where I had been for a long time, in the depths of despair.
Finally I said, "[My friend], I forgive you." And peace gradually enveloped my soul.
Rather than this being the end, it was only a beginning. I found that I had to keep forgiving; as time wore on, the doubts and the frustration would return, so again I would say "[My friend], I forgive you."
I could find peace, for awhile, but my heart was not healing. Even so, though I felt alone and forgotten, I was not. Even in 2018, there were moments when I experienced genuine friendship from others. Such moments have seemingly become more common in 2019.
I have truly been blessed in recent months by friends both old and new. I felt forgotten for so long, but not anymore. Genuine compliments and genuine kindness have managed to counter rather effectively the many doubts I had over previous months and years.
I may even have had a breakthrough recently when I realized that, while everything might not be perfect, there are good things happening. I have had worse jobs than the one I currently have --
which has been a steady job for approaching four years -- and I am getting by financially.
Perhaps more importantly, the friends I do have matter much more than any friends I might not have or not have any longer. All that negative stuff I have been spending so much time thinking about, I don't have to keep doing that. It is time to let go and be happy.
By looking to the lighthouse of the Lord, by counting my blessings, by forgiving, but also importantly, by the blessing of true friendship, I have found peace and, finally, my heart is beginning to heal.
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