May. 10, 2002 - 21:14 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Sorting

I am in a funny frame of mind tonight. I'm thinking of several things that came to my attention in the last few days. Forgiveness for one thing. How often in the past have I thought to myself, "I forgive him/her for this, that or the other. Wait a minute, am I forgiving someone for being who they are and reacting a bit differently than I do to things and events ? Probably am often, mistakenly.

What things can I forgive ? Truly have the right to forgive ? Deliberate acts against me or mine that are insufferable. The rest ? I have no right to forgive nor to stereotype. Acceptance for the rest -- I can accept on a level playing ground and then go on with my life.

Blame ? My cyber sister and I came to two conclusions recently, before one can be blamed the old saw is, "First walk a mile in their shoes," which is part of it. And truly before I can try to place blame I must find out the back history on the situation and then walk that mile.

Some of my thoughts make me see how truly small minded I am about many things. Guilt ? to me can be constructive or destructive depending how I put that overcoat on. If it warms me and leads to making amends, truly repentant and go on and "sin" no more, then I feel it is constructive. If I wear it as an anchor hanging heavy over my shoulders, it must be that in the end that way leads to the grave. I hate to think of how many anchors were hanging from my shoulders over time.

There is a word in our language that bugs me. Tolerance. Misused most of the time I think. In medicine tolerance is the amount of medicine that a person can take without bad side effects. In other use I think it is a euphemism allowing some to grit their teeth, think bad thoughts of other groups, do nothing hostile and yet pat themselves on the back for being the princely good guy.

To me the word acceptance, understanding that others have rights and and should be given the dignity to pursue their path without scorn from others. The acceptance of other humans into our lives and hearts.

Ah well, periodically I must open Fibber McGee's closet door and take a deep look at the trash that comes rolling out and go through the process of Sorting . . . . . . .

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