Clickety clack! Clickety clack! Clickety-clack!
A ten-year old drags an eight-inch long stick over the cedar posts of a fence that flanks the street. Absorbed in her own world, she’s lost in the cadence. Clickety clack! Clickety clack! Clickety clack!
The girl takes in the drone of a lawn mower down the street. The smell of freshly mowed grass lays in its wake. Sunlight, with curling tendrils, beckons her, “Come rollick.” The sunshine warms her back as she runs. There is nothing between her and the sky.
On a recent forty-minute walk through my neighborhood, I allowed the buildings along my path to stir up memories. An elementary school brought to mind a back-to-school barbecue and jungle-gym painting work day. The melodies of John Phillip Sousa wafted across the parking lot of a steepled church where a local band practices every week.
But when I reached the nearest middle school, my nerves went twang and my stomach churned. Several years ago, a teacher in that school landed a position that I was certain was rightfully mine. Why does that matter after so many years have gone by? I asked myself, shaking my head. I no longer work there. I haven’t taught in a classroom for years.
Jesus spoke to my heart. “Have you forgiven?” I winced. The simple truth was no.
God spoke to my heart. He showed me that forgiveness is the essence of His nature. Psalm 16:6 says, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.”
Friend, what’s the relationship between boundaries in pleasant places and forgiveness?