The Love of the Forgiven
by
Heidi Hughes
I remember the day Ian Arnoud asked me out. I was 14 years old. I remember telling my best friend, Colby.
I am still your best friend, Jacobi,” was her growled response. “This changes nothing!”
My father found out two weeks later. “All of your rules still apply, young lady. This changes nothing!”
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Two years later, at the age of 16, was the first time Ian ever hit me. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about. In that one instant, lying on the floor with a red, stinging face, I could only think one thing: He hit me! Ian hit me! I looked in the mirror that night and told myself, He still loves you, Jacobi. This changes nothing.
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Five months down the road, with a broken body and a broken heart, I lay on my bed and sobbed quietly into my pillow. I cried until my eyes were dry and gritty. With no more energy left to do anything but whimper, I dragged myself out of bed and began searching. I dug through my closet and under my bed until I found it… my Bible.
It was one of those little Precious Moments’ Bibles with all the pictures of adorable children. Filthy, worn and falling apart, it flopped open in my hands. I looked down and read “but this now is what the Lord says- He who created you, oh Jacobi” I blinked at the mention of my name, and read it again. “…He who created you, oh Jacob”. Sleep deprived and confused I continued, “He who formed you, oh Israel: ‘fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name’”.-Wow, I need sleep- “you are mine. –Isaiah 43:1.” I crawled into bed, hours later, with more peace than I’d ever felt.
The surprise on Ian’s face hurt me worse than I ever thought it could. “You’re leaving me?” he asked in confusion, the next morning.
No matter how hard I tried I could not get him to understand what had conspired the night before. “Ian, God called me by name!”
“Come on, Jacobi, you said so yourself. That church stuff is all a big hoax! Don’t tell me you’re buying into it now!”
I sighed and shook my head. “I know what I said. But, I did experience something last night. I’m sure of that. And whatever it was, it’s well worth experiencing again.” I turned and walked away before I had to see him hurt anymore. As I moved forward and away from the first boy to ever break my heart, I thought how much does this change?
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At 19, with three years to heal the wound, some would think I was calloused to Ian, right? I wasn’t. I’ll never forget that day when I walked in the kitchen to find my mother with red-rimmed eyes and my father gripping the newspaper, I knew something was wrong.
“What?” I asked in a steady voice. Without a word, my father handed me the newspaper, opened to the obituaries.
“Lola Arnoud 1968-2004. Beloved wife and mother who is survived by her husband, Eric Arnoud; and son Ian Arnoud.” I read. “Ian.” The word was barely a breath, but it brought back a world of forgotten pain. I knew, with those few words printed in a newspaper, what I had to do. And, it scared me like nothing I’ve ever done before.
Three hours later, with trembling knees and fingers numb from the January cold, I climbed those old, familiar, rickety steps and knocked on the cold wooden door.
Ian answered the door, his face a mask of too many emotions for me to decipher what was going on in his mind.
“Jacobi?” he asked in confusion.
“Hey, I just heard about your mother. Ian, I’m so sorry”
Anger was the next emotion to reveal itself. “Where’s your Jesus now?” he spat at me. His face crumpled into broken sorrow. “Because I need Him,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word.
I smiled on that day, the saddest day yet, in my young life. It was then that I finally forgave him. I forgave him for every night I’d cried over him. I forgave him for every bruise and every black eye. But most of all, I forgave him for my broken heart. I smiled at this boy whom I’d feared and loved in equal measure, and I said. “Well, let me tell you about Him...”
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I’m 79 years old now. Ian and I were happily married for 54 years until last year when he passed away in his sleep. Not a day of my life goes by that I don’t thank the Lord for that day, 60 years ago when He gave me the strength to smile, forgive and say, “Well, let me tell you about Him…. You know, Ian, this changes everything!”