About the Love I have for You
It's a Wednesday night. And there we are. There's a fire in the fireplace but it's not enough to calm the tension thats in the air of our living room. I'm sitting on the couch, and I'm sitting straight and engaged with my fists clenched in my lap. Across from me is my sister, but her hands aren't clenched and her back isn't straight. She looks afraid. On the other side of the living room my dad is sitting in his recliner. He's turned facing us, his crazy hair all disheveled, but the rest of him engaged and concerned. The dried paths of tears on our faces testify to how long we'd been in conversation. "Dad, she doesn't deserve your forgiveness! How many times has she made the same mistakes. How many times will you forgive her only for her to hurt and disobey you 10 more times. She's never going to change!" That's me. That's my pain and hurt and bitterness and pride shouting. Accusing. And I want my dad to give up on her, I