So I opened another one of those letters from the District Attorney's office yesterday. While I was off on a mission trip the last week of June, "our robber" (as I tend to call him) went back to court. I was happy to not have to testify and even better, to be out of town while it happened. I fully expected this letter in the mail, but instead of reading once again that his trial had been postponed, I instead read that he pled guilty.
Those were words I didn't expect to see. Then I read that he was sentenced to ten years, which I then read was probated five years. So after a minimum of six months in a lock-down drug treatment facility, our robber will once again be out and about.
How do I feel about this, you may be wondering? I honestly don't know. I am conflicted. As soon as the familiar ball of fear welled up in my chest, it just as quickly turned to anger. Then there was the self-doubt. Did the words in my victim impact statement get this guy an easier sentence? Was I serious when I said I forgive him? Because I'm certainly not thinking the thoughts of a forgiving person now. I have some stuff to sort out--to say the very least. But what I do know is that how I respond to this information, whether I choose to live in a space of fear and anxiety the next six months and the days that come after, or a place of peace, has nothing to do with him, but everything to do with me. I can't change the sentence, the letter I wrote, him, or anything else other than myself. Just me. And I'm already doing that. Maybe that is the forgiveness in action that I spoke of when I wrote "I forgive you." Because I'm realizing you can't hold on to the hurt and move past it at the same time. You have to loosen your grip.
Those were words I didn't expect to see. Then I read that he was sentenced to ten years, which I then read was probated five years. So after a minimum of six months in a lock-down drug treatment facility, our robber will once again be out and about.
How do I feel about this, you may be wondering? I honestly don't know. I am conflicted. As soon as the familiar ball of fear welled up in my chest, it just as quickly turned to anger. Then there was the self-doubt. Did the words in my victim impact statement get this guy an easier sentence? Was I serious when I said I forgive him? Because I'm certainly not thinking the thoughts of a forgiving person now. I have some stuff to sort out--to say the very least. But what I do know is that how I respond to this information, whether I choose to live in a space of fear and anxiety the next six months and the days that come after, or a place of peace, has nothing to do with him, but everything to do with me. I can't change the sentence, the letter I wrote, him, or anything else other than myself. Just me. And I'm already doing that. Maybe that is the forgiveness in action that I spoke of when I wrote "I forgive you." Because I'm realizing you can't hold on to the hurt and move past it at the same time. You have to loosen your grip.
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