Reflections On Forgiveness

I have been fascinated with fairy tales since childhood. As a child I enjoyed hearing them. As a mother I shared them with my children. As an adult on my journey through life I have found immense wisdom and healing streaming forth from them. Fairy tales are health-bestowing: The elements of the impossible, the lack of logic, the quest, and ultimately the purification and marriage. What a schooling for the cultivation of morality! What takes us through the trials of life are courage, sacrifice, and love. - True forces that help us when the light of reason leaves us in darkness. As I have been contemplating "Forgiveness" (along with "Faithfulness" and "Hope"), here is the fairy tale I am currently reflecting on.

THE WOMAN WHO HAD NO SHADOW
(from Scandinavia)

Once there was a pastor's wife who was afraid to have children. Other women are concerned when they have no children, but she was constantly afraid that she could have children.

One day she went to a wise woman, a wicked witch, and asked her what to do to avoid having children. The wise woman gave her seven stones and told her if she would throw them into the well she would be spared from having children. The pastor's wife threw the stones into the well. As each stone splashed below, she thought that she heard the cry of a child, but still she felt a great sense of relief.

Some time later the pastor and his wife were walking across the churchyard by the light of a full moon, when the pastor suddenly noticed that his wife did not have a shadow. This frightened him, and he asked her for an explanation, stating that she must have committed a dreadful sin, a sin that she would have to confess to him.

He continued to press her for a confession, until finally she admitted what she had done. Upon hearing her story, he angrily proclaimed, "Cursed woman! Flowers will grow from our slate roof before God forgives you of this sinful deed!" With that he sent her away, telling her to never again step across his threshold.

One night, many years later, a wretched and tattered beggar woman approached the parsonage and asked for shelter. The housekeeper gave the poor woman a bit to eat and made a bed for her next to the kitchen stove.

The next morning the pastor found the beggar woman dead on the kitchen floor. In spite of her rags, he recognized her immediately as the woman he had cursed and disowned. As he stood there contemplating her lifeless, but serene face, his housekeeper burst into the room. "Pastor!" she exclaimed. "Come outside! A miracle has happened during the night!" The pastor followed her outside and saw that his slate roof was covered with blossoming flowers.

Nate's Socks

My latest pair of socks. It's a Dreamincolor Merino Superwash Sock Yarn. Nightwatch. The color is beautiful. Blues. A dash of purple. I knitted a pair of socks with the exact same yarn before. - I remember them vividly because the cables running down the sides were driving me noodles, and I refused to use a row counter. They were a gift for a special person, and I wanted them to be perfect. I must have started over at least a dozen times. The recipient seemed to like them, although I think some cables ended up being spaced nine rows apart, others ten. I have gotten a row counter since, and I like it. :-)

These socks are so cozy! I enjoyed knitting them for Nate. He wore them last night as bed-socks. I used the "GO WITH THE FLOW" pattern by Evelyn Clark in the Interweave Press Favorite Socks book. The simple lace ribbing type pattern was easy to memorize, thus it was a perfect project for long faculty meetings. I did a more traditional ribbing, though, because the one the pattern called for was lacey, so Nate thought it made them look too "girly." (Oh, that 9-years-change!)

I am finding that either sock patterns are written for people who have tiny feet, or we are just a big-footed family. Although the yarn and needles were along the lines of what the pattern asked for, I had to add two pattern-repeats to an adult-sized pattern for them to fit... a child... in 3rd grade. Hmmm. I'm still wondering about that.

Faithfulness

The following verse is a verse which - once again - has provided me with opportunity for thought and self-reflection. It is thus a reminder to me to strive to always "remember" the "higher self" in the other, and to let others experience the "higher self" in me, striving to meet people out of love and compassion. Rudolf Steiner of course was a multifaceted genius. To me this verse expresses a wonderful hope; beautiful images to take into the depths of ones soul.

Create for yourself a new, indomitable perception of faithfulness. What is usually called faithfulness passes so quickly. Let this be your faithfulness:

You will experience moments.... fleeting moments.... with the other person. The human being will appear to you then as if filled, irradiated with the archetype of his spirit.

And then there may be.... indeed will be.... other moments, long periods of time, when human beings are darkened. But you will learn to say to yourself at such times: "The Spirit makes me strong. I remember the archetype. I saw it once. No illusion, no deception shall rob me of it."

Always struggle for the image that you saw. This struggle is faithfulness. Striving thus for faithfulness, we shall be close to one another, as if endowed with the protective powers of angels.

My Childhood Swing

Today, for some reason, I remembered my childhood swing.

I grew up in a small village in Bavaria. Our property was located on a steep slope. At the top of the slope there was a tree. It was a tall, broad tree. Its bark was a pale grey. Its branches were wide. I don't remember it having acorns, but maybe it was an oak? I don't know.

Well, on that tree my father had mounted a wooden swing hung from sisal ropes. The swing was long, very long.

I remember trying to swing high, wanting the tip of my toes to reach the clouds. The sky seemed bluer, brighter then, but maybe it is just so with the sky of childhood? It seems the air was always filled with the smell of manure. "Country air" is what my parents called it. Cows moo-ing. Birds chirping.

I loved swinging. I still do when I get a chance.

I remember the feeling of butterflies in my tummy when I went too high. I loved that feeling. I'm longing for my childhood swing.