"We can go there and draw our initials in a heart on the table" ...

"We can go there and draw our initials in a heart on the table, lol"

... was the text message I sent to hubby just before lunch. He and I had been going back and forth about where we could meet up for a lunch date.

Just outside, the sky looked heavy and dark and solemn. But, I felt light and happy and joyous. I was feeling almost giddy. The thought of my hubby picking me up in the front of the building--as if he were my chauffeur, ready to sweep me off of my feet and away for an all-too brief lunch hour--swirled around in my mind.

The hour would be ours. We had, at the last minute, decided to go to Macaroni Grille. I guess the initials-and-heart thing did it for him. He laughed--via text--and told me he would be there in 10 minutes.

We barely escaped the rain and walked in hand-in-hand into the chilly restaurant--whose tables are all draped with paper table clothes and sitting on them--crayons for those who care to doodle during dinner.

I eyed the four crayons on the table as we were seated. And as the waitress babbled on about menu selections, I picked up a red crayon and scribbled ... MR + SR. I encircled the four letters with a giant heart and sipped on my cold water. I was really happy; truly savoring the moment--when something happened. I said something about somethng and he gave me a look. I had spoken without thinking much about exactly what he had been dealing with since we almost parted ways not too long ago.

And, in a split second, the mood shifted. He was angry and hurt; I could read his expression. And I was ... annoyed. My whirlwhind lunch date had just taken a turn for the worse. Things were quiet for the next few minutes and part of me--the tantrum-throwing baby part of me--wanted to pick up the black crayon and scribble the heart away.

(Well, if he wants to pout, I can do the same.)

Instead, the conversation moved on to the dull and practical--the bills and the kids and the day care ... and the hair in the complimentary bread ... and the waitress who was MIA.

Ugh. When did this happen? What happened to my chauffeur and my romance and "the hour that belonged to us"? It had been whisked away just as the bread with the strand of hair had been.

After lunch, I decided that it wasn't a total loss. "Wanna walk around the mall?" I asked, half pleading. "I guess," he replied. I wanted to show him--without really showing him--the ring that I want to get him for the vow-renewal ceremony. We stepped into a jewelry store when ... wouldn't you know it?

There she was.

It was the girl; my former friend who had taken the idea that I shared with her confidentially and used it for her own gain. A smack in the face of friendship. Man, that still hurts to write it. Hubby said hello; and I said nothing. I just wanted to walk by her and pull her hair. Just one good tug. That's all.

On our way out the mall, I had to ask hubby: "So, if I wanted to pull her hair, does that mean that I haven't forgiven her?" ("I'm afraid not.")

Forgiveness is such a funky thing. I've said it with my mouth that I have forgiven her for betraying me. But, my heart is a bit behind my mouth. I must have a slow heart that simply doesn't want to let go.

I kept thinking about it and I was asking God: How do I forgive her? I've said I have forgiven her; but I feel like I really hate her for what she did to me. He had an answer for me, but I'd have to wait about five hours for it. And it came in the most simple, most innocent, most precious form: It came in the form of my toddler and baby.

You know, they had been tugging at me since I had picked them up from day care. I was giving, giving, giving, giving ... and finally, I crashed. Right there on the living room floor. They had eaten, they had baths and since we haven't gotten our couch yet, I took one look at the empty living room floor and accepted the invitation to lay down.

I put on a movie for the kids and as soon as my head hit the ground, the toddler asked "You cold mommy?" (Yes.) He waddled into my bedroom and grabbed my pillow and blanket and brought them to me. And, following his lead, the 1-year-old grabbed--in spurts--the following:

My favorite silk Victoria's Secret shorts; a pen; a pair of jeans; a sock; a stuffed animal and laid each one of them on top of me. Oh, the mess! The mess! He was pulling everything he could find out of my room and placing them on top of me.

But, you know what I did? I let go. I didn't care about the mess. It was rather adorable. When I felt like I had nothing left to give, they gave to me--in their own way. And God showed it to me clearly: this is how you forgive. You let go, even in the midst of the mess.

(So, you mean, I don't wait until things are cleaned up and looking nice to let go; to forgive? I don't wait to heal and to feel better before I forgive?)

No. You let go in the midst of the mess. And there, you will find forgiveness. (God, can I still pull her hair? Just once?) Um. No. It's time to let go. In the midst of the mess.