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The Gift of Forgiveness
By Firozia Wandis Slattery Balboa Press
Copyright © 2015 Firozia Wandis Slattery
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-3609-3
CHAPTER 1
My Relationship With Spirit
It all began when I was about four or five years old and I came down with a lethal disease of the kidneys. Doctor Rush, who was seeing me, said he could not do any more and that I needed to be in the hospital. As we were poor, I was sent to the charity hospital a long distance from my home. I had never been away from my parents so I was afraid, and the doctor there was not very gentle. He looked at my feet, which were swollen; he lifted one and then dropped it down hitting my other foot and hurting it more. I was put in a room with three other children, and one was a burn victim who was in a lot of pain from time to time. It was not a good place to be, and the nurses never came in unless they were called. I just lay there watching and wanting to leave.
It was almost Christmas time. We had a tree in the corner of the room with lights, and it was the first time I had seen such a sight, for we lived in the country and had no electricity. That whole scene was imprinted very deeply in my mind. I remember my mother coming to see me and I was crying and asking her to take me with her and not to leave me there, but she had to leave, and when she did the nurse came in and pressed her hand over my mouth and told me to "stop that crying right now." I stopped crying because I was so frightened. It seems as if they did nothing for me while I was there. The important thing that happened was a church group came and brought little gifts to us. They were singing, "What a Friend We Have in Jesus." They gave us a little rolled-up book with pictures of Jesus and little children at His feet with flowers and a lion and a lamb. He was sitting in a beautiful garden, and I so wanted to be with Him and the children there. That is when I fell in love with Christ.
The doctor told my mother that I was dying and that she could leave me there until I died, or she could take me home and be with me. Of course my mother wanted to be with me, so she took me back to Doctor Rush, and he told her that he was not going to give up on me and to stay close by so he could see me every day, since we lived in a small farm house some distance from town. My mother's sister had a friend who gave us a room to stay in so we could be closer to Dr. Rush. He closed his office and read everything he could find on kidney disease. Through his search he came up with a special diet and a liquid medicine that he had my mother give me every day.
With the doctor's help, prayers from many people, and my love for Christ, I began to heal, though I don't think it happened quickly for there were days that I was still very sick. But from that time on Christ has always been with me. He has lifted me when I was down, and carried me when I could not go on. He is always there for me when I am weak, and He gives me strength. My relationship with Christ is not about sin and repentance, but about unconditional love and how that love heals and gives us strength to bear things that we think we cannot cope with. I know that I am never alone, and through Him I have learned how to love.
My other important teacher in the realm of spirit was the Sufi master Pir Vilayat Khan. He was my helper here on earth. He truly helped me understand the Christ even better, and to awaken me to all the great Masters, Saints and Prophets. He helped me to realize that we are all one. Pir Vilayat would say we are all woven into a beautiful tapestry, each one doing his or her part in this life. If all the religions could realize that we are one family and come together in love, there would be peace. The God I believe in is a loving, kind and merciful Being, not a wrathful God. We are our own harshest judges, and we punish ourselves when we do not love one another but instead fall into resentment, hate, revenge and jealousy.
When I was on a retreat I realized that many things I had believed in were not true for me at this time in my life. I recognized that change was taking place inside me, and that the way I would understand and live my life would be different from the way that I had been taught. I am very grateful for this, for it has made my life much richer. I will share more about my unfolding relationship with Spirit in the coming chapters.
CHAPTER 2
My Story
Writing about true and significant events I have experienced is like I am re-seeing and reliving a drama. The two principal characters involved are Ken (name has been changed) and myself, and I will begin with personal descriptions as well as the parts we played as the story unfolds.
I was living in California at the time, and was involved as a teacher with the Sufi Order. Ken was in prison and had read some of the books of Hazrat Inayat Khan's teachings, and wanted to know more about them. He got my name and phone number from a list of leaders and gave me a call. I agreed to his request to come meet and talk with him. Before I met with him I asked one of the Order leaders if it was okay for me to see him, and the answer I got was that it was a good thing to do. He had his sister-in-law meet me and bring me to see him at the prison.
Sitting outside of a glass window with a phone waiting for him to arrive, for moment a cold chill flooded over me, as if a cobra snake reared up in front of me. It was only a momentary flash, and as he sat down giving me a big smile I let it pass thinking there was something wrong with me to be upset since he seemed to be so nice. He was tall and good looking, with black hair and a muscular build as he had been working out with weights for two years. We talked about his wanting to become a member of the Sufi Order and what that would involve. He agreed to wait until he got out and was able to come to the appropriate classes.
Subsequently, we exchanged letters and communicated by phone. He asked me to be his spiritual teacher, and I agreed to try to help him. I wrote letters to the warden at the State prison appealing for his release from prison, and said I would try to help him make a better life for himself. After some time Ken got out and was doing pretty well for a couple of months, when all of a sudden he went back to his old ways of writing bad checks and stealing and ended up back in jail. This time I said I would not help him by writing letters for him, and that he would have to make it on his own.
When he came up for parole, he asked me to come to see him along with his sister-in-law, which I did, and he asked me to initiate him into the Sufi Order. As I had told him before, my answer was, "Come to class and meet the other people and study," and then we would talk about it. When he walked up to me and I went to shake his hand and give him a hug, I froze with a terrible feeling like the one I had when I first met him, a very chilling and frightening feeling.
This time I could not shake it off, but I tried to excuse it, and I told him to come to class when he got out and I would try to help him. While he was in prison the second time he had written a book on how to play the guitar. He was a good musician and was given a good job in a music store, teaching people how to play the guitar. He never called or came to class, but I talked to his sister-in law and things seemed to be going well for him, so I didn't think about it anymore.
Now everything was in place for things to happen as they did. It is the day after Easter Sunday, and my husband has left town on a business trip to Canada. My older daughter is off at night school at the local college. My teenage daughter is babysitting, and is helping me get dinner. Once the baby is fed and my daughter has finished her meal, the door bell rings. She answers the door and tells me that someone is there to see me, so I go to the door. Ken is standing there with a friend, and I ask him to come in. He begins to tell me that he has fallen off the wagon and I can smell the liquor on his breath. I ask him to sit down and tell me all about it. I notice that he has dyed his hair even blacker and his eyes look wild. He is breathing in a way that his nostrils are flaring like a horse when it is wild and afraid.
Then the baby toddles in, and she needs to go to the bathroom. I call my daughter and she takes her upstairs to give her a bath and get her ready for bed. Now the three of us are alone in the living room. Ken asks to use the bathroom, and I tell him where it is. On his way he turns and asks if he can have a cup of coffee. I say yes, and go into the kitchen, leaving his friend behind.
As I walk into the kitchen, I suddenly enter into a whole new state. I can't seem to function. I start thinking, "should I make decaffeinated coffee or caffeinated? If I make caffeinated it might help him to sober up." While I'm pondering these thoughts, he comes out of the bathroom and begins pacing back and forth. I reach down and take out a teapot instead of a coffee pot. It seems that I am just waiting and I don't know why. He then goes back into the bathroom where his friend has gone, and comes out in a hurry and starts toward me. I look at him and see that he has a knife in his hand, and he is coming upon me fast. He grabs my neck with his left hand.
I reach for his right wrist to stop the first blow from piercing my heart. The knife enters my body just below the left breast. I think I asked him why he was doing this. The next stab was just below the right breast. When he was not able to stab me the way he wanted to, he released my neck and jabbed me in the face and knocked me down, with my head hitting the edge of the counter. I came to in time to see him coming down with the knife again, and a "little voice" came into play. I looked up and thought, "That is my black- handled knife." I put up my arm to try to protect myself and the knife caught my arm, bending the blade 90 degrees. I saw it when he raised it to strike again, and I thought, "that is my spatula," because that's how it looked after it had hit my arm. I didn't feel the stabs, and I couldn't remember much after my head hit the counter.
After he lost his weapon, he got up to leave and dropped the knife in the hall on his way out. I managed to get to my feet and went to the foot of the stairs to call my daughter. She had just finished bathing the baby and was coming out of the bathroom. She heard me call her saying, "I think I have been stabbed." She ran downstairs and, young as she was, somehow grabbed me up in her arms and took me up and put me on the bed. My head hurt me so badly. I just closed my eyes and went unconscious, until I heard a paramedic tell me he was going to put a needle into my arm.
I don't remember them cutting my clothes off or putting me on the stretcher, but I must have been conscious when the detective asked me who did it, and I was able to tell him who he was and where he lived. Then I went back into my space of being alone, safe and feeling nothing. I remember the paramedics saying that they were taking me to the trauma center instead of the hospital close by. That was the place I needed to be, for though my chest wounds were not real severe, my arm had been cut pretty badly and the ligaments were severed to my two middle fingers. There was the doctor, with the experience of patching up many wounded men in Viet Nam, who could put me back together.
Thereafter I never opened my eyes and was not conscious, except for a few moments at a time when my children came into the intensive care room to see me. I often woke up during the night with pain, and all they would do was to put ice packs on my face and head. So it took a while for me to understand what had happened to me.
The next day they put me into a room; it was a pretty, sunny day. As I lay there looking at the sunlight playing on the wall, the voice of Christ spoke to me saying, "Now you know," and I was flooded with the feeling he had for those who crucified him. Now I know what he meant when he said, "Forgive them Lord, for they know not what they do." That feeling so filled my whole being that I can truly say I experienced how he felt. It was the greatest gift I could ever receive. I can truly say that I never felt one moment of resentment against the one who had hurt me. I think the detective investigating the incident recognized that in me because, after I answered a few questions about how I knew Ken, he said, "You aren't thinking of not prosecuting him? You have to do that. The next person may not be so lucky." I knew in my heart that Ken would never do that again to anyone. I was the one that it was meant for. I don't think I could have received the blessed and glorious gift that I did receive had I not gone through what I did.
When I returned home after a few days in the hospital, my husband and children had prepared one of the rooms for me so I could be alone and recuperate in my own time. While I was lying there in silence, I received another beautiful gift. Noor-un-Nisa, the sister of my spiritual teacher Pir Vilayat Inayat Khan, came into the room and spoke the same words to me, "Now you know." Again I was flooded with the feelings she had for the people who tortured and finally killed her during WWII. She wanted to help save France from the Nazi occupation, and was trained to be an undercover agent in England. She was airdropped into France and was a key radio operator until she was betrayed, caught by the Germans, tortured, and shot at Dachau. She was another Joan of Arc trying to save her country.
I hope that from this account you will know that I truly understand and have experienced forgiveness at the deepest level of compassion and magnanimity. In Sufism we call this Ya Rahman, Ya Rahim, and this is where the healing begins not only for the one doing the forgiving, but also for the one being forgiven. I will never forget what it was like seeing Ken in the courtroom at his trial. He was so sad looking, as if he had lost his soul. He was just a shell. He wrote me asking for forgiveness, but I had already forgiven him. I didn't want him punished, and I hoped the police would not find him and that he would be free and have a good life. Most people could not understand this. They would say, "Aren't you glad they caught him?" and I would say "no." My heart was broken for what would happen to him and what had already happened by what he had done. I felt that he was not responsible for his actions, for he really did not understand what he did. Had this not happened I could not have had this experience, and would not have received the gift of forgiveness.
I know this will sound bizarre to some. Sometimes the things that sound the most outrageous are the things that turn out to be the most true.
Christ didn't say, "forgive them so that they can learn a lesson and go and do better." The forgiveness he asked for was unconditional, with nothing asked, just given. When we forgive someone, it is not on the condition that they become a better person and make amends for what they have done. We forgive by opening our hearts and allowing the compassion of God from the depths of our souls to come forth. I asked nothing of him who hurt me for he was already hurt — his soul was hurt and suffering.
In order to truly forgive you have to feel the suffering in the soul of the one who hurts you. Their suffering is very deep and painful. It is God suffering in them. It is like having two children and one of them hurts the other one. You love them both, and you hurt when one hurts the other. Think how much God feels for His/Her children, and how God hurts when they hurt one another.
Let us try to remember that we are all children in God, and that we are unconditionally loved by God. This will help us to be more tolerant of one another.
CHAPTER 3
Forgiveness
Most of us are taught in early childhood a false way to forgive. When we were young children fussing with one another, we were told by our parents to forgive each other by saying that we are sorry. But saying we are sorry is not forgiving. When we are angry or hurt and are told to forgive it can be confusing, for we don't actually want to forgive that person who has made us angry or has hurt us. This is where we start to learn to deny our feelings, which is then associated with forgiveness. This confusion gives us the wrong impression of what forgiveness is all about.
Forgiveness is something one learns over one's whole lifetime. We have many hurts in our lifetime, and unless we learn how to really forgive we will continue to suffer. We have to truly get past the feelings we have toward the one who hurt us, but typically, our mind takes over and tells us how we should think and feel. It rationalizes, and tells us all kinds of stories about why we must forgive and how we are to overlook things for the good of all concerned. So we convince ourselves that we don't feel ill will toward that person any longer. We make excuses for why the person did what they did that hurt us, so now we have reason to forgive them. We go along with this new reasoning, and then something happens and that old feeling — that wound of resentment — reasserts itself and we start all over again, telling ourselves we shouldn't feel this way. Again we push it down deeper inside.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Gift of Forgiveness by Firozia Wandis Slattery. Copyright © 2015 Firozia Wandis Slattery. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
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