I felt numb, dead, and indifferent. My attitude toward my abusive father was against all I knew Scripture taught, yet I didn't think I could ever forgive or have genuine unconditional love for him. At times I was overwhelmed with bitterness, anger, and hostility, but then I would push my emotions down until the pain stopped and I could be aloof, distant, uncaring.

As I grew in my faith, God began to convict me. Through tears, I asked God many times to at least make me willing to love and forgive my father, but I didn't think I ever would. Yet, one day, I found I could indeed give him a hug without being repulsed.

I wish I could say "and they lived happily ever after." We didn't. The old feelings of disgust and hatred cropped up many times when, through the years, my father's verbal and emotional abuse continued. Each time I saw him I struggled not to let his remarks completely devastate me, but I never became a professional forgiver. I remained an amateur. I think that's why Jesus told Peter that forgiveness is never-ending. We're to forgive seventy-times-seven; to keep on forgiving over and over and over again. Jesus points out that forgiveness isn't a "once and for all" exercise. It's an ongoing process.

In my struggles with forgiveness I learned something. Whether a person keeps on hurting me, or it's just the memory of the hurt that keeps cropping up in my mind, I'm to keep on giving it over to Jesus, and let it go.

God understands that a person can habitually hurt us, but we are never to get to the place where we say, "That's it. I'm never ever going to forgive him (or her) again." 

One particularly hard "seventy-times-seven" battle of forgiveness I had with my father, was when my mother lay in the hospital dying of cancer. I had been stopping in to make him a cup of coffee at his home each night after I left the hospital. After a particularly ugly day with him that included improper remarks and innuendo, I was thoroughly disgusted. I've had it, I said to myself. I'm not bothering with that man anymore. I'm just not going to make him his coffee tonight. He doesn't deserve it. 

As I was thinking these thoughts, I picked up the book I was reading on the Beatitudes. "Blessed are the merciful," I read, "for they shall obtain mercy." The author wrote about God's great mercy toward us and how we should not withhold mercy from others. I began to squirm. It was as if the Lord said to me, "After all the mercy I've shown you, after all I've forgiven you, you can't forgive your father one more time or show him mercy?" After leaving the hospital, I knew what I had to do. While making coffee for my father that night, it took on an amazingly new dimension. It wasn't just a case of serving my father. In obedience I was making coffee for the Lord, and as such, it was my act of worship. 

You would think this incident and many other little victories along the way helped me to forgive my father "seventy-times-seven." They didn't. Even today, several years after his death, I sometimes wonder if I've completely forgiven him, not only for what he did to me, but also to my mother. It's true I got to the place where I willed to forgive. Then I progressed to where I wanted to forgive, but so many times I was at war with my old nature. It was easy to say, "Sure, I've forgiven him." until I saw him again and the old feelings returned. And now when old memories come to haunt me, and I feel my blood pressure begin to rise, it's back to my knees to ask God for His help.

Part of our problem with forgiveness is realizing that "the person who hurt us did not have to. And for that reason," writes Lewis Smedes in Forgive & Forget, "we are always left with the mystery of why they did!" But mystery or not, unless we do forgive, we are kept in a wretched prison. And as much as we'd like to get out of our prison, forgiveness is not a simple act. Forgiveness and achieving reconciliation is complex.

So why bother? Isn't it easier to just draw the curtain on the mean-spirited people of the world and act as if they don't exist? The trouble is, as people belonging to God, we don't have that option. If we don't forgive others, God won't forgive us. But there's even more. Along with an unforgiving spirit comes the bitterness, and bitterness never lies dormant. It grows increasingly as we replay hurtful memories, and if not removed out of our lives, with each passing year, it consumes us more and more.

Getting rid of bitterness is never easy. The writer of Hebrews tells us in Hebrews 12:14-15, "make every effort to live in peace with all men (and women) and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many."

Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross, was reminded one day of a vicious deed that someone had done to her years before. She acted as if she had never heard of the incident.

"Don't you remember it? her friend asked. 

"No," came Clara's reply. "I distinctly remember forgetting it." 

Clara understood she was an amateur forgiver, that she would have to forgive again and again, but she made "every effort" not to let that "bitter root" grow. 

Are you having trouble forgiving someone? Take heart! Even if you manage to forgive in fits and starts, if you forgive today and resist tomorrow, and have to forgive again the day after - you are a forgiver. 

When it comes to forgiveness, most of us are amateurs. You don't have to be an expert to practice 70x7 forgiveness. The important thing is to make a start. 

~ By Norma Steven. Norma and her husband are retired missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators after 45 years of service in Mexico and the United States. She is the author of four books and many articles. She is currently involved in prayer and care ministries at her church. She and her husband have four children and ten grandchildren and reside in Santa Ana, California.