Forgiveness Flour

I heard an amazing talk on Sunday about judging and forgiving.  Too often, we give into our human nature and place one-word labels on the people in our lives--those we know and those we don't.  We label them as "depressed," "anxious," "angry," "selfish," and the list goes on.  The problem with this is that humans are complex beings with a slew of emotional ups and downs, and we might catch them at a bad moment and make a snap, one-word judgment about them.  The fact is that this emotion is only one piece of the puzzle that forms the tapestry of their lives.  Rather than assuming we have all the facts because of the one piece we happen to notice, we should assume the missing pieces.  Only when we know what makes a person tick, can we see them the way that Christ sees them.  Only when we show them His love, His kindness, and His forgiveness, can we feel completely whole and forgiven ourselves.

I am one who has made the mistake of assuming something about a person without seeing the big picture, not just once, but many times, and almost 100% of the time, I find out I am way off base.  I have wasted a lot of time and negative emotion making judgments and then having to backtrack and ask for forgiveness.  I am also guilty of being a grudge-holder.  I hang on to grudges like a security blanket--afraid to let go lest I leave myself vulnerable.  I unfairly place full blame for the dark, begrudging cloud that hangs over my head on the person whom I think put it there, afraid to look at the big picture and realize that I am more to blame for not letting go of its unbearable weight.  I love the following poem about both judgment and forgiveness called "Forgiveness Flour," by Marguerite Stewart.  The poem, along with its beginning and ending explanations, are quoted from a BYU speech called "On Measuring Flour and Forgiveness," by Madison U. Sowell:

The poem, written in the first person, features an unnamed wife who answers her door to find a young woman in shame and seeking flour, which symbolizes forgiveness, to make bread. The poem reads:

When I went to the door, at the whisper of knocking,
I saw Simeon Gantner’s daughter, Kathleen, standing
There, in her shawl and her shame, sent to ask
“Forgiveness Flour” for her bread. “Forgiveness Flour,”
We call it in our corner. If one has erred, one
Is sent to ask for flour of his neighbors. If they loan it
To him, that means he can stay, but if they refuse, he had
Best take himself off. I looked at Kathleen . . .
What a jewel of a daughter, though not much like her
Father, more’s the pity. “I’ll give you flour,” I
Said, and went to measure it. Measuring was the rub.
If I gave too much, neighbors would think I made sin
Easy, but if I gave too little, they would label me
“Close.” While I stood measuring, Joel, my husband
Came in from the mill, a great bag of flour on his
Shoulder, and seeing her there, shrinking in the
Doorway, he tossed the bag at her feet. “Here, take
All of it.” And so she had flour for many loaves,
While I stood measuring.
[Marguerite Stewart, “Forgiveness Flour,” Religious Studies Center Newsletter 7, no. 3 (May 1993): 1]

The phrase “While I stood measuring” characterizes too many of us too much of the time. We metaphorically “measure flour” in an attempt not to be overgenerous in our mercy. At the same time we pray that God will throw a bag of flour at our feet—that is, that he will be boundless in his mercy toward us.

Links on this topic:

On Measuring Flour and Forgiveness

Forgiveness: My Burden Was Made Light