Authors: Iyanla Vanzant
EXAMPLE
I forgive myself for judging my life as useless and hopeless as it is right now.
I forgive myself for judging my life as
I forgive myself for judging my life as
I forgive myself for judging my life as
I forgive myself for judging my life as
– I F
ORGIVE
M
YSELF FOR
B
ELIEVING
–
EXAMPLE
I forgive myself for believing my life is a mess.
I forgive myself for believing my life is/is not
I forgive myself for believing my life should/should not
I forgive myself for believing my life may never
I forgive myself for believing my life will always
– T
APPING
S
EQUENCE
–
Review Basic Ta
pp
ing Sequence Guidelines on pages 53–59.
– REFLECTIONS –
Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember.
We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.
— L
EWIS
B. S
MEDES
I do not know what anything is for. Everything is for my own best interests.
God created no opposites, nothing that attacks, no-thing that could harm, obstruct, or obscure love’s presence. If I am seeing something that is blocking my awareness of love, it is an image of a false idea that I created and only forgiveness will dissolve it.
—P
RAYER FOR
A C
OURSE IN
M
IRACLES
W
ORKBOOK
L
ESSON
25
– Forgiveness Story by Iyanla Vanzant –
I
didn’t know my mother. I wish I had, but when she passed on, I was two and a half, and the big people in charge thought it best not to tell me. I was 30 when I discovered that the woman I was raised to believe was mother was in fact my stepmother. She had married my father three years before I was born.
My mother was “the other woman” in my father’s life. I loved my stepmother dearly, but she could not fill the vacancy in my soul left by my mother’s departure. Once I knew the truth, pieces and parts of my life made much more sense.
Growing up, I was always in awe of the relationship between my friends and their mothers. Living with my aunt as a family foster child, I always yearned for “my mother” to be there and do the things that I saw my friends doing with their mothers. In fact, I remember being quite disturbed, sometimes angry, when my friends spoke ill of their mothers. The normal mother-daughter squabbles took on an entirely different meaning in my heart and mind. Somewhere deep inside of me, without words or sound, I knew that to have your mother in your life was a blessing. My aunt did the best she could for as long as she could, but I was not her child. When my father and stepmother sent my brother and me to live with her, it was like a double whammy. My mother, who wasn’t really my mother, was gone, compounding the unspoken yearning I had for my natural mother, whom I hardly knew and didn’t remember.
Oh Lord! What a hot mess!
I used to always say that I was not a good mother. I was a great provider and rigorous disciplinarian, both of which made me a horrible mother. I can say that about myself now because I have learned the true role and function of a mother in a child’s life. In fact, my name,
Iyanla,
means
great mother.
It is more than a name. In the cultures of many West African villages, the
Iyanla
is the eldest woman in the village who has the responsibility to provide for the spiritual well-being of the community. As such, fulfilling the duties of the title is something that I have grown into and learned with much prayer and great study. As a function of life, “great mother” is not, I’m sure, what my children experienced, nor is it what they needed or expected from their mommy.