I was sitting at my local coffee shop, drinking my vanilla latte, minding my own business, when I saw somebody through the window. I thought I was no longer affected by them until I started to spiral. 

No matter how much work I had done to heal the scars, I was reminded, remnants remain. 

Pain points, when scraped in an unexpected moment, can transport me back to an era I labored to move on from.

For a long time, I thought forgiveness meant the negative feelings would never resurface. That, somehow, forgiving would remove my humanness. But a coffee shop run-in proved otherwise. 

Emotions came flooding back, and a guilt-ridden meltdown followed close behind. 

This again, really? 

Have I done forgiveness all wrong? 

I thought I was over it. 

Haven’t I moved on by now?

As it turns out, forgiveness isn’t magic, and I’m not a wizard. Rather, it’s a practice for us, mere mortals. The reappearance of emotion does not negate the work I’ve done, but reminds me of it. Inviting me to practice forgiveness once again. 

Healing doesn’t hurry. It operates on its own timeline. And some wounds take longer. I’m learning, albeit slowly, to be unhurried in the process. Time may not heal, but the practice just might.