# 491, FORGIVEN AND FOREVER
Sometimes, in life, we had done some things that we'll never forgive
ourselves. However, we had always been forgiven by our friends and
loved ones. And often, we took that for granted. Only when its too
late, that we realized that............
It had been three years since Lisa last opened the box. A sudden move
to Boston had kept her from packing it. But now that she was back home,
she took the time to look again at the memories. Fingering the corners
of the box and stroking its cover, Lisa pictured in her mind what was
inside.
There was a photo of the family trip to the Grand Canyon, a note from
her friend telling her that Nick Bicotti liked her, and the Indian
arrowhead she had found while on her senior class trip.
One by one, she remembered the items in the box, lingering over the
sweetest, until she came to the last and only painful memory. She knew
what it looked like--a single sheet of paper upon which lines had been
drawn to form boxes, 490 of them to be exact. And each box contained a
check mark, one for each time.
"How many times must I forgive my brother?" the disciple Peter had
asked Jesus. "Seven times?" Lisa's Sunday school teacher had read
Jesus'
surprise answer to the class. "Seventy times seven."
Lisa had leaned over to her brother Brent as the teacher continued
reading. "How many times is that?" she whispered. Brent, though two
years younger, was smarter than she was.
"Four hundred and ninety," Brent wrote on the corner of his Sunday
school paper. Lisa saw the message, nodded, and sat back in her chair.
She watched her brother as the lesson continued. He was small for his
age, with narrow shoulders and short arms. His glasses were too large
for his face, and his hair always matted in swirls. He bordered on
being a nerd, but his incredible skills at everything, especially
music,
made him popular with his classmates.
Brent had learned to play the piano at age four, the clarinet at age
seven, and ad just begun to play oboe. His music teachers said he'd be
a famous musician someday. There was only one thing at which Lisa was
better than Brent--basketball. They played it almost every afternoon
after school. Brent could have refused to play, but he knew that it was
Lisa's only joy in the midst of her struggles to get C's and D's at
school.
Lisa's attention came back to her Sunday school teacher as the woman
finished the lesson and closed with prayer. That same Sunday afternoon
found brother and sister playing basketball in the driveway. It was
then that the counting had begun. Brent was guarding Lisa as she
dribbled toward the basket. He had tried to bat the ball away, got his
face near her elbow, and took a shot on the chin. "Ow!", he cried out
and turned away. Lisa saw her opening and drove to the basket, making
an easy lay-up.She gloated over her success but stopped when she saw
Brent.
"You okay?", she asked. Brent shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry," Lisa
said.
"Really. It was a cheap shot." "It's all right. I forgive you," he
said. A thin smile then formed on his face. "Just 489 more times
though."
"Whaddaya mean?" Lisa asked.
"You know...what we learned in Sunday school today. You're supposed to
forgive someone 490 times. I just forgave you, so now you have 489
left," he kidded. The two of them laughed at the thought of keeping
track of every time Lisa had done something to Brent. They were sure
she had gone past 490 long ago.
The rain interrupted their game, and the two moved indoors. "Wanna play
Battleship?" Lisa asked. Brent agreed, and they were soon on the floor
of the living room with their game boards in front of them. Each took
turns calling out a letter and number combination, hoping to hit each
other's ships. Lisa knew she was in trouble as the game went on. Brent
had only lost one ship out of five. Lisa had lost three. Desperate to
win, she found herself leaning over the edge of Brent's barrier ever
so
slightly. She was thus able to see where Brent had placed two of his
ships. She quickly evened the score.
Pleased, Lisa searched once more for the location of the last two
ships. She peered over the barrier again, but htis time Brent caught her
in
the act. "Hey, you're cheating!" He stared at her in disbelief.
Lisa's face turned red. Her lips quivered. "I'm sorry," she said,
staring at the carpet. There was not much Brent could say. He knew Lisa
sometimes did things like this. He felt sorry that Lisa found so few
things she could do well. It was wrong for her to cheat, but he knew
the temptation was hard for her.
"Okay, I forgive you," Brent said. Then he added with a small laugh, "I
guess it's down to 488 now, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so." She returned his kindness with a weak smile and
added, "Thanks for being my brother, Brent."
Brent's forgiving spirit gripped Lisa, and she wanted him to know how
sorry she was. It was that evening that she had made the chart with the
490 boxes. She showed it to him before he went to bed. "We can keep
track of every time I mess up and you forgive me," she said.
"See, I'll put a check in each box--like this." She placed two marks in
the upper left-hand boxes.
"These are for today." Brent raised his hands to protest. "You don't
need to keep--" "Yes I do!" Lisa interrupted. "You're always forgiving
me, and I want to keep track. Just let me do this!" She went back
to her room and tacked the chart to her bulletin board. There were
many opportunities to fill in the chart in the years that followed. She
once told the kids at school that Brent talked in his sleep and called
out Rhonda Hill's name, even though it wasn't true. The teasing caused
Brent days and days of misery. When she realized how cruel she had
been, Lisa apologized sincerely. That night she marked box number 96.
Forgiveness number 211 came in the tenth grade when Lisa failed to
bring home his English book. Brent had stayed home sick that day
and had asked her to bring it so he could study for a quiz. She forgot
and
he got a C.
Number 393 was for lost keys...418 for the extra bleach she put in
the washer, which ruined his favorite polo shirt...449, the dent she
had put in his car when she had borrowed it.
There was a small ceremony when Lisa checked number 490. She used
a gold pen for the check mark, had Brent sign the chart, and then
placed it in her memory box.
"I guess that's the end," Lisa said. "No more screw-ups from me
anymore!" Brent just laughed. "Yeah, right." Number 491 was just
another
one of Lisa's careless mistakes, but its hurt lasted a lifetime.
Brent had become all that his music teachers said he would. Few
could play the oboe better than he. In his fourth year at the best music
school in the United States, he received the opportunity of a
lifetime--a
chance to try out for New York City's great orchestra.
The tryout would be held sometime during the following two weeks. It
would be the fulfillment of his young dreams. But he never got the
chance.
Brent had been out when the call about the tryout came to the
house. Lisa was the only one home and on her way out the door, eager to
get to work on time. "Two-thirty on the tenth," the secretary said on
the
phone. Lisa did not have a pen, but she told herself that she
could remember it.
"Got it. Thanks." I can remember that, she thought. But she did
not. It was a week later around the dinner table that Lisa realized her
mistake. "So, Brent," his mom asked him, "When do you try out?" "Don't
know
yet. They're supposed to call." Lisa froze in her seat. "Oh, no!" she
blurted ot loud. "What's today's date? Quick!" "It's the
twelfth," her dad answered. "Why?" A terrible pain ripped through
Lisa's
heart.
She buried her face in her hands, crying. "Lisa, what's the
matter?" her mother asked. Through sobs Lisa explained what had
happened.
"It was two days ago...the tryout...two-thirty...the call came...last
week." Brent sat back in his chair, not believing Lisa. "Is this one
of
your jokes, sis?" he asked, though he could tell her misery was real.
She
shook her head, still unable to look at him.
"Then I really missed it?" She nodded. Brent ran out of the kitchen
without
a word. He did not come out of his room the rest of the evening. Lisa
tried once to knock on the door,but she could not face him. She went to
her
room where she cried bitterly.
Suddenly she knew that she had to do. She had ruined Brent's life.
He could never forgive her for that. She had failed her family, and
there was nothing to do but to leave home. Lisa packed her pickup truck
in the middle of the night and left a note behind, telling her folks
she'd be all right. She began writing a note to Brent, but her words
sounded empty to her. Nothing I say could make a difference anyway,
she
thought.
Two days later she got a job as a waitress in Boston. She found an
apartment not too far from the restaurant. Her parents tried many
times to reach her, but Lisa ignored their letters. "It's too late," she
wrote them once. "I've ruined Brent's life, and I'm not coming
back."
Lisa did not think she would ever see home again. But one day in the
restaurant where she worked she saw a face she knew. "Lisa!" said
Mrs.Nelson, looking up from her plate. "What a surprise."
The woman was a friend of Lisa's family from back home. "I was so
sorry to hear about your brother," Mrs. Nelson said softly.
"Such a terrible accident. But we can be thankful that he died
quickly. He didn't suffer." Lisa stared at the woman in shock.
"Wh-hat," she finally stammered. It couldn't be! Her brother? Dead? The
woman quickly saw that Lisa did not know about the accident. She told
the
girl the sad story ofthe speeding car, the rush to the hospital, the
doctors working over Brent.But all they could do was not enough to save
him.
Lisa returned home that afternoon. Now she found herself in her room
thinking about her brother as she held the small box that held some of
her
memories of him. Sadly,she openedthe box and peered inside. It was as
she
remembered, except for one item--Brent's chart. It was not there. In its
place, at the bottom of the box, was an envelope. Her hands shook as she
tore it open and
removed a letter. The first page read:
Dear Lisa,
Lisa turned to the second page where she found a chart just like
the one she had made as a child, but on this one the lines were drawn in
perfect precision. And unlike the chart she had kept, there was
but one check mark in the upper left- hand corner. Written in red felt
tip pen over the entire page were the words:
"NUMBER 491. Forgiven, FOREVER."
It was you who kept count, not me. But if you're stubborn enough
to keep count, use the new chart I've made for you.
Love,
Brent