Beautiful words and black sludge

"May we have the Spirit of the Master dwelling within us, that we may forgive all men as He has commanded, forgive, not only with our lips but in the very depths of our hearts, every trespass that may have been committed against us. If we do this through life, the blessings of the Lord will abide in our hearts and our homes." 

~George Albert Smith, 
"Of You It Is Required to Forgive" 

During my morning devotional, I cringed a little as I read these beautiful words. Because they are so true. I know it. But because I feel so inadequate. I just haven't been able to get there ... to the "very depth of my heart" part. I've buried myself, immersed myself, drowned myself in teachings of the Atonement, healing, and forgiveness. I understand the process. I know about handing over my burden to the Savior. Why can't I do it?

I wish I could wrap it all up into a giant black ball of muck--the porn, the fake identities, the profiles on dating sites for married people, the erotic massages, the women sleeping in my bed, the mysterious missing grocery money used for who-knows-what, the years of adultery, the lies, the neglect, the terrible things my sweet children have had to go through and continue to go through--put it in a huge basket and send it away. But there are holes in my basket. It leaks and leaves streams of muck behind. I follow after it, trying to scoop it up and put the greasy sludge back in the basket, but it keeps coming through. I turn my back away from it, trying not to watch the enormous load travel away, but my ex is approaching with two buckets in his hands, full of more steaming black sludge. He holds the buckets out to me. I don't want to take them, but I must. I have our children, so I still have an obligation to deal with his filth. If I don't, the kids will have no one to teach them the difference between what is right and what is wrong. They will only see the filth without an explanation. Straining under the weight of the buckets, I turn back again and run toward the huge basket desperately trying to dump the new load into the pile. The burden is so heavy. I'm covered in the stuff. My knees are weak, but I stand, determined. I continue to fight. I want to give the burden away. But it keeps coming. I'm so tired.

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