forbearance

for·bear·ance

|fôr-bâr’ens|

n.

bearing with

endurance

restraint

command of temper

sparing another

patience

"So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, whoever has a complaint against anyone; just as the Lord forgave you, so also should you" (Colossians 3:12-13).

When this word forbearance popped up repeatedly in my Excellent Wife book by Martha Peace, I realized that this word had not been a part of my vocabulary. It's a word rarely used and a quality rarely practiced in our society. Peace writes: "The biblical guideline to overcome differentness is 'forbearance' (Ephesians 4:3). In other words, putting up with the other person's traditions or idiosyncrasies. . . .if something is really important to your husband (and he is not asking you to sin), then you should willingly give in graciously for the sake of unity and for the sake of remaining under your husband's authority." Long quote that opens a whole new array of topics, but I'm talking about forbearance here. I had never made it a point to acquire such a characteristic.

John Piper pairs forbearance with forgiveness. Both are crucial for all relationships (husband-wife, parent-child, friend-friend, brother-sister, relationships within the church, etc.). Forgiveness says that "I will not treat you badly because of your sins against me or your annoying habits. And forbearance acknowledges (usually to itself), those sins against me and those annoying habits really bother me! If there were nothing in the other person that really bothered us, there would be no need for saying 'enduring one another.'" Here's a picture Piper paints of forbearance and forgiveness within a marriage that I HAVE TO post:

Picture your marriage as a grassy field. You enter it at the beginning full of hope and joy. You look out into the future and you see beautiful flowers and trees and rolling hills. And that beauty is what you see in each other. Your relationship is the field and flowers and the rolling hills. But before long, you begin to step in cow pies. Some seasons of your marriage they may seem to be everywhere. Late at night they are especially prevalent. These are the sins and flaws and idiosyncrasies and weaknesses and annoying habits in you and your spouse. You try to forgive them and endure them with grace.

But they have a way of dominating the relationship. It may not even be true, but it feels like that’s all there is—cow pies. I think the combination of forbearance and forgiveness leads to the creation of a compost pile. And here you begin to shovel the cow pies. You both look at each other and simply admit that there are a lot of cow pies. But you say to each other: You know, there is more to this relationship than cow pies. And we are losing sight of that because we keep focusing on these cow pies. Let’s throw them all in the compost pile. When we have to, we will go there and smell it and feel bad and deal with it the best we can. And then, we are going to walk away from that pile and set our eyes on the rest of field. We will pick some favorite paths and hills that we know are not strewn with cow pies. And we will be thankful for the part of field that is sweet.

Our hands may be dirty. And our backs make ache from all the shoveling. But one thing we know: We will not pitch our tent by the compost pile. We will only go there when we must. This is the gift of grace that we will give each other again and again and again—because we are chosen and holy and loved.