while tapping continuously on the Karate Chop point.
Tap 7 times on each of the 10 meridian points while repeating out loud the key details from the 12 Forgiveness Statements. This process can be modeled on the bonus Tapping Scripts.
Recheck the intensity level of any unforgiveness you hold about today’s topic. Write the number down. If the level is at 8 or higher, repeat the entire sequence. If the level is less than 8, tap on a Modified Set-Up Statement, then perform the 10-point Tapping Sequence on your 12 Forgiveness Statements until you are at a 0 level of intensity.
– REFLECTIONS –
Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one who inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness.
—M ARIANNE W ILLIAMSON
– Forgiveness Friend Story by Rev. Lydia Ruiz –
I n August 1993, his story was reported in the New York Daily News. After watching an HBO movie titled Strapped, a 15-year-old boy decided to reenact the story in his own life. He went out to Greenwich Village in New York City. He returned home with a heart filled with anxiety. He was unable to pull the trigger. Plan B: he decided to shoot out a window toward a basketball park filled with players. My mother had just returned home after completing a nine-day rosary vigil for a neighbor who had lost her mother. My mother was preparing her dinner when he pulled the trigger.
The first time I saw him, it was in Judge Judy’s courtroom. She was a courtroom judge before she became a television icon. In classic Judge Judy style she asked, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young man?” He stood stark still, glaring ahead of himself as if he were watching television. He had nothing to say. According to the defense attorney, his mother was an active alcoholic who was not in the courtroom. My mother was dead. Yet for some reason I was sitting in court feeling sorrow and sadness for the child who had senselessly murdered her. She was the bedrock of my foundation. I hated him for what he had done—stupid kid!
My mother’s death made me an orphan at age 37. I grew up in hard-core streets of New York City, Spanish Harlem, where the street rules were, “Don’t cuss in front of my mother!” and “You better not talk about my mother” and “I will kill you if you touch my mother!” This was all well and good when I was talking to my peers, but a kid???? How was I supposed to retaliate? How would I avenge her death?
My family, friends, and the neighborhood who knew my mother as the “praying hairdresser” were all outraged, looking at me, wondering—like I was—what I was going to do. There were marches and protests to influence his sentencing. The local politicians she had worked with used her death as a springboard to advance their careers. It was an opportunity to extract justice for a senseless murder and a forgotten community. But I couldn’t sleep at night. My eyes were so swollen from crying, I could barely see. No matter where we were or what was going on, every now and again my sister would let out these bloodcurdling screams in an effort to release her pain. It was unbearable. The possibilities were unspeakable.
I wanted revenge. I wanted justice. I wanted to hurt someone, anyone—as if that would make my pain easier to bear. One night I met with an old associate who I knew had a gun. He said he knew I would come. I wondered why he thought this was what people where waiting for and what was expected. It felt like my legs had a mind of their own. I went to the one place I knew my mother would want me to be—the church. It was her second home. She cleaned it, decorated it, and sat there many a times in the echoic silence. I sat in her pew. I called out her name. Unlike many other times, this time she didn’t answer. I called out to God. His response was clear: “You have been sick for too many years. The freedom your mother prayed for is here. Your
Tap 7 times on each of the 10 meridian points while repeating out loud the key details from the 12 Forgiveness Statements. This process can be modeled on the bonus Tapping Scripts.
Recheck the intensity level of any unforgiveness you hold about today’s topic. Write the number down. If the level is at 8 or higher, repeat the entire sequence. If the level is less than 8, tap on a Modified Set-Up Statement, then perform the 10-point Tapping Sequence on your 12 Forgiveness Statements until you are at a 0 level of intensity.
– REFLECTIONS –
Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one who inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness.
—M ARIANNE W ILLIAMSON
– Forgiveness Friend Story by Rev. Lydia Ruiz –
I n August 1993, his story was reported in the New York Daily News. After watching an HBO movie titled Strapped, a 15-year-old boy decided to reenact the story in his own life. He went out to Greenwich Village in New York City. He returned home with a heart filled with anxiety. He was unable to pull the trigger. Plan B: he decided to shoot out a window toward a basketball park filled with players. My mother had just returned home after completing a nine-day rosary vigil for a neighbor who had lost her mother. My mother was preparing her dinner when he pulled the trigger.
The first time I saw him, it was in Judge Judy’s courtroom. She was a courtroom judge before she became a television icon. In classic Judge Judy style she asked, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young man?” He stood stark still, glaring ahead of himself as if he were watching television. He had nothing to say. According to the defense attorney, his mother was an active alcoholic who was not in the courtroom. My mother was dead. Yet for some reason I was sitting in court feeling sorrow and sadness for the child who had senselessly murdered her. She was the bedrock of my foundation. I hated him for what he had done—stupid kid!
My mother’s death made me an orphan at age 37. I grew up in hard-core streets of New York City, Spanish Harlem, where the street rules were, “Don’t cuss in front of my mother!” and “You better not talk about my mother” and “I will kill you if you touch my mother!” This was all well and good when I was talking to my peers, but a kid???? How was I supposed to retaliate? How would I avenge her death?
My family, friends, and the neighborhood who knew my mother as the “praying hairdresser” were all outraged, looking at me, wondering—like I was—what I was going to do. There were marches and protests to influence his sentencing. The local politicians she had worked with used her death as a springboard to advance their careers. It was an opportunity to extract justice for a senseless murder and a forgotten community. But I couldn’t sleep at night. My eyes were so swollen from crying, I could barely see. No matter where we were or what was going on, every now and again my sister would let out these bloodcurdling screams in an effort to release her pain. It was unbearable. The possibilities were unspeakable.
I wanted revenge. I wanted justice. I wanted to hurt someone, anyone—as if that would make my pain easier to bear. One night I met with an old associate who I knew had a gun. He said he knew I would come. I wondered why he thought this was what people where waiting for and what was expected. It felt like my legs had a mind of their own. I went to the one place I knew my mother would want me to be—the church. It was her second home. She cleaned it, decorated it, and sat there many a times in the echoic silence. I sat in her pew. I called out her name. Unlike many other times, this time she didn’t answer. I called out to God. His response was clear: “You have been sick for too many years. The freedom your mother prayed for is here. Your
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