[blockquote source=”Henri Nouwen, from Bread for the Journey“]”The only people we can really change are ourselves. Forgiving others is first and foremost healing our own hearts.” [/blockquote]

I remember the very first time I saw my father cry.

The year was 1990, and my father had come to visit me in Hawaii. Meanwhile, half-way around the world our troops were readying for our next military conflict.

It was a solemn time, one marked by the memories of my father—who had served alongside five of his seven brothers, in some of the most war-torn areas of World War II. Miraculously, all survived – but, not without leaving an integral ‘piece’ of themselves behind.

My father never spoke much of the war. And, never any long-winded stories of heroism in the face of certain defeat. Likewise, he deliberately shied away from any events which might honor his courage. Though, I do recall one day he opened up enough to say, “I called for the medic, but…it was already too late.”

Can you imagine experiencing such atrocities, before even having fallen in love?

And yet, there he was—still very much a child—fighting a war over something he barely understood.

We had planned a visit to the USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor, which serves as the final resting spot for over 1,177 crewmen who lost their lives on that fateful December 7th attack.

For those who have never visited, it is a profoundly moving experience.

There were 1.4 million gallons of fuel on the USS Arizona when she sank. And still, over 70 years later, that fuel continues to surface each day. The Hawaiians refer to these droplets as the ‘Tears of the Arizona,” and I…could think of no better tribute.

“To the Memory of the Gallant Men Here Entombed” reads the inscription. “And their shipmates who gave their lives in action on 7 December 1941, on the U.S.S. Arizona”

I’m reminded of a word in Hawaiian, “Hoʻoponopono.” Which means, to set right – through prayer, discussion, confession, and repentance – anything which might cause the heart to grieve. It is the ancient practice of forgiveness and healing, establishing the means by which we may finally let go of the ‘fault.’

I often think of this practice when I see others struggling in the tangled-up-ness of their heart’s past hurt. They want so badly to be free of this pain, and yet — they tend to hold onto it with everything they’ve got.

And, so on this day, my father stood at the Memorial’s edge…watching the tears of these soldiers slip into the ocean.

A few moments later, an elderly man approached from the left; by his dress, I could tell he was a Japanese veteran of the same World War. They stood silently together there for some time, until the older man extended his hand over the side, and – with great reverence – set a flowered lei upon the water.

“Hoʻoponopono,” the old man whispered.

It was then that my father cried.

I had always assumed my father was simply overcome by emotion; triggered by the action of this Japanese soldier asking for forgiveness.

But, in time I grew to realize that it was so much more than this. That it was more symbolic of the two finally having the courage to forgive themselves.

It has become, by far, one of the single-most transformative experiences in my life.

But my goodness, it’s so easy to develop our list of reasons — someone has wronged us, and in our heart we feel justified in our righteous unyielding. But, no one ever benefits from anger and resentment. Likewise, holding on merely reinforces the walls of our own self-imposed prison. Remember, ‘The energy spent trying to get revenge can be better spent creating an amazing life.”

Hoʻoponopono, my darlings – in our letting go, may we finally find our peace in this world.