In the new movie about him out this week, Fred (“Mr.) Rogers tells a friend that true forgiveness means letting go of the anger you feel for someone that hurt you.

I think that is one of the better definitions of forgiveness that I’ve heard, and I’ve considered a lot of them.

Gandhi said the weak could never forgive, that forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. C.S. Lewis said that to be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you. A mystic once wrote that forgiveness is when you can say, “thank you for that experience,” and mean it.

I think forgiveness is the highest and most difficult spiritual aspiration. It’s been challenging for me; I am sorry to say I rarely even think about it, let alone do it. Anger has often been my attitude more than forgiveness.

The ever cynical Oscar Wilde wrote: “Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.”

I’ve forgiven my father for the cruelty he showed to me and to my sister.

I’ve forgiven my mother for putting so much of her love in the wrong place.

It took me decades, but I did it, and I mean it, and I feel so much lighter and easier ever since.

I know well that anger is no fun; it is a heavy burden to bear. It accomplishes nothing.

I thought about forgiveness today because this is Thanksgiving week, a time of mercy for me.

And because my excellent breeder Lenore Severni – she did me the honor of selling me Zinnia – spoke with me today and thanked me for taking such good care of her dog.

She has been watching the blog and enjoying Zinnia’s acclimation to Bedlam Farm.

I am grateful for Zinnia.

I appreciate that Lenore is the real deal, one of the best and conscientious breeders I have yet encountered.

She is a deep and true animal lover. We have become friends and mutual admirers. Anyone who can produce dogs as beautiful as hers deserves respect and admiration.

She also told me of the blog reader who has been e-mailing her every single day to say to her about how terrible a person I was and how badly I was treating Zinnia.

She got several “nasty” e-mails about me since I started writing about Zinnia, and although she had the good grace to ignore them, I could tell it bothered her at times.

And why not? It bothered me at times.

Dealing with anger and broken people is the toll we pay for being free and open in American in 2019. It is so easy for haters to hate. I have learned to live with it; I hope I never get used to it. That will mean something inside of me has died.

Lenore read me the first few, but doesn’t read this woman’s e-mails any longer, she says. For a moment, I laughed about someone reading the blog and suggesting I was abusing zinnia. The image of someone sending off angry messages that are never read is somehow poignant to me.

Then I thought about it more and realized that true spirituality is not easy, and if I was serious about my evolution as a human, I needed to at least try to forgive this woman, whose anger is so deep and intent so cruel.

If I could do that, I would advance as a person who aspires to kindness and empathy. That would be a gift. Empathy isn’t just about compassion for people I like, but mainly, for people I don’t like and who are not likable.

If I chose to forgive every hateful message I received, I might well be close to being a holy man. Something to think about: maybe I can learn to see it as an opportunity not to be missed.

The anger and vengeance of this e-mailer is a sad thing. I imagine people with full and meaningful lives don’t take the trouble to do what she did.

I imagine her to be living a hard and lonely life.

So, as always, I turn to my spiritual mentor, Thomas Merton, who seems to have an almost mythical way of telling me what it is I need to be hearing, and inspiring me to be a better and more spiritual human:

So this is what I would say to this woman who hates me so much she would reach out in this way.

I would quote Merton:

“If you want to identify me, ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for.”

That’s what I would say to her, even as I know she will hide from me, as broken and angry people do.

I have no desire to argue with her, or to defend myself, or to tell Lenore how hard I am working to give Zinnia a good life, and how much she already means to me.

I am grateful to Lenore for trusting me, and I draw good things from that. The gift of people like her unwanted pen pal is that I can choose to be different from them, not the same.

If I believe in forgiveness, as I do, then can’t I forgive her for trying to hard to keep me from getting this dog and trying to take her away for no genuine reason at all?

Or perhaps her reason is genuine to her, and her motives are grand. Could be.

I can forgive her. I will. I do.

I’m with the mystics of the Kabbalah: Thank you, whoever you are, for the experience of learning to be better, of thinking about forgiveness, of letting go of the anger that is perhaps consuming you.

It will not consume me.

So this afternoon, I sat down here at my computer – Zinnia asleep by my feet, as she often is these days  – and let go of my resentment and anger, and wish her peace and contentment.

As it turns out, she did me no harm.

As I sat quietly, I felt something leaving me, my chest, and my heart felt lighter, more at peace.

I have a dog. I love the dog. Zinnia is my dog.

I know I will never provide anyone with a valid reason to take her away.

That feels good to write. Thanks for that.

In my heart, I feel sadness for this person, and yes, some gratitude.

Forgiveness for me is like climbing a steep and rocky hill. Every step of the way is painful and difficult, but the reward is pretty great. What matters is not that I get there, but that I don’t quit.

This weekend, I might try to do some more forgiving, even those influential people in our world who are causing so much pain and suffering.

Every step I take brings me closer to my idea of God makes me better and guides me towards living fully for the things I wish to live for.