Legal Property

* * * * * * * * * * * * * This blog is the intellectual property of Anne Baxter Campbell, and any quotation of part or all of it without her approval is illegal. * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, December 11, 2010

This, too, shall pass

All of us go through times that are less than pleasant. Probably one of the worst times of my life was back in the 80's in a small town in Utah. My life was in chaos--a new job, an impending divorce, and---someone decided that they didn't want me working where I was working. Someone that I worked with. Someone that I thought was a friend. Someone anonymous.
It started with phone calls--someone would hang up when I answered the phone, over and over again.
Then came the letter writing--at first to me, telling me what a terrible person I was and how everyone hated me. Then, the person copied the letters they wrote to me and sent the copies to at least 25 of my coworkers. And, if that wasn't enough, they sent a letter to my boss, another one to the office boss, and another one to the regional office. That got our office harassment person involved. Together, we went to the Post Office to see if they remembered anyone sending out so many letters (it wasn't Christmastime, so it might have been memorable), and we went to the sheriff's office to try to get fingerprints from the letters. Nothing worked.
I went to the Post Office again--this time to report the crime and get a postal inspector on the case. When they contacted me, they asked for my list of suspects. My "wait-a-minute" antennae went to full alert.
"Will the suspects know they are being investigated?" I asked.
The answer was yes. Well, that ended that. I couldn't put anyone through that kind of torment.
And--maybe whoever it was heard that they might be investigated. For whatever reason, the harassment stopped. I kept all the letters, dragging them out and showing them to anyone that I thought might join me in my indignation and hurt. Over and over again, I rehashed the letters, the phone calls, the anger.
Finally, one of the friends I showed the letters to and began to retell all the woes to gently turned to face me. Handing me the letters I had put into his hands, he said, "You need to throw these away."
"I can't," I exploded. "That's all the evidence I have."
"But you need to forgive, and as long as you hang onto these, you will never be able to."
"But..." I gave him all the arguments I could think of. And he just kept telling me, "You need to forgive."
Finally, I knew he was right. If you are reading this, Kim, thank you. And praise God He sent you to free me of this obsessive anger.
No, I never found out who was harassing me. But even if I did, now, all I would say is, "I forgave you a long time ago." And hope that would also free them.
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