Breaking the Cycle

 “Be as kind as God has been to you." ~ Ephesians 4:31-32

In Jada’s neighborhood, sirens sang more than birds. Each morning on the way to school, she walked past homeless bodies and shuttered windows - hoodie up, eyes down, carrying herself like someone who expected trouble any minute. Others called her “fiery,” unaware of the hidden scars that’d shaped her.

Her dad left when she was born, her mom worked long hours when she wasn’t sleeping, and her older brother found trouble the way shadows appear at dusk. Jada didn’t cry about any of it; that was for kids who had someone to hear them.

At school, sarcasm became her shield. If someone tried to get close, she pushed them away first. Rejection hurt less when she was the one handing it out.

One afternoon, a boy joked about her brother getting locked up again. Before thinking, her fist connected with his right eye.

The walk home after the meeting with the principal was strangely quiet. Jada expected yelling. Instead, her mother sighed. "Baby, when hurt people hurt others," she said, her voice gentle yet firm, "someone has to stop the cycle."

Jada didn’t respond, but her mother's words lingered long after the conversation ended.

That evening, she sat on the apartment steps, watching the neighborhood drift toward darkness. Soon, the boy she'd punched walked down the sidewalk, slowing when he saw her. "Why'd you hit me?" he asked.

Jada didn’t have a simple answer. Years of anger, fear, and loneliness bound her like rusted chains. “I don’t know,” she muttered, staring at her feet. “People shouldn’t mess with me.”

He studied her for a moment. "Maybe," he said. "Or maybe people have messed with you for so long you expect it from everyone."

Jada opened her mouth to argue, but no words came. The boy nodded once and kept walking.

No insults. No threats. Just understanding. His response unsettled her more than any fight ever had.

That night she lay awake listening to distant sirens and the hum of traffic outside her window. Her mother's words kept returning. “Hurt people hurt others.” The truth stung. For the first time, she wondered if she had become part of the hurt she hated.

The next day, nothing felt magically different. The neighborhood was the same. Her problems were still waiting for her. But when the boy smiled at her in the hallway, Jada did something she normally wouldn’t ever have done. She walked over.

"Sorry about your eye," she said softly. He grinned. "It's getting better."

It wasn't much. Just a few words. But in a place where anger spread easily, kindness felt like rebellion. As Jada headed to class, she realized healing didn't begin when all the pain disappeared. It began when someone chose not to pass that pain on.

Lord, help me carry my hurts without passing them on. Teach me to turn my pain into patience, my anger into understanding, and my fear into courage. Heal the broken places in my heart and guide me to break the cycle of hurt. Amen

Prepping the Heart

 “Look beneath the surface so you can judge correctly.”~ John 7:24

Mark arrived early, steam rising from his coffee, whispering a prayer, offering the day, the sweat, and his own his own clumsy heart to God. “Lord, let this service be more than manual labor, let it be a reflection of Your love.”

But the moment he stepped inside, his devotion seemed to vanish. A teenager slouched near the drop cloths, his oversized hoodie pulled low, earbuds sealing him into his own world. Hands buried deep in his pockets, he didn’t even glance up.

Great, Mark thought, cynicism flaring hot. Another kid who’ll disappear the moment heavy lifting begins. “Morning,” Mark offered, weaker than intended. The kid gave a silent nod.

Mark instantly formed an entire opinion from a single snapshot: lazy, unmotivated, entitled. “Was this court-ordered community service?” he grumbled silently, aggressively rolling a stipe of color onto the drywall?

Sometime later, Fran burst through the door, radiating her usual sunshine. “Wonderful, you’ve already met Jacob!” she beamed. “He sneaked in at dawn to prep the entire room before we arrived. He even brought his own supplies from home,” she added.

Jacob slipped out one earbud, offering a tentative smile. “The sanding’s done; all the border taping too,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to interrupt while you were painting.”

A flush crept up Mark’s neck—the stinging heat of shame and revelation. His rigid assumptions crumbled like dry plaster. All he’d seen was a slouch and a hoodie, mistaking shyness for arrogance. He had overlooked the hands that rose early, the unseen hustle, and the devotion poured into God’s house of worship.

Mark parked his roller, his tone quieter now. “Jacob… I completely misread you. I’m so sorry

Genuinely unbothered, Jacob shrugged “It’s alright. I’m not good with new people. I just… like to work. Helps me feel useful.”

They painted in tandem, their brushes striking a steady rhythm of grace. With every sweep of new color, Mark felt the Holy Spirit’s gentle pressure on his heart. He recalled a familiar verse: “Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

How often had he failed to see others through Christ’s eyes?

Sunlight flooded the sanctuary, warming the freshly painted walls. Mark knew he’d received something more precious than a lesson in painting. The Holy Spirit had stopped him in his tracks, forcing him to look closer, and to see through the lens of Grace. Bowing his head, he breathed a prayer that wasn’t flashy or polished… just deeply honest. (below).

When he opened his eyes, the room seemed much brighter. As if God’s invisible Hand had brushed a coat of mercy across the walls, leaving a vibrant, lingering warmth echoing in his chest.

Heavenly Father, teach me to see as You see, to love as You love. Let my hands follow Your will and my heart mirror Your grace. Strengthen me when I falter, open my eyes to the faithful work done in silence, and let me reflect Your love in all I do. Amen

Redeemed

“Let the redeemed tell their story.” ~ Psalm 107:2-3

When the prison gates swung open, Josef stepped back into sunlight for the first time as a free man. Twenty years ago, in a moment of blind rage, he’d taken his friend’s life. The same little boy who’d later testify against him, had watched from the hallway.

Prison broke Josef before it rebuilt him. He surrendered what was left of his pride and slowly became someone new. He studied Scripture, led Bible studies, and sat beside dying inmates who longed for redemption.

Having served his time, he didn’t chase comfort or anonymity. Instead , he took to the streets as a preacher. Wearing a tattered suit and a wooden cross, he shouted: “Repent now! Free the prisoner inside you.”

Across the street, a young man watched with an icy stare. Ryan hadn’t forgiven, or healed, since the day  that ‘preacher’ ended his father’s life. Now, there he was hugging strangers, praying over addicts, and blessing babies.

“How can a murderer preach God’s Word?” Ryan muttered through clenched teeth.

Josef lifted his eyes toward heaven just as a single gunshot shattered the air. The crowd scattered. Pain tore through Josef’s leg as he collapsed to the ground. Ryan pushed through the chaos and stood over him. “Remember me?”

Recognition struck Josef like a second bullet. “Ryan,” he stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I’ve waited twenty years to say that. I can’t bring your Dad back, but I’ll accept whatever comes next.”

“Apology not accepted,” Ryan snarled. “I was only seven!” Memories flooded him - the funeral, his mother’s tears, therapy never finished. Josef didn’t beg. He didn’t plead. He simply waited as sirens screamed closer.

“PUT THE GUN DOWN!” police shouted. Ryan turned toward them, gun still raised. They fired. He collapsed to the pavement. Death came instantly.

Josef woke the next day to a throbbing leg. A nurse entered his hospital room. “Visitor for you.”

Ryan’s mother entered quietly, her face worn with sorrow. She sat beside Josef’s bed for a long moment before speaking. “I never forgave you,” she whispered. “That day, I lost two men, my husband… and now my son.” She continued as tears spilled from her eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you completely. But hate has taken enough from me already.”

They sat in silence, bound by a grief too heavy for words.

Months later, Josef returned to the streets, limping heavily. His voice softer now; he no longer relied on noise to be heard. Instead, he told stories - his own story. He didn’t demand forgiveness; he lived what it meant to bear consequences and still choose love.

The weight of his past never left him. But he carried it differently now - not with shame, but with purpose. He'd found redemption from God. And slowly… from himself.

Forgiving Lord, I come before You with a repentant heart, seeking Your mercy and forgiveness. Cleanse me from my sins and guide me to walk in Your light. Help me find peace in Your presence and trust in Your plan. Amen

The Long Way Home

 “Love endures all things.” ~ 1 Corinthians 13:7

When twenty-something Samuel left town, he didn’t say goodbye.

He was young, restless, and certain of being misunderstood. Every conversation with his father felt like a quiet correction, well-meant, but heavy to a son desperate to be his own man.

Henry, his father, believed in patience, in steady, proven paths. Samuel burned for motion, for risk, for a life he could claim as his own. What Henry called wisdom, Samuel heard as doubt.

Their argument hadn’t been loud, which almost made it worse. It ended in unfinished sentences and a long silence. With pride clenching his heart, Samuel walked out. He told himself that leaving was necessary; that distance would prove his strength. Success would justify any wounds he caused.

What Samuel never admitted, not even to himself, was that he left out of fear. Fear of failing beneath his father’s expectations. Fear that if he stayed, he would never discover who he was apart from the man who raised him.

So he chose the road instead of his father’s table, independence instead of reconciliation. There would be time later, he reasoned, after the anger cooled, after he proved he was right. But years passed, and by the time he learned that pride was a poor substitute for peace, the silence had grown heavier than the apology he spoke out loud.

Henry had always kept Samuel’s room unchanged. Not because he expected his son to return, but because love, once given, doesn’t know how to revoke itself.

Years later, a letter arrived in his son’s handwriting. “Dad, I don’t know how to come home. I just know I should never have left like that.”

Henry read it twice, hands untroubled and relieved. Its postmark came from the next town over, the one whose bus arrived just before dusk. Waiting had taught him to notice such things.

He folded the letter, checked the clock, whispered a prayer, and put on his coat. There was a chance, just a chance, that Samuel would be on the evening bus. Hope rarely offers certainty.

That night, Samuel stepped off the bus, eyes lowered, rehearsing apologies he feared would never be enough. When he looked up, he saw his Dad - breathless from the walk, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I don’t deserve this,” Samuel said.

Henry shook his head gently. “Forgiveness isn’t something you earn,” he replied. “It’s something I chose long before you asked.”

They walked home together, slowly. Not everything was repaired that night. Trust would take time. But the greatest distance, that space between resentment and mercy, had already been crossed.

Later, Samuel noticed his bedroom light glowing. “You left it on for me?” he asked. Henry smiled. “No,” he said. “I left it on for myself. Hope needs light, too.”

Father God,  You see the roads chosen and the tables left behind. Teach us to choose love over pride, patience over distance, and hope over fear. Give us hearts that forgive before requested and the courage to return when Grace calls. Amen

Runaway

“Parents, don’t lose hope, your children will return to places of peace and safety.” ~ Jeremiah 31:17

Gwendolyn sat quietly on concrete steps that were damp from the morning rain. Her arms wrapped tightly around knocking knees, trying to summon energy for today’s mission.

She’d been hanging around this runaway teen shelter for five consecutive nights, in search of any news about her sixteen-year-old daughter. Unfortunately, shelters like this exist to help kids, not parents, so they couldn't tell Gwen if Melanie was, or had been, there.

If only. If only… they had done things differently!

Gwen’s family appeared to be "normal.” Their only daughter was involved in many activities and had a lot of friends. Without warning, Melanie was devastated by a double whammy when her parents divorced and her Mom decided to move them away from her Dad. The adults had become so polarized with each other that Melanie chose to live on her own.

So, nine months ago, she ran... scared, confused, angry, and disillusioned.

Now, both parents take turns searching under bridges, inside tunnels, near homeless shelters, and places frequented by whores and drug addicts for their child.

Today, Gwen’s search begins near Roosevelt Avenue, where the teen was last seen. “May I give you a flyer?" Gwen pleads with anyone who’ll listen. "We're looking for my teenage daughter, Melanie. This is her picture."

Most walk on by, a few nod horizontally after glancing at the photo. All have strong reactions, which blend both sorrow and distance – sad for a grieving mother, yet grateful it's not their child.

As nightfall claims the overhead skies, Gwen heads for home, every step lacking hope and resolve. Every glimmer of potential she felt earlier today has leaked away.

Like so many moms, Gwen struggles to accept that her child ran away. She fears what dangers young runaways like Melanie may face. Nearly 1 in 5 engage in “survival sex” – pimping themselves for a hot meal, a bed to sleep in, drugs, or money. Teenagers and young adults. Girls and boys.

If only… she had the chance to apologize for being selfish and insensitive. She torments herself for failing as a mother and silently begs for a chance to reunite.

Gwen desperately wants Melanie to know that she and her Dad both love her very much, that they miss her, that each will try harder, and that their doors remain open anytime.

As she pulled into the driveway, she noticed a light on in the family room. When she opened the door, her heart soared. Melanie lay asleep on the couch. She pulled a blanket from the closet and, feeling more love than she ever thought possible, placed it gently over her child.

She'd come home! Whatever forgiveness is, it entered their lives today," she thinks.

Heavenly Father, we know that no matter how far away our children run, You can always reach them. No matter how difficult the wayward child’s situation, I pray for your persuasive power to draw them close to You. Amen

The Good Angel

 “Violent people have been trying to seize God’s earthly Kingdom forever." ~ Matthew 11:12

She was born the daughter of a poor Italian tenant farmer in 1890. When her father died nine years later, Maria was left to raise her five siblings while her mother worked the fields. As such, she never learned to read or write.

Her young life never seemed to pause. She also cooked, cleaned, and sewed for two next-door neighbors - Giovanni and his alcoholic son, Alessandro. Despite their extreme poverty, the family remained close and piously worshipped God.

During this time, Alessandro developed an impure liking for the beautiful 11-year-old with chestnut hair and delicate features. After months of crude taunting, the 20-year-old brute attempted to rape her.

Maria defended her God-given purity, screaming: "No! This is a sin; God doesn’t want this!"

Enraged, Alessandro stabbed her heart 11 times. When she attempted to flee, he stabbed her three more times in the back.

She survived for several hours after undergoing surgery without anesthesia. When asked if she forgave her attacker, she replied: "Yes, for the love of Jesus I forgive him... and I want him to be with me in Paradise." Reassured by the Church’s last sacraments, Maria died the next day from an infection brought on by her wounds.

Alessandro, a legal minor, was sentenced to thirty years. He remained unashamed for his actions until, during the eleventh year of his incarceration, Maria appeared before him in a dream. From his account, “She smiled at me and offered an armful of the lilies. When I took them, each lily transformed into a pure-white flame.” 

He awoke a changed man, begging God for forgiveness.

After serving seventeen more years in prison, he visited Maria's mother and asked for her mercy. She gave it willingly, saying, "If my daughter forgave you, who am I to withhold it?” He became a porter and gardener at a Capuchin monastery, a job he held for the rest of his life.

On June 24, 1950, Pope Pius XII canonized Maria Goretti as the youngest saint at the time. It was the first time in its history that St. Peter’s Basilica - the largest church in the world - couldn’t be used for a Canonization Mass.

Among the half million souls at the open-air ceremony in St. Peter’s Square, 66-year-old, ex-con, Alessandro Serenelli, sobbed tears of joy.

Before he died in 1970, Alessandro wrote an open letter to the public stating: “Saint Maria Goretti was my good Angel, sent to me through Providence to guide and save me. I still have impressed upon my heart her words of rebuke and pardon.”

The feast of St. Maria Goretti is celebrated annually by Roman Catholics worldwide on July 6^th. She’s the Patron Saint of chastity, rape victims, youth, poverty, purity, and forgiveness.

Saint Maria, look kindly at those who’ve strayed from the path of eternal salvation. Free us from evil temptations, comfort our sorrows, and guide us, that one day we might enjoy the enduring glory of Heaven with you. Amen

Better Than Revenge

 “We gain redemption by His blood, through the riches of His grace." ~ Ephesians 1:7

When 11-year-old Abram witnessed his Mom’s violent murder while walking their dog, the love that had been inside him from birth melted away. Caught in the crossfire of a gang-related hit, she’d taken three 38-caliber bullets and died on the street like a common garden weed.

Hatred set in immediately. She would never see him graduate, never see him get married, or have children. It’s not right for a child to bury his parent. “I wanted the killer dead in the most painful way possible,” he admitted.

But after months of investigation, the crime remained unsolved. A murderer remained at large, avoiding a possible life sentence without parole. Abram headed down a self-destructive path of alcohol, drugs, and crime, seeking love stolen from him by his Mom’s assassin.

Absent a suspect, he could only dream of retaliation - collecting guns, knives, and even a pipe bomb. It would be ten years before his emotional torture would end when his friend Jahmir encouraged him to attend a Bible study that he was leading on forgiveness.

Initially skeptical and dismissive, Abram finally accepted his buddy’s invitation. He’d grown tired of the hatred he’d been harboring that obstructed any peace of mind.

Jahmir’s message rang clear. “When hatred boils up, take the pot off the stove and open the lid. You gotta let that steam dissipate safely before it burns you,” he suggested. “Repent now for everything you’ve said and planned against the gunman. Pray for him as you pray for yourself. Every time a hateful thought enters your consciousness, say, ‘I choose to forgive.’’’

Over time and with practice, Abram felt the resentment, anger, and hostility release their emotional burden. He’d taken the first steps in letting go of hatred by replacing it with mercy and forgiveness.

Jahmir, too, sensed a change in his friend. When he was certain that Abram had indeed forgiven his mother’s murderer, he confessed to him: “It was my brother, Jaylen, who accidentally shot your Mom. Like many young fools, he’d been lured into a gang by false promises. He’d like to apologize for what he did.”

Abram stood dumbstruck by the admission. “Yes, I’d like that,” he whispered.

In Abram’s presence, a deflated Jaylen broke down in tears, confirming his guilt - no words needed to be spoken.

Abram embraced him, raining a further torrent of tears off Jaylen’s cheeks. “From the bottom of my heart, Jaylen, I forgive you,” he said. Instantly, Abram felt the remaining fragments of bitterness, animosity, and junk he’d carried around for over a decade disappear, wiped away by Jesus’ blood.

“Man,” Jalen uttered through wailing gasps, “how… why would you do that?”

Abram said, “Because of Who is in me. Through His grace, there lies an opening for transformation.”

Forgiving Lord, I kneel before You, admitting my sins and seeking Your forgiveness. Help me forgive those who have wronged me, as resentment harms me more than it does them. Cleanse my heart from all that taints it. Amen

Forgive Me?

 “Forgive one another, just as God has forgiven you." ~ Ephesians 4:32

Samuel had just stepped away from the podium, recounting the tragic story that had taken the lives of his wife and two children nearly 20 years earlier. He’d shared the painful details of their final hour with the local chapter of MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving®).

His wife Etta waited to turn left from the highway’s center lane when an oversized GM Suburban rear-ended her, pushing her Ford Escort into oncoming traffic. The vehicle then struck several oncoming vehicles. In all, four vehicles were totaled almost beyond recognition.

Etta and their son, Tyrone, died instantly. Alex, their youngest son, was ejected from the car into a nearby drainage ditch. Witnesses rushed to the unconscious 7-year-old and remained with him until EMTs raced him to the hospital. He later died from multiple injuries.

Uninjured, the Suburban’s driver was charged with three counts of second-degree murder. At a news conference, the police chief revealed that his blood alcohol level was 4 times the legal limit, the highest ever recorded in the precinct.

Part of Samuel died that same day. His best friend, co-parent, bowling partner, and fellow traveler was gone in an instant. The emptiness of losing his two boys still left him angry and depressed.

Opportunities to share the crime’s impact upon himself, his friends, and the community offered some temporary relief from repressed emotions. For the offenders present in the crowd as part of their sentences, it emphasized that driving drunk was a choice that impacts many innocent people.

Just then, he recognized the man working his way forward as others left the auditorium. The man who’d destroyed his life had been released after serving 18 years of his 20-year prison sentence. He stopped directly in front of Samuel and extended a trembling hand.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked in a quavering voice.

The murderer could've stood there for seconds with his hand outstretched. To Samuel, it felt like hours while he wrestled with what to do next.

God’s forgiveness has one prior condition. To be forgiven ourselves, we must first forgive those who’ve injured us (Matthew 6:14).

Yet, he stood silent as bitterness gripped his heart. But forgiveness takes deliberate action; free will can function regardless of the heart’s temperature.

"Jesus, help me!" Samuel prayed silently. “I’ll lift my hand if you supply the genuine emotion."

Mechanically, Samuel offered his hand to be shaken. As he did, something incredible happened. The current started in his brain, raced down his arm, and sprang into their coupled hands. Tears flowed as a healing warmth flooded Samuel’s body.

"I forgive you, brother!" Samuel wept. "With all my heart!"

They hugged for a long moment, an embrace that bonded their souls forever. Never had Samuel felt God’s love so intensely before.

Lord, forgive those who’ve hurt me. Free me from the bitterness and anger, knowing that forgiveness is a gift You give to me. Teach me to find understanding and compassion for their actions and heal the pain that’s crippling them. Amen

The Penitent Robber

 “Jesus, remember me when you come in Your kingly power” ~ Luke 23:43

By all assumptions, he wasn’t a man of faith; certainly not somebody who lived a virtuous life. He was one of two unnamed bandits in Luke's account of Jesus’ crucifixion. Little is known about him, though tradition often refers to him as ‘Dysmas,’ adopted from a Greek word meaning “sunset” or “death.” In the eyes of Roman law, he was a violent criminal.

Dysmas probably hid in caves near the road from Jericho to Jerusalem and robbed travelers by force. The fact that he was crucified alongside Jesus suggests the armed bandit brutalized and perhaps murdered some of his victims before stealing from them. He made a living by coercion and violence.

Death by crucifixion was designed to be excruciatingly slow and painful, often taking hours or even days. Death resulted from asphyxiation, blood loss, or shock.

The gruesome execution method was reserved for the most heinous criminals. The brutality and public display of crucifixion were meant to cause severe humiliation and serve as a deterrent for future criminal wannabes.

That day on Calvary, three would die. The villain to Jesus’s left mocked Him, saying, “If You are the Christ, save Yourself and us.” (Luke 23:39). Dysmas on Jesus' right, chided his fellow thief, conceding: “We deserve to die for our crimes, but this man has done nothing wrong" (Luke 23:40-41).

In a remarkable display of faith, Dysmas turned to Jesus and said, "Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom!" (Luke 23:42). We don’t know why Dysmas changed his mind about Jesus. But while dying, he honestly acknowledged his wrongdoings and asked forgiveness, seeking Jesus as the source of eternal life.

Jesus replied with a promise of salvation, saying, “I assure you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:43). His words illustrate the power of repentance and the immediacy of God's grace, grace that was given freely through faith and not earned by Dysmas’ works.

The story offers a vivid illustration of several biblical Truths. First, it’s never too late to turn to God.  Despite a despicable life, Dysmas’s last-minute confession secured his place in Heaven.

Second, no sin is too horrific to be forgiven. Dysmas had already received a death sentence for his sins. Yet, according to Jesus, it was forgivable.  And third, that means there’s hope for us, too.  

The Catholic Church never formally canonized St. Dysmas, though he’s regarded as a saint because Jesus declared that he would be in Paradise. His relics rest in Notre Dame’s Reliquary Chapel, including a piece of St. Dysmas’ cross. He’s known as the patron saint of Condemned Prisoners, Undertakers, and Repentant Thieves. His feast day is recognized annually on the 25^th of March.

Precious Lord, we’re all like Dysmas. We’ve sinned against You and deserve Your wrath. We pray that despite our weaknesses, we may be revived by the spilled blood of Your  Son, who lives and reigns with You in the unity of the Holy Spirit. Amen

The Next Hurrah

 “Whoever who lives and puts trust in Me will never die." ~ John 11:26

As a hospice nurse for nearly a dozen years, Laini remained confused by the concept of death. Is there life after death? Are heaven and hell real? If there is a God, what happens to nonbelievers after taking their last breath?

Death, in many ways, is a moment of truth.

Today, she sat for a few moments with Mona who, at age 54, was actively dying from inoperable cancer and drifting in and out of consciousness. She knew all too well the effects of medication and fatigue on a dying brain.

Her patient nuzzled comfortably in a bed encircled by vibrant, fragrant flowers while her family gathered back at Mona’s home. Laini considered it an honor to share this space alone at her bedside. Years of working with people nearing their final goodbye had given her a more hopeful understanding of death. She knew this woman was seeing more, not less than she was.

Suddenly, Mona shot straight up in her bed and addressed Laini sternly. Medical experts call it "terminal lucidity" or “rally.”

“Mona?” she said, pointing to an empty chair in the corner of the room. “That’s my son, Aaron. Do you see him?”

Laini nodded reassuringly, staying in the background and following Mona’s lead. The phantom guest held his Mom’s complete attention. Mona listened with a warm heart as tears ran down both cheeks.

The closer her patients came to dying, the more their eyes and spirits seemed open to a reality Laini could only discern weakly. Something he said must have touched her deeply.

“I loved you then, I love you now, and I will love you for all eternity,” she told her son tenderly. Mona bowed for a short prayer before turning to her hospice nurse. “He needed forgiveness and needed to know that I’ll love him forever,” she said with perfect lucidity.

From previous conversations, Laini knew that Aaron was in prison and could not have visited her in person. But Mona remained adamant about his presence before falling back asleep. It reminded Laini of words a colleague once shared: "A candle burns brightest just before it goes out.”

Mona passed away peacefully a few days later, comforted by the family that gathered around her.

Upon reflection, Laini saw a recurring pattern in her work. Patients near death often described not just visits from absent loved ones but an extraordinary awareness of God’s presence. She realized just how thoroughly she misunderstood death and came to understand the joy God has prepared for his children.

For Christians, death is a strange and wonderful beginning, a threshold to some new and more beautiful world. There can be no greater hope than that.

Almighty God, have compassion on the anxious sighs of those nearing death and shroud them with the peace and comfort only You can provide. Receive them into the Kingdom You’ve so graciously prepared for those who believe and trust You. Amen

Forgiving Like Jesus

 “Forgive those who do you wrong just as He forgives us -freely and fully.” ~Matthew 6:14-15

On that fateful autumn morning, the young kindergarten teacher’s spirits soared beyond the colorful boughs defining the Georgian landscape. Brilliant shafts of sunlight caressed scarlet and gold foliage laid out like a carpet for royals.

She and her family were on their way to Callaway Gardens, where Sandra would run her first 10K race. Her anticipation surged. Each breath of the fresh air made her want to shout aloud, just to hear her voice echo as dreamed of racing among the trees.

One moment the road was there, wide open and safe. And in the next, there were screeching brakes, deafening noises, and pain that Sandra may not recover from.

She’d learn days later that an oncoming vehicle crossed the center line and hit their van head-on causing it to flip onto its roof. Eight people were hospitalized after the crash, including her husband Glen who was taken to a hospital but later removed from life support.

Tammy Matthews, the van’s driver, was uninjured. Her 16-year-old son, Joshua, died at the scene.

Sandra suffered a life-threatening brain injury which changed her life. She had to re-learn how to walk, talk, and take care of herself and two young children without her life partner. Her injuries left her unable to work or live independently.

Matthews pleaded guilty to vehicular homicide. She tearfully apologized to Sandra and the entire Walker family during the sentencing phase of her court appearance.

During her victim impact statement, Sandra spoke haltingly about her husband and faith in Christ. “He wasn't just my husband; this isn't just about me,” she began. “Others mourn his loss: my children are still waiting for their father to walk through the front door. Friends, family, and coworkers’ lives have forever been changed also.”

The enormity of her tears flowed as if the soul could bleed an ocean through the eyes.

Tammy composed herself, then addressed the accused woman. “I know you’re going through as much pain as I am. I forgive you,” she said, before approaching Mathews with a warm embrace.

Rather than feeling bitterness, Tammy encouraged the court not to sentence Matthews to prison time. She received a sentence of 36 months of probation and 500 hours of community service, that “should include acts that honor the lives of her son and Glen Walker.

We may never have to face a challenge to forgive something this great, but we all face regular opportunities to choose forgiveness over anger and bitterness. Forgiveness doesn’t mean that the offender was right or justified, or that the behavior will be allowed to continue. Instead, it admits no retaliation, no attempt to get even, and no bringing up the offense again.

“Lord, I’m choosing to forgive the way You have forgiven me. Every time the memory comes back, I’ll forgive that person again until the pain is gone. Heal my heart with Your grace.” Amen (Rick Warren)

Power in Forgiveness

 “Moments of tragedy provide opportunities to demonstrate grace." ~ 1 Peter 3:9

The moment Eric met his first child, he recalled thinking, “What a gift! What a miracle!” The Georgia Youth Pastor was blown by the way God used people and nature to create little humans. Now as he prepared to be a Dad for the second time, he felt that same euphoria… until his life changed tragically.

He awoke to the news that his wife’s car had been struck by a driver who fell asleep at the wheel. Faith, his then 19-month-old toddler, survived the crash. His wife died instantly in the collision along with their unborn son.

Twenty-year-old Matt, a rookie firefighter paramedic, had been heading home after completing a sleepless 24-hour shift when he drifted into oncoming traffic and hit June’s car head-on. The crash would forever bind the two men’s lives.

It’s not hard to imagine the words Eric might’ve spoken to Matt, given the chance. But contact with the defendant was prohibited while the case wound its way through the legal system.

Eventually, prosecutors approached Eric about whether he wanted them to pursue the maximum sentence against the paramedic. But the newly widowed father also recognized an opportunity to practice the grace that he often preached about.

Amid the grief, Erik pleaded for leniency so Matt could avoid prison time. A judge ordered the firefighter to only pay a fine and do community service.

The two men never spoke directly to each other again until the 2-year anniversary of June’s death. Enough time had passed for Erik to understand that the accident had been just that – a horrible and unintended consequence of Matt’s actions.

Leaving the grocery store, Eric recognized Matt and walked towards his truck. The guilt-ridden man wept as he handed Eric a condolence card he’d just purchased. Two years of crushing guilt spewed out.

They hugged - one man saving souls, the other saving bodies. They talked for hours. They became friends.

They remain close to this day, meeting regularly and often spending time together during the holidays. They credit that chance meeting in a parking lot as the key to letting them both heal from the loss and pain.

They view their relationship as a blessing from God, a feeling cemented recently when Pastor Erik welcomed another child into his life with a new bride. Their baby was born on the same due date as the unborn child he and his first wife had been expecting.

Whenever we’re confronted with a choice between forgiveness or resentment, we’re given the option to experience life’s beauty or the horror of death. By holding on to anger, bitterness, and even hatred, we close ourselves off to God’s mercy and grace. Yet by forgiving, we help another receive that healing grace as well!

Father God, please forgive me when I allow anger and bitterness to fill my heart because I refuse to forgive someone who has hurt me. Teach me how to set aside my pride and to forgive in the same way You have forgiven me. Amen

"Love That Forgives"

“If you forgive others their sins, your Father will also forgive you. " ~ Matthew 6:15

Hope was in the air a half-century ago, coming off the “March on Washington” in late August of 1963. Momentum was rising… unfortunately on BOTH sides.

At Birmingham’s 16^th Street Baptist Church, the city’s oldest and largest black church, preparations were underway for Youth Sunday. A tradition in Baptist churches, young people would lead the worship service. The boys sported dark pants and white shirts, and the girls wore white dresses and carefully primped for this special day.

Shortly before the service began, Klansmen detonated 19 sticks of dynamite under the church’s staircase. The explosion ripped through the ladies' lounge, reducing the church to rubble, mangling cars in the parking lot, and echoing through the community as if it were the anguished cry of God. The horrific blast even blew Jesus’ face off a stained-glass window.

Barehanded, workers dug deep into the rubble until the lifeless bodies of four young girls were discovered. (Note: In the resulting unrest, two black teenagers were also gunned down later that day.) 

Pastor John Cross, hurried up and down the sidewalk, urging the milling crowd to go home. “Please go home!” he pleaded. “The Lord is our shepherd, and we shall not want.” Another suggested: “Pray for the men who did this evil deed. “We must have love in our hearts for them.”

Ironically, Youth Sunday’s theme was “Love That Forgives.” The Sunday School lesson (Genesis 45:4-15), was to focus on how Joseph forgave his brothers after they sold him into slavery.

Pastor Cross’ Sermon was going to be from Luke 23:34 where, from the cross, Jesus asked God to forgive those crucifying him. It was never delivered, but here is the written text of a portion of it:

“In order to be forgiven, we must forgive. Forgiveness sets both the captor and the captive free. The Word of God clearly states that if we do not forgive others their trespasses, He cannot forgive us our trespasses.

Today, let us purpose in our heart to forgive those who have hurt or harmed us as we set them free so that we may move forward to fulfill the call that God has on our lives.”

In the aftermath of that fateful day on September 15, 1963, the city and our nation took a hard look at itself in order to reckon with the unconscionable effects of hate and racism.

Outrage over the death of the four young girls helped build increased support behind the continuing struggle to end segregation - support that would help lead to the passage of both the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. In that important sense, the bombing’s impact was exactly the opposite of what its perpetrators had intended.

Dear Lord, thank You for loving and forgiving me. Help me to build and rebuild my friendships by forgiving others and accepting forgiveness. I am Your child. We are all Your children. Amen ~ The Children’s Sermon Prayer 1963