I'm not convinced that I could practise what I preach.
I believe in forgiveness: I really do. But could I really, genuinely offer it if someone wronged me, sincerely and deeply and deliberately?
Would it make a difference if they didn't mean to do it?
What if they weren't in their right mind? What if they were desperately unhappy? Would it make a difference?
It's impossible to say. I don't know that about myself.
This letter, written by a bereaved grandfather whose son-in-law ended his own life and that of his three children this week, is something that everyone should read.
It makes me cry. It makes me feel ashamed of myself. It reminds me of the importance of compassion and understanding and love and forgiveness.
There's so much sadness in this world. Sometimes I can hardly bear to think about it. When I read a story like the one about the Fuller family, or read about a tragedy like the one in that has occurred in Denver today, it's impossible to make much sense of such unhappiness and its consequences.
Forgiveness is not, perhaps, the first thing that springs to mind.
But forgiveness makes a difference. Kindness and forgiveness.
Somewhere, in the midst of all the misery, it shines a light.
It makes a difference.
It's something to cling to.
Those who forgive are an inspiration. An example of loving under all circumstances.
Such a difficult thing to do. Something with which I wrestle.
Something which stands out in this broken, bleeding, unhappy world.
Something beautiful. Beauty in the face of misery.
Forgiveness in all circumstances.