When the wounds of this world sting like countless paper cuts against my heart, it’s easy for me to lean into “unforgiveness.” It’s easier for me to bring bitterness, rather than grace, to the table. It’s easy for me to forget that I have been forgiven all.

“But they were wrong. They should apologize to me!” I try to justify my anger. Stewing and steaming, I toss and turn in my bed. Their slights against me dig deeper.

“My child, how much have I forgiven you?” The whisper calls me out of darkness and into the light.