I am stirred awake in the middle of the night by these thoughts: “Why do I still think the best of people who treated me really badly?” Why is it that, even after everything, I still petition on their behalf in my prayers?
A voice in my head tells me that I am seriously mistaken, that I should harbour bitter rancour in my heart for all they did. Instead, I worry about them, carrying concern for them within, their names never forgotten.
Perhaps it is a legacy of my childhood, in which we were taught not just to love our neighbours, but our enemies too. Perhaps these are just unhealed wounds. Or maybe I just hope that in turn, others will forgive me likewise.
Whatever it is, to the voice in my head I reply: “Forgive those who wronged you. Apologise to those you wronged. Desist from wronging others.”
So there we are. I still think the best of my greatest detractors. I am certain that in the years that have passed us by they have grown and changed too, regretting those moments long gone. That is what I wish to believe anyway, that they’re really good people at their core.
Better to forgive and forget, than to hold rancour in the heart.