To heal a hate takes grace that isn't. There is churning hurtand bitterness -and black despair. No love. No grace. No power to choose.I heard a stillness. Then I felt His face. His searching eyes held mine and would not turn me loose. Then through hot tears I saw and understood: He hung cross high, a spear was in my hand that dripped with blood, a helmet on my head. I watched Him die; but just before, He said, "Forgive them for they know not what they do. . ."then He was dead. Slowly I raised my head: the clouds were unarranged,the sky was fair, the warm sun shone, nothing had changed: the hurt still there only . . . the hate was gone. --Ruth Bell Graham