Something devastating has happened, a situation so terrible words do not come easily.

Life never stops unfolding. If but one breath remains, what occurs in the time it takes to draw that breath can, I believe, be fruitful as any preceding moment granted on this earth. Time left, regardless of its measure, can hold significance.

Verses meaningless in younger years now ring out with the clang of epiphanies.

Life is short.

A friend in need is a friend indeed.

Let the perfect among us cast the first stones.

A split second can change your life.

Words attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr. hang comfortably in my mind:

I choose love, because hate is too heavy a burden to bear.

I have a friend who has made a terrible mistake and others have suffered. A blend of poor judgment and compulsion all too often negatively alter life for many. A round of forgiveness might not come soon for my friend, perhaps least of all from within.

I haven't often stood on this sparsely populated bank of the river that runs between perpetrators and victims. This bank of the river is cold and quiet, in contrast to the noisy bank of rage so common on the other side. Victims gather on their bank in great numbers sometimes. They loudly demand justice, usually rightfully so.

I recall news stories of families and friends rallying to aid violent criminals. I have stared in amazement at photos of supporters of some of the worst society offers and wondered. How can people stand on the riverbank with those who inflict egregious harm?

Though there is no pardon, in my opinion, for behaviors that shatter the lives of others in some circumstances, I better understand at this age and stage the behaviors of those mothers who hold the hands of killer sons or fathers whose support for troubled children never wavers. Pardon isn't the basis.

Forgiveness has been a nebulous concept during my life. I admit trying to grasp it and failing. I could only interpret "forgiveness" as the act of letting people off the hook, the minimization of bad behavior and the dismissing of victims' pain.

I now think the essence of forgiveness might be the practice of empathy, the ability to stand in the shoes of wrongdoers.

Though scorn might come easily, courage to admit the truth-- that we are flawed and each among us has, no doubt, flirted with potentially destructive situations--is freeing. Even if we believe we have never seriously harmed another human being, we each probably could have.

Maybe it turns out luck, rather than virtue, plays a bigger role in life's final report card than we care to admit.

If only the perfect among us were allowed to cast stones, all rocks clenched in fists would have to be dropped back into the dirt.

How free we'd be no longer hurling rocks at each other, as Martin Luther King's words suggest. Further, imagine the freedom if we managed to stop pressing rocks into our own hearts.