At risk of simplifying the process, restorative justice is one where victims have an opportunity to face the offender. The focus is not punishment, but healing for the victim and the offender. The focus is on making things right to restore hurt. In this story, I watched the victim forgive her son's killer, who ended up confessing that while the shot was accidental, his death was intentional. The killer had consciously let the son bleed out. The mother's grace remained. She did not want another life ruined by a mistake, despite learning new details from the offender.
In the next court appointment, the prosecution took advantage of the confession and pressed for murder in the first degree, life in prison with no parole. The offender took that deal. The mother was heartbroken, as though she lost a second son. I was touched at her capacity to forgive. I was reminded of our Father's Mercy toward us.
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I was meeting my mom for lunch at a local food complex after church. She had taken my older two daughters, Rylyn and Addisyn, 6 and 5 at the time for an overnight Grandma date. I was meeting her with my youngest Josette, who was just shy of 2. Josette was asleep in the car. My mom has always been skilled at backing up into parking spaces. In effort to make pulling my big, soccer-mom-like van out of the spaces easier, I had been doing a lot of backing in to spaces. This day, I did not. The lot was busy and I eased into the space frontwards.
As I eased into the space, at one point, I questioned whether I had enough room. Confident after all my backing in, I proceeded slowly. There didn't seem to be an issue, until I stepped out of the vehicle. It was tight, uncomfortable to get out, but manageable. I had to watch the door so it didn't hit the vehicle beside mine, when I was startled to see a man standing behind my van. I knew that my front bumper must have hit the rear bumper of his SUV when I pulled in.
Apologizing (and I am sure slightly frantic) I said I was sorry, I thought I had enough room. The family probably had watched the whole thing in slow motion and disbelief at my poor visual-spatial skills. The man looked Italian and even Mafia-like with his adult siblings and parents surrounding him. I waited for the swearing. Instead, the man disappeared around side of his vehicle while I rubbed the silver paint from my vehicle off of his black rear bumper to see the damage: one stripe less than a half a millimetre in girth and about the size of my hand.
The man returned with a buffing cloth and rubbed the area some more and looked at me, "It's okay." I stared at him in disbelief and asked for reassurance. He gave me a hug. I hit this man's SUV both sportier and newer than my van, and he gave me a hug. I asked if he was going to fix it, could I give him my information? He said he has been through this before and it is not worth it. I hugged this man at least 3 times in my stupor and surprise to his response. I thanked him and told him, "God bless you."
I hadn't even looked at the scrape on my bumper, yet, thicker and longer than the one on the SUV. I thanked God that it was that vehicle I hit that day. I retreated to my driver's seat with tears in my eyes and waved, thankfully, as he pulled out.
I could not repay his kindness. Suddenly, I found myself with tears in my eyes, a character in my own Bible story. I hadn't even asked the man his name. I didn't need to know his name. Grace like that is extended by one and only. Whether he was a believer in Jesus or not, I may never know, but I know Jesus extended me grace that day. It was a tangible taste of the grace He offers us, everyday. A reminder that forgiveness is a gift.
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Revelation 3:19-20New King James Version (NKJV)
19 As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten. Therefore be zealous and repent. 20 Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.
Unlike the man who forgave my parking blunder, Jesus' relationship with me does not end with forgiveness. Like the mother in the courtroom, He wants to know me, dine with me. Jesus, unlike the mother, does not need healing, but He offers healing at a table of Grace. If only, we listen, yield and open the door.
