So. That happened. And I feel really gross about it. I feel like people I know, that I thought I knew, smiled and shook my hand and then, when I wasn't looking, set my house on fire. I feel like people I know, that I thought I knew, said "Yes, I heard him mock the disabled. And I am ok with that. Yes. I heard him say Muslims are terrorists and should not be allowed in our country. And I am ok with that. Yes, I heard him say Mexicans are largely rapists and druggies. And I am ok with that. Yes, I heard him say black youth are thugs. And I am ok with that. Yes, I heard him say that he is entitled to sexually assault women. And I am ok with that." And I feel like people I know, that I thought I knew, couldn't look me in the eye and say those things, so they stayed quiet and then said it in the voting booth.  How I feel is not up for debate. You don't get to say, "Not true, I voted because of the Supreme Court" or "Not true, I voted because of abortion." Those things may be true. How I feel is also true. But. BUT. I also believe that love is the only way forward. Which means I have to own my own hate/dislike/irritation/annoyance/disgust. So. I have to say, "Yes, I have pegged you as a bit of a closet racist. But I do not know your heart. And I must love you anyway." I have to say, "Yes, I find your love of guns abhorrent. But I do not know your heart. And I must love you anyway." I have to say, "Yes, I am afraid that maybe you think women are, and should be, a little inferior to men. But I do not know your heart. And I must love you anyway." I have to say, "Yes, I suspect you use your religious beliefs as justification to mistreat God's children. But I do not know your heart. And I must love you anyway." Those are my things. I own them. I do not have to ignore injustice.  I do not have to stand idle while people are being hurt. I do not have to be quiet when people are marginalized. I do have to recognize that you might be feeling marginalized too. The hardest hurts to forgive are the ones closest to us. The ones committed by people we thought were friends. The ones that feel deeply personal, but were probably not about us at all. Or that were about us which leaves us with nowhere to go. The hardest people to forgive are the people who are most like us in almost every way, and yet feel so vastly different in things that matter to us. But I do not know your heart. And I must love you anyway. I must be willing to search my own heart for the pockets of hate within. I have to be willing to look you in the eye and say "I forgive you. Can you forgive me too?"