• "Are you sure you want to be doing this?" my dad asked as we drove down the road. "We haven't been to church in--in..."

    "Never, dad," I finished. "We've never been to church. And, yeah, I want to do this." My dad nodded, and we continued to drive on wordlessly.

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    We were instantly greeted as we strolled inside the church by two ushers, who smiled whole-heartedly as they handed us a program. I smiled back at them, and took a seat in the sanctuary.

    The church bell rang, and before I knew it, we were all singing in a slew of songs. It was so tiresome, but, even with my feet numb, I could feel a welcome presence of contentment surge within me.

    The pastor came up to the pulpit, and started to preach.

    "Let me start off with a story," he proclaimed. "Yesterday I visited an orphanage. And in that orphanage were a bunch of small, helpless little children. And among those small, helpless little children I found a young boy, about 12 years old, named Micheal." He paused, and continued,

    "He was pouting in the corner of the room, his arms crossed like the streotypical five year old look when he can't get a new toy. I asked him,

    'Son, what's wrong?' He didn't answer me for a second, but then said quietly,

    'My parents...'.

    'What about your parents?' I had urged as I got closer to him.

    'I hate them,' he said suddenly. 'They abandoned me when I was five. I--I remember...I just woke up one day and they were gone.' Then I touched him on the shoulder and said,

    'Son, you might hate them, but there is one person who still loves them. God does. God still loves them.'" After finishing his story, he started to flip open his Bible and told the congregation,

    "Turn to Matthew 6:14 with me. Today's lesson is forgiveness. Matthew 6:14 says 'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you'. Now, that's a little easier said then done, am I right?" The majority of the congregation shouted "amen", and I found myself joinging them.

    "But it's a necessity," he continued. "Micheal was so focused on hating his parents, that he couldn't back up for a second and forgive them. And, forgiveness isn't something you just say. You carry it out. You make sure that you act like it never happened." He pointed up into the air, and said,

    "You know, God tells us in Psalms 103:12 that he throws our transgression as far as the east is from the west when we ask for forgiveness. Does anyone here know how far that is?" No one raised their hands, which was to be expected as the pastor continued,

    "Basically, God doesn't just forgive, but forgets as well. Wouldn't that be wonderful if we could all do that like him?" And, on cue, we all yelled "amen".

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    The sermon went on for 30 more minutes, and after that, I refreshed myself with some...refreshments, when a familiar yet unexpected voice came from my left,

    "Tom?" I turned, and there was Mrs. Archibald, standing right there.

    "Tom!" she exclaimed, and ran up to me and hugged me. "I didn't know you went to church."

    "I didn't know you went to church," I replied, remembering Mary's diary saying that she thought church was a waste of time.

    "I don't," she said, getting back up. "But today I felt...compelled to." I felt breathing over me, and I looked up behind me. There was my dad.

    And in an instant, I was wondering what was going to happen next. To ex's facing eachother...with the son of the ex father, being me, right in between them.

    I was surprised when Mrs. Archibald immediately rushed over to him as well, and hugged him. Dad looked stunned, but then wrapped his arms around her as well.

    "I'm glad I came..." she said. "I'm glad you came." I could see a tear streaming from my dad's face as he said solemnly,

    "Sarah...I'm so sorry...I've been a complete idiot this whole time..." They let go of eachother, and Mrs. Archibald said with a smile,

    "You're right. But I forgive you." Mrs. Archibald turned back to me, and said more sincerely,

    "Tom...I have something very serious to tell you..."

    "Yeah," I intervined. "Dad already told me about him being your husband." She looked stunned, to say the least, but uneasily continued,

    "Tom, I want to apologize for being so cross with you before when Mary and you were working on the science project." I shook my head, and said,

    "You weren't being cross." She bit her lip, looked down, and said,

    "I might not have shown it, but I hated you. Not because of your personality, though you could have worked on that a little." I rolled my eyes playfully. "It was because you were my ex-husband's son. If I hated him, I thought I had to hate you." She hesitated, and looked back up at me, going on,

    "But it changed after Mary died and I digged through her drawers. I found her diary, and was immediately touched by it. It was at that point that I realized how much Mary had been going through, and how selfish I had been to not forgive you or your dad."

    "You know about Mary's diary," she said, starting to finish. "I saw it was gone when you left the house. You know what Mary went through. How did you feel?"

    "I felt--" I started, and searched for words. "I felt...guilty." She nodded, and said,

    "That's how I felt." She stopped, and then added,

    "You know, today's sermon fit like a charm. We need to forgive others...even when it's difficult." I'm sure dad could sense how cheesy this was getting, because he said quickly,

    "Tom, we gotta go." I smiled at Mrs. Archibald as we walked out of the church to the exit, saying,

    "Bye, Mrs. Archibald." And I was shocked when I heard her reply,

    "Good bye...son." "Son", huh? Well, it made sense, of course. I was her stepson.

    But what had she meant? "Son" my lineage, or "son" by relation?

    And as I looked at the top of the church at the large cross, I thought to myself,

    Both. She meant both.