“A man’s very highest moment is, I have no doubt at all, when he kneels in the dust, and beats his breast, and tells all the sins of his life.” —Oscar Wilde

As I sink my teeth into succulent, hot, buttered corn on the cob, I remember so many other tables where I have eaten corn, all the other summers of my life. The memories return to me as if everything in the present room had come to a standstill.

Tables outside and inside, tables at the shore, in the mountains, on the lawn, under the trees, on a boat—tables with this bounty of summer corn. Though the tables differed, the same feeling wafted like a light breeze around each of those tables: carefree. It felt like receiving forgiveness.

Forgiveness lifts the spirit, settles the heart into peace, makes us realize that everything is going to be all right. I wonder if it would feel every bit as wonderful if I could find the ability to forgive myself. I make mistakes. I have sometimes acted foolishly, desperately, hatefully, when I thought I had no choice. Now I know I always have choice. Our first task is not to forgive others, but to forgive ourselves.

Sitting at this table, up to my wrists in hot, buttered corn on the cob, I forgive myself, and the grace wafts around the table like a light breeze. Then I forgive others who may have hurt me, intentionally, or unintentionally. I know that they may not have seen any other choice at that moment. With that, the breeze blows fresh air though me.