IN JANUARY 1993, THE FBI LEARNED that Malta planned to release Rezaq from prison for “good behavior” in February, after he’d served seven years. There was speculation that Malta felt pressure from Libya to release the hijacker. No notice of these plans was given to the U.S. government or other interested nations.
The U.S. State Department declared that it was “shocked and angered” by Malta’s action. In 1986, the U.S. House Foreign Affairs Subcommittee on international security had called Rezaq a suspected member of the Abu Nidal organization, a PLO terrorist group. The panel said that Malta had assured the United States that Rezaq would remain in prison for a long, long time.
I thought the case was closed too. In November 1988, the hijacker had pleaded guilty to killing Scarlett Rogencamp and Nitzan Mendelson, and attempting to kill Patrick Scott Baker, Tamar Artzi, and myself. A Maltese judge had sentenced him to twenty-five years in prison.
The U.S. Justice Department, along with the governments of the other countries whose citizens were killed, urged Malta to keep the hijacker in custody. At the same time, Washington also began proceedings to extradite the hijacker to face additional charges in the United States. On February 12, 1993, the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia issued a warrant for Rezaq’s arrest, but Malta released him before an arrest could be made. On learning of Rezaq’s release, U.S. Rep. Tom Lantos introduced a resolution strongly condemning Malta for the action and requesting international cooperation in prosecuting him in the United States.
On July 16, 1993, FBI Special Agent Cindy Carter, now assigned to national security, called to let me know that the FBI had captured Rezaq in Nigeria and, at that very moment, were flying him to Washington, D.C.
Details of the arrest were sketchy. After Malta granted Rezaq amnesty, he was permitted to fly under an assumed name to Accra, Ghana on February 25, 1993. Again, Malta reportedly did not inform the United States of Rezaq’s departure or travel plans. After the FBI agents found Rezaq, they bundled him aboard a jet to Washington, D.C. where he appeared before U.S. District Court Judge Royce Lamberth. Since he’d already been convicted of murder and attempted murder, he would now be indicted on a single charge of air piracy. At the arraignment, prosecuters agreed not to ask for the death penalty. News reports speculated that this was done in exchange for the cooperation of several nations who assisted the United States in Rezaq’s capture. If convicted of air piracy, he faces a possible sentence of twenty years to life.
Sandra Sonenberg, Rezaq’s court-appointed lawyer, refused to enter a plea. The defendant is “not acceding to the court’s jurisdiction” because Rezaq was seized abroad, she told the New York Times. Judge Lamberth entered a not-guilty plea in his behalf.
Rezaq, wearing orange prison overalls, listened closely at the defense table as an interpreter whispered a translation of the bail proceedings into his right ear.
Prosecutors said a fingerprint lifted from the inside of the cockpit window matches Rezaq’s.
The arrest of Rezaq marked only the second time in history that the U.S. government acted under the provisions of a law passed by Congress in April 1986. There was a definite need to change the law as it was written. Terrorists knew that most countries, even those friendly to the United States, did not regard attacks on U.S. citizens abroad as a major problem.
After several presidential and congressional proposals, Congress passed a series of measures to try to deal with the problem. Two of the measures in particular, the Act for the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Hostage Taking (“Hostage Taking Act”) and the Act for Prosecution of Terrorist Acts Abroad against United States Nationals (“Terrorist Prosecution Act”), extended federal criminal jurisdiction to foreigners abroad who took hostage or killed a U.S. national.
Before the new laws were passed, the FBI had authority to seize individuals involved in terrorist acts against U.S. citizens only if the victims were high-ranking government officials. The new legislation expanded that power to protect all U. S. citizens living or traveling abroad.
On August 2, 1993, Rezaq appeared in Judge Lamberth’s courtroom for another pretrial hearing. Sandra Sonenberg, Rezaq’s lawyer, told the court that she planned to file a motion to have the government’s case dismissed. She argued that U.S. courts had no jurisdiction to hear the case and that Rezaq was essentially being tried twice for the same crime. She asked for more time to do “legal research and documentary investigation” to support her motion for dismissal of all criminal charges against her client. The judge granted her five weeks to prepare her case.
U.S. Justice Department prosecutors described Rezaq in court papers as “a terrorist and a cold-blooded killer who attempted to systematically execute five persons simply because” they were Americans and Israelis, noting that he “hummed and sang” as he pulled the trigger. “He had previously demonstrated his hatred for Americans and attempted to murder every American he came into contact with on EgyptAir Flight 648.” During the siege, court papers continued, Rezaq “made various demands, and, to emphasize them, attempted systematically to murder all of the Israeli and American passengers on board the airplane by shooting them in the head at pointblank range.”
Assistant U.S. Attorney Joseph Valder said Rezaq should be denied bail because he has confessed to committing a violent crime and is likely to flee the country if freed. Lamberth granted the motion.
In October 1993, Rezaq appeared in court again to enter a plea of not guilty to a charge of air piracy. The proceeding was held in a special courtroom equipped with bulletproof glass in front of the spectators’ section, and people entering had to pass through metal detectors. Pending a criminal trial, Rezaq is being held under heavy guard at an undisclosed location by the U.S. Marshals Service in Washington, D.C.
I had mixed feelings on hearing the news of the hijacker’s release and capture. I was shocked that he could be released so soon. He personally murdered two women in cold blood, and his actions indirectly led to the deaths of fifty-eight additional men, women, and children. The hijacking really shook my basic trust in life. It forced me to confront the darkest side of human nature. For many years, I feared being attacked again.
Yet I also felt a strange detachment from his fate. Strange as it may sound, I don’t hate him anymore. Though I feel he should be held legally responsible for his actions, I don’t even wish him harm.
After years of bouncing back and forth between holding on to my pain and anger and letting it go, I’ve managed to truly forgive the hijackers. It took a lot of work for me to grieve the many losses I suffered from the hijacking. But I’ve let go of my bitterness and pain and moved on with my life. I’ve chosen to focus on the good things that came from the hijacking. God gave me many wonderful gifts as I became willing to walk through the pain of rebuilding my life.
I don’t see myself as a victim anymore.
Reaching out to help others by sharing my story helped me a lot. At the beginning of all my speeches, I show a videotape that includes footage from the hijacking. I’ve seen it so many times over the past ten years, that I sometimes forget the terror of those grim hours on the tarmac.
Rezaq’s trial in the United States was originally scheduled for January 1994. The month before, I remember feeling especially fearful. It was during a period when local television and newspaper reporters were devoting a lot of coverage to a string of rapes, muggings, and murders in the Minneapolis area. I had a gnawing fear of being raped or hurt.
The trial and crime wave reopened many of my feelings and wounds all over again. One day, in the process of writing this book, I went back and looked at some of the newspaper stories published right after the hijacking in The Times, a newspaper published in Valletta, Malta.
The stark black and white photos: a Greek man with bandages over both eyes; the grieving young man whose mother and sister—the Mexican actresses Guadelupe Palla de Ortiz De Pinedo, junior and senior—both died in the storming of the plane; a thin, gaunt Patrick Baker, shaken, but glad to be alive; and a truck loaded with coffins bound for St. Luke’s Hospital. The photos were grim reminders of the tragedy.
The trial was delayed. In November 1994, I got another call from the prosecutors on the case. They wanted to fly Patrick Baker, Tony Lyons (an Australian businessman who survived the storming of the plane), and myself to Washington to identify the hijacker in a lineup. Prosecutors also wanted to talk to me more about the statements I had given when I was in Malta and since then.
I was nervous and a little scared. Over the years, I had identified the hijacker two or three times with pictures. But it had been about five years since I had last seen his picture. In the past, I had identified him from the FBI pictures by his eyes. So I thought, maybe I could still identify him by his eyes.
Days before leaving for Washington, I was really nervous. Would I be able to pick Rezaq out? If I didn’t pick him out, how would that damage the case? The FBI kept saying that it doesn’t matter if I picked him out. They reassured me that it was all going to be okay, but I knew that they wanted me to identify him.
The Sunday morning before flying to Washington, I met with my women’s group. I told them about my upcoming trip and how nervous I was. They all agreed to pray for me during the time period when I was to be identifying the hijacker.
I flew to Washington the following Tuesday. An FBI agent picked me up at Washington National Airport and drove me to my hotel for an exciting reunion with Patrick Baker. I was most looking forward to this part of my trip. Though Patrick and I had talked on the phone several times over the years, I hadn’t seen him since the hijacking—since sitting next to him on the plane, waiting to be shot.
That evening, I had dinner with Patrick. We shared what had taken place in our lives since the hijacking. Patrick said he came back from the hijacking and was able to get on with his life. I don’t think it affected him like it affected me. However, he did say that he couldn’t talk right and was shaking a lot for three months.
The next day, the FBI agents picked us up at the hotel and drove us to the federal building. For several hours, we went over a lot of things that I had already stated in Malta nine years earlier. They wanted to update me and refresh my memory.
Thursday was the lineup. In the morning we went to the federal building and met with Tony Lyons. We were just like little kids, we were so excited about our reunion. We barely knew each other, but there was a special bond between us because we had gone through such a terrible ordeal together. We shared an experience that is difficult or impossible to communicate to anyone who has not gone through something similar.
At the federal building, we went through a three-hour preparation period. We were told what to expect, and we went into the room where the lineup was scheduled. We would see the lineup through a one-way mirror.
Once the lineup started, we were placed in a hallway near the room. Patrick was called first. It didn’t take Patrick long. He just went in, picked Rezaq out, and left. A minute later I was called to view the lineup.
FBI agents and police officers were standing in the back of the room, along with the hijacker’s attorney and the prosecutors. Through the glass, I looked out on ten men standing in a long row, staring straight ahead. Each of the men had a number pinned to his chest. It was just like in the movies.
The men were similar looking. They were about the same height and had the same tone of olive skin and Arabic features. They were trying to fool us. I quickly scanned them, one by one, looking at their faces, their hair. Then I went back for another pass—and stopped.
I knew who he was right off the bat. I knew by those eyes. When we were hijacked, he went into the cockpit immediately. When he came out, he had a mask over his face—but I could still see his eyes through the holes.
In the lineup he was wearing a baggy, khaki outfit with a yellowish tint. His hair was shaven much shorter than when we were hijacked. There was just a little on top.
At one point when I was looking at him in the lineup, he looked right at me. He didn’t know he was looking at me—right at me, in my eyes. I was taken aback.
It was strange staring at the man who had caused so much pain, knowing that I could see him, but he couldn’t see me. I realized that this was a wonderful opportunity—in such a safe environment. My Inner Voice said, Just stay here. Stay here. And I looked at him and as I kept staring at him and staring at his eyes, all the memories from the hijacking came. When he stood up and went into the cockpit, and when he came out. When he kept looking at Scarlett and me. All the events quickly flashed in front of me.
I stood there, listening to my body and paying attention. And I realized, I had forgiven this man. It felt so good. There were no angry feelings as I looked at him. There was sadness because of what had happened—so many people had lost their lives. But I didn’t have any anger toward him anymore. He was just a man. That was the value in doing the lineup: I needed to realize the hijacker was only a human.
After about five minutes of looking at the hijacker, one of the police officers said, “Do you know who he is?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I knew who he was right when I walked in. But I may never see this man who shot me in the head ever again. And I wanted to take this time. He’s number 10.”
When I left the room, I started to cry again. I ended up crying and crying on one of the FBI agent’s shoulders. A police officer said, “Come on into this room.” I don’t think he wanted me to sit out in the hallway and cry.
I said, “No. I just need to let this out real quick.”
The FBI agent just kept holding on to me. I know that about myself. If something comes up, I just have to let it out real quick and then it’ll be over with. So then we went to this room and it was okay.
Some of the FBI agents took Patrick, Tony, and me to lunch. When it was time to go home, Patrick and I shared a cab to the airport. We were talking about the lineup and I told him that I had picked out the man wearing the number 10.
“Number 10!” Patrick said. “No, it was number 2!”
I said, “No, he was number 10.”
Again Patrick insisted, “No, he was number 2!”
Had I picked the wrong person?
Then I remembered what the FBI agents told us: After each of us made our pick, the agents randomly shuffled the numbers the men were wearing. This was done to make sure that our selections were not biased by a particular number or position in which the man was standing. Patrick and I laughed on realizing that we were both right!
When I got home, the emotions hit me. For a few days afterwards, I found myself suddenly crying for no apparent reason. I thought, If I’ve forgiven, why am I still sad? I wondered, Am I lying to myself and others that I have forgiven?
Then I realized you can forgive and still feel sad. Especially when you’re pulled back into the pain.
After returning home I made a point not to schedule anything for days. I stayed home. I was moving at the time, so I packed boxes and processed the events in Washington, D.C.
A few days after returning home, I got a Christmas card from Patrick Baker. In the card, he said that after the lineup, he felt greatly affected also.
A few years ago, I was in Houston for my twentieth high school reunion. While I was at Hobby Airport waiting for my flight, I went to the rest room to wash my hands. I just happened to look up and saw something behind me in the mirror that didn’t belong in a women’s rest room, namely, a urinal!
What is that thing doing in a women’s rest room? I wondered.
When I got outside, I realized what had just happened. I’d gone into the wrong rest room by mistake. With my vision loss, the signs “Men’s” and “Women’s” look like “n’s” and “en’s.” If I don’t stop and really look at the signs, I can easily mix them up.
It’s a lot easier for me when I see “ies” (Ladies) or if there are silhouettes of a man in pants and a woman in a dress. If there’s a skirt on the right, I can safely assume there’s a skirt on the left.
I still play a lot of memory games—even today—to keep my memory sharp. During my busy months, I’m in about three or four states a week. I’m going through one airport and I’m always going back through that same airport. So when I get off the plane, I pay attention to who picks me up at the airport—what color hair they have, what dress they’re wearing, what color tie they have on. I pay attention when I’m walking through the airport—everything on the left has to be on the right when I come back. I’m always paying attention wherever I go. This has strengthened my memory—so my memory is strong today.
As far as reading, if the letters are small or short, I do pretty good. I do pretty good with the newspaper, for example. I go left to right with my eyes without even using my fingers. But if the letters are a little bit bigger, I see more gaps—and I need to use my fingers to trace the shape of the letters.
If I’m ordering food at a restaurant, and the menu has pretty big letters, I have to use my fingers to read. Using my fingers helps me stay grounded on the page.
It’s still hard for me to decipher the meaning of big or difficult words. When I’m on an airplane and they have signs that say “vacant” and “occupied” on the rest room doors, it takes me time to figure out what these words mean. For people like me, I wish they would just say “empty” and “full.”
When I see vacant, I have to think, What does vacant mean? What is vacant? It’s a big, abstract word and the thought process is hard for me. I have to go into a different part of my memory to retrieve the meaning of the word, whereas I understand empty right away.
After four or five seconds, the meaning of vacant comes to me. But it’s not automatic. Though I can read at about the eighth-grade level, my comprehension is still only about fifth grade.
There are other problems. When I speak, I still have to ask people not to take my picture. I allow them to take photos during the question and answer period, because then I don’t have to rely on my memory or focus on what I’m saying. If someone suddenly comes up and takes a picture during my speech, I can get off track very easily. I used to be afraid to tell people this. Usually, I’m always looking around for cameras before I speak. If I see one, I’ll go up and very politely, say, “Are you planning to take a picture of the speaker?” If they say yes, I’ll say, “Well, I’m the speaker and I would like it if you could take it during my questions and answers.” Usually, people are very understanding about this when they know it’s a problem.
I’ve gotten better at seeing people’s faces. But I don’t see people’s hair, their right sides—which is my left side—or their lips. Yet I have learned to hold images in place longer so that I get a pretty good picture of people’s appearance.
I could always move my eyes from your hair to your right side and down to your lips. But as soon as I took my eyes off your hair, it was as if your hair never existed. I couldn’t remember what color it was, what texture, what shape. Now, because my memory is so strong, I move my eyes up to your hair, down to your right side, and down to your lips. And in my mind’s eye I get a whole picture of what I think you look like.
I’ve learned to compensate for my visual perception problems in other ways too. In my house, for example, I have a small television. Because the screen is small, I don’t see large gaps in the picture that I would on a larger screen.
My learning disabilities and head injury still cause some problems in my relationships. For the most part, I’m not as hard on myself as I used to be. But I still can get frustrated or mad at myself when I get lost or have trouble doing a simple task.
The people I choose to have relationships with are generally very supportive and understanding of my disabilities. But even close friends sometimes lose patience with me. During a recent lunch, my dear friend Cheryl expressed the difficulty she sometimes has in communicating with me. “I get real frustrated and aggravated sometimes, Jackie. Sometimes, I feel like you’re not listening to what I’m saying. When you repeat what I just said, it comes out all mixed up. It makes me feel like I haven’t been heard. Then I feel bad about how I’m feeling. I have to stop and remind myself that you were shot in the head.”
As we were talking, tears were coming to my eyes. It was the first time in a long time that someone was telling me that they were sorry. I’m always apologizing for misunderstanding people or for not understanding them right away.
When people get frustrated with me, I often have to remind them of my learning disabilities. It’s not that I had a head injury—I still have one. What this means is that people can’t take certain things for granted in communicating with me. They often have to spell out very clearly and concretely what they need from me. It takes work. Otherwise, I may not get what they are trying to tell me.
Back when I first started teaching learning disabled children in Texas, I didn’t know how to help their frustrated parents cope with kids that could often be so frustrating. I had lots of techniques, of course. I knew all the “book answers” I’d been taught in graduate school. But I was still missing something.
Now that I am like one of the kids I used to teach, I’ve had to learn how to cope with the frustration felt by the learning disabled and those who care about them. And I’ve tried to pass the message on.
When I speak to parents, I tell them to try not to get upset when their kids don’t remember something—just love them and accept them and say it’s going to be okay. Their kids will get through it all.
The simple things make all the difference.
Letting go of our biases, preconceptions, and prejudices to truly love and accept someone who thinks or looks differently than us is never easy. It takes a willingness and spiritual maturity that many of us lack. But if we could only move toward love and peace, and stop insisting that other people think, speak, and act as we do, the world would be a much better place.
I’ve lived in countries with sizable Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, and Christian populations. No single religion or creed has cornered the market on truth. It’s available to anyone, anywhere. It can be found in the great religions and spiritual teachings of many different societies, cultures, and traditions. It can be found in the core principles taught by enlightened psychologists, philosophers, teachers, and wise parents and grandparents. Truth is equally available to the wise and the foolish, the rich and the poor, people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. I believe that the differences between us matter less than our common humanity and identity as children of God.
About a year ago, I attended a traditional worship service at a church near my home. This particular Sunday, the minister was talking about the need for Christians to patiently wait for Christ’s return to earth, for the Second Coming.
My interpretation of the Bible is different. When I heard the minister’s sermon, I kept thinking, He’s already come. The kingdom is already here.
Through the hijacking and years of recovery, I pulled God out of Heaven. I no longer believe God is up in Heaven and the devil is down in hell—that good and evil are “out there” somewhere. God gives us the free will to choose to live in Heaven or hell. I believe Heaven and hell are not actual physical places, but states of mind, attitude, and being we can all experience here on earth. As Jesus said, “I have come to bring the kingdom. The kingdom is here now.”
I also believe God is inside us all, that our souls are connected to the very essence of God—the creator and sustainer of the universe. When I think of God, I think of a light flowing down from the heavens. I visualize that light before each of my speeches. I see the light flowing through my body and shining out from me to my audience.
I can touch the power of that light every day. Prayer, meditation, reading, getting in touch with nature are just a few ways I stay in touch with the light. By choosing to reconnect myself with God every day, I actually can have Heaven here on earth. I can also choose to have hell on earth. But God never forces Himself on us; we always have to open our hearts and ask God to come in.
“Letting go, and letting God” doesn’t come naturally or easily to many of us. In our culture, we are taught to control situations and people. There is so much emphasis on material things that few of us are encouraged to develop or nurture our inner life or spiritual core. It’s almost as if we didn’t exist as spiritual beings. We learn to behave like machines stamped out on an assembly line. We learn to judge ourselves as “functional” or “dysfunctional” units, instead of seeing ourselves as the unique, exceptional people we are.
I believe we’re all born with an Inner Voice, that that’s what it means when the Bible says we are created in the image of God. Our Inner Voice is constantly leading us to health, wholeness, and fulfillment.
People call our Inner Voice by a number of different names: God, the Intuitive Self, a Higher Power, or the Christ Within. What you call it is up to you. At different points in your journey, you may use different names. That you call on this Inner Voice matters more than what you call it.
Our Inner Voice is directly connected to God and is, therefore, the truest expression of our deepest selves. Our Inner Voice usually signals us in quick flashes. It speaks to us in dreams, in sudden bursts of insight, in intuitive hunches which guide us toward our destiny.
Many of us are not aware of our Inner Voice. There may be so much chatter and static in our lives that messages from our Inner Voice are drowned out or ignored. We may dismiss what we hear because it sounds silly or too risky. Are we willing to stop and listen? Do we dare not to?
Listening to our Inner Voice is the key to unlocking our creative potential, to find purpose and meaning in our lives and to enjoy fulfilling relationships with ourselves and others. Our Inner Voice is constantly providing clues to our values, goals, mission, talents, and passions. The challenge we all face is how to unleash the love, energy, motivation, and creativity inside us. Tuning in is a discipline that anyone can develop.
To grow and develop into the people we were meant to be, we need to listen very carefully to our Inner Voice. It knows us better than we do. It knows the lessons our spirits need to learn. That’s what our life on earth is about, listening and learning what we need to learn. That’s why our Inner Voice is so important. Only by paying close attention can we learn what we need to learn, and thereby fulfill our purpose on earth.
When confronted by challenges or problems, it’s important to get a sense of what resources you can draw upon to deal with them. The Inner Voice is directly connected to our Higher Power. When we tune in, we can access the supernatural strength, serenity, healing, and insight our Higher Power wants to give us. Our Higher Power is always looking out for our best interests and the best interests of those we love. But we have to do our part. Our part is to listen to our Inner Voice and follow where it leads. We need to obey our Inner Voice in the truest sense. The root of the Latin word obedience means “to listen.”
Slowing down and listening to my Inner Voice didn’t come naturally to me. I was always in a rush to get from one thing to the next, never stopping to reflect on the experience I just had before rushing headlong into the next one. I was a doer. My life was always filled with activities and people, but I didn’t make conscious choices about how I spent my time. Much of my energy was focused on doing things for the wrong reasons—on doing things to please others, not me. I was afraid of displeasing my mother, or a teacher, or a supervisor, or a friend, or, when I was married, my husband. My life was defined by external expectations—not by what my heart wanted. I was often out of balance.
I could also be very impatient. I always wanted things to happen on my timetable. I cared deeply about my learning disabled students, but I expected them to learn as fast as I could teach.
Fear is the biggest reason many of us don’t slow down and listen. We’re afraid to feel the pain inside us, afraid to make changes in our lives. It seems safer to stuff down our feelings and awareness. When we don’t listen to our bodies and spirits, however, we build up resentment and anger. We push people away and isolate ourselves from others, stifle the Inner Voice and our own true selves.
When I speak of the need to slow down, I recognize that many of us are very busy. Yet we don’t have to radically change our lifestyle to gain the benefits of slowing down. It could mean something as simple as taking a few minutes during the day to breathe deeply or listen to some relaxing music. I have to consciously stop and think before I do anything. Because of my head injury, I can’t take simple things for granted.
After the hijacking, I started slowing down. I started to become more aware of my thoughts. I noticed that I would often say things to myself like, “I’m no good at that” or “I don’t look good” or “If only it weren’t raining.” As I became more aware of these thoughts and beliefs, I started to change what I said and thought about myself.
People and situations had been sending me signals to do that long before the hijacking. But, because of all my distractions, I never paid attention. I just kept doing things the way I was programmed, never stopping to pause or reflect on the why’s or wherefore’s. The only way life was going to get Jackie Pflug’s attention was by hitting her over the head. That’s what I think happened. The hijacking forced me to deal with a reality that I would have postponed until my dying day.
Yet we don’t need to be in a hijacking or suffer some other huge tragedy to change our ways. We can tune in to the many messages our Inner Voice is sending us every day. Today, if I get a headache, I don’t run to get some aspirin. The first thing I try to do is sit down, close my eyes, and relax. Usually, the headache is trying to tell me something. Most of the time, it’s telling me I’m stressed. It’s a signal I need to do something good to take care of myself.
We live in an increasingly violent world. How do we respond to that violence? With more violence? More hatred? With more rounds of retaliation and revictimization? What are the alternatives?
I believe there is a way, through reconciliation, love, acceptance, and understanding that each of us—individually and collectively—can truly make a difference in the world. We can reach out and stop the cycle of violence, hatred, and more violence.
We are really powerless over many of the forces that shape our lives. Yet we do have power over how we respond to those situations and events.
Listening to one another is such an important part of that reconciliation process—really seeking to understand, instead of seeking to be understood. This would help so much in resolving the conflicts we have with others. If we could just pay close enough attention to really hear what another person is saying—to work through all the feelings that may stir up in us. Because when we really listen, we’re going to hear anger and pain. To be present to that takes hard work.
What difference would it make if we listened and were present to our loved ones and to other human beings? What difference would it make if we committed ourselves to forgiving others and to healing the hurts in our relationships? What difference would it make in our lives and in our children’s lives if we all prayed for, expected, and gave thanks for the everyday miracles we see all around us?
I often wonder.