Why do people think they have the right to judge? Maybe they should know the whole story before you assume.
   

Grandma, shot, killed, and robbed by a drug addict who then, from the guilt, committed suicide by overdose. No, not my Grandma, she was a good woman. She served in the church. She didn’t deserve this. A loving woman taken from the world, taken from a family. Damn that man, this is his fault. He deserves all that comes to him. Oh, he’s dead? Well good, he won’t hurt anyone else. But does no one see this man as another human being?
A family lost a loved one, just as the family of the old woman.
 

   When the drug addict was a child, he grew up in the yellow house next to the old womens dark green one. He loved to help her, with it being cleaning, taking out the garbage, but he loved baking cookies with her. She always smelled likes sugar and honey. This woman and this young boy bonded. One day, the woman and the boy had a talk. The woman leading the boy to christ, and the boy accepting her God to be his savior.
   

Twenty years later, the boy is now a man, a man with a loving wife and children. He is still in contact with the woman that saved him. A fews years ago, he became the head pastor at the old womans church. He became the hero, the one that is always there, to tell you that you are loved, but forgets to remind himself that he is loved.
   

Ten years later, and it is his only daughter high school graduation. Boy, does she feel loved. Why doesn’t daddy look happy for me? Doesn’t he love me? Five years later, it is  him and his wife's  anniversary. He forgot our anniversary. Doesn’t he love me?
  

  The hardships of the world are overpowering this man. He needs relief. He needs the pain, the burden, the hurt, he needs it gone. The gun, he has a gun. No you can’t end your life, the church, your wife, your daughter. He slides it in the inner pocket of his suit coat. Grandma, I need to go see Grandma. At the end of the street is her house, but at this end, is pain relief. Pain relief. He knocks on her door, a woman with grey hair and thin wrinkled skin opens the dark green door. He sits, and they talk. When he stands up, she sees it. She stands up fast before he can walk out the door. As she asks for a hug she tries to grab it, but she slipped, it slipped. It slipped. Her finger slamming hard on the trigger from trying to keep her balance. He watched as she fell to the ground with her hands clenching her bleeding heart. What have I done? Panic rushing through his cold, butterfly filled body.  He gets on his knees and cups her face with his hands and begins to cry. Thoughts coming to his mind, just leave, you need to leave, get out now. He walks to the round center table, grabs whatever he can find from her purse and runs. Run. Just run. With the money he stole from the woman, he buys lethal doses of unknown medications and overdoses.
  

  Does he deserve grace? What about the people that lost him, as a father, as a husband, as a pastor. Does he deserve grace?