I’ve been thinking about redemption a lot lately, the ordinary layperson kind, not the overwhelming Biblical sort. You might call it garden-variety grace, whatever that otherworldly “thing” is that softens your day and lets you keep going. It might not be grand enough to wash away your sinful past, but it will carry you through to dinner.

I’m talking about the kind of mending that allows you to realize, deep down in your gut where it counts, that you did the best you could, that you meant no harm, that you will try again tomorrow to do better. That you are a well-intentioned Everywoman making her way in the world with as much awareness and intention as you can muster, and that sometimes you don’t get it right. (Why do my mistakes, even the small ones, shame and haunt me so?)

You might call it a spiritual do-over, a chance to say you’re sorry; give money to the man in front of the grocery store; rescind the honking of your horn at the driver who hesitated too long to suit you at the corner of Hillsboro Road and Abbott Martin; call your mother because she gets scared at night now that your father is dead.

Maybe it looks like an opportunity to be forgiven my own self, this everyday redemption I dream about.

Writing Prompt: When did you first experience redemption? I’ll set the timer for 20 minutes. Go!