The worst thing I’ve ever done

This everyday blogging thing isn’t easy, Tibs how do you do it? It’s exhausting for this free spirit to have follow a schedule. Nevertheless I’m glad I undertook this challenge, I never thought I’d stick it out but here I am on day 27, writing something for the world to see.

Anyway on to today’s post, I love mysteries in print and TV. I like the process of finding whodunit, and just watching or reading smart people piece clues  together. I like history, seeing how people lived before, finding out that people who lived in 1755 weren’t very different from me today and had almost the same problems, well I’m glad I don’t have to worry about things like smallpox, being married off to a pot-bellied old king because of my ravishing beauty *big wink here*, losing loved ones to stupid illnesses, fetching firewood etc. There’s a TV show that combines mystery and a little bit of history, that show is cold case.

  Cold case is one of my favourite TV shows, probably second only to The Mentalist (I’ll really miss that show, it’s ending for good in a few weeks) and maybe Monk. In this show, a unit in the Philadelphia police department closes cases that have been open for years and the trails have grown cold. Usually the show starts with new information coming to light and the ultra dedicated detectives work hard to bring the culprits to justice and close the case. Sometimes they deal with cases that are more than a hundred years old although they usually handle more recent cases.

I’ve been known to bawl like a baby after watching some episodes, some of them can be so sad. In some episodes, people were killed for things that made no sense twenty years later, no sense at all. I try to watch the show when I can, it shows on DSTV channel 117 currently but it was cancelled years ago in the real world. I haven’t seen the DVDs here yet, I really hope to find them soon.

Yesterday’s episode was set in 1945, it was about a female reporter who fell in love with the wrong man. Just before the end of world war two, a bored reporter meets a Jewish man who managed to escape the Auschwitz concentration camp. It was love at first sight for them and things went well until she started working on a story about him for her male colleague who she usually wrote hard hitting stories for, while she was confined to writing the advice column. 

Eventually she discovered that he wasn’t Jewish but a nazi guard who’d stood by and watched millions of Jews die, he took the identity of one of the dead prisoners and escaped to America where he forged a new life with the relatives of the late man. She was going to write an expose on him and asked her major informant to meet her at a train station, he found out about it and went to confront her at the station. He tried to convince her that he wasn’t that person anymore,  if she truly loved him she’d see him for the person he’d become. She was repulsed by his previous deeds and told him he wasn’t the man she loved, they had a struggle and he pushed her beneath the 10pm train.

While he was trying to convince her to love him, he said something that struck me. He told her “I’m not the worst thing I ever did”, after the show I kept thinking about that sentence and its implications. How many times have I condemned myself and even others for things I thought were horrendous, how many times have I stood in judgment over another’s weakness and said or thought XYZ must be a horrible person because he or she did this or that. How many times have I refused to forgive myself after God has done so? Or failed to help someone because I want him/her to learn a lesson.

Jesus knows the worst things I’ve ever done, the worst things I am, yet he went through the crucifixion experience for me and for all of us horrible, terrible humans. Why did he do that? Because he saw us as lost sheep and he’d do his all to bring us back. Isn’t that wonderful to know? He expects the same from me and you John 21:15-17. He’ll give us the grace too, if we’d only ask.



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