I'm reading Radical Hope, a collection of letters written after the 2016 election as a way of coping with the incoming president—I've come to it late, but I find the words and perspectives helpful even now that president has been voted out of office. One of the letters, by Luis Alberto Urrea, illustrates his agreement with Neal Cassady's assertion that "Grace beats Karma" by sharing two stories from his childhood: one (karma), where his parents' attempt to barricade their home from their Black neighbors with flower pots resulted in those flower pots being destroyed over and over again; and two (grace), where his foray trick-or-treating dressed as a ghost bearing a striking resemblance to a KKK member was met and gently guided to a less provocative presentation by one of those Black neighbors.

I'm instinctively willing to agree with that statement: grace beats karma. I hate how karma is dragged into modern life—often betraying its philosophical and religious roots—and used to justify other people's suffering. As though the suffering others experience is automatically the result of something bad they thought or did. As though other people who do or think bad things actually suffer to the same degree...when they don't. They don't. And grace, of course, is the foundation of my faith. It's why I get to know God and salvation when I don't deserve it, when nothing I've done would ever be perfect enough to earn that relationship, that status, on its own.

But I also agree with the idea that the way to move forward after injury should at least consider grace. Grace doesn't mean the person who injured someone isn't guilty of injury. Grace doesn't mean they don't still need to earn trust or forgiveness. Nor does it mean they shouldn't learn from their mistakes. And while grace doesn't always encourage others to address their wrongdoing, the modern notion of karma, where we assume the worst of others and act to avenge our pain, creates only more hurt feelings and, I think, opportunities for the original wrongdoer to justify their bad behavior.

And I think about how much grace offers in even more innocuous situations. Fifteen years ago, when I was almost too naive to function in society, I failed to hand a Black woman her change as she checked out at my station. I put the money on the counter and rushed to bag her books because I wanted to provide the swiftest and most attentive service. I wanted her to be able to leave and get on with the rest of her day as quickly as possible. That, to me, seemed the most considerate thing to do.

What I didn't know, didn't learn until almost five years later, in fact, was that Black people in this country routinely have their money put on the counter instead of handed to them. Because non-Black people in this country don't want to touch them.

But I didn't know that. And the woman I was serving started yelling at me. "You put that money in my hand! I've worked in customer service for 30 years. You always put the money in the customer's hand! You put that money in my hand! Pick it up! Put it in my hand! Put it in my hand!" And I stared at her, her books halfway into the bag I was packing up for her. And I looked at her outstretched hand. And I looked at the money on the counter. And I looked at the other customers in line. And my fellow cashiers. And I didn't want to do it. Not because I didn't want to touch her. But because she was unkind to me and I didn't want to do what she wanted.

I did, though. I picked up the money and I put it in her hand. And with my own hands shaking with adrenaline, I finished packing up her books, and handed them to her. And as soon as she was gone, my assistant manager, who'd watched the whole thing, excused me to go to the breakroom. Where I sat, confused and hurt and angry and trying not to cry, until I stopped shaking.

Now, all these years later, a decade after finally understanding why she was so upset, I think about what might have happened if that woman had extended me grace. I'm not saying it's her job or her role to always explain these sorts of microaggressions to people like me. I don't think it is. I eventually figured it out...through another white woman who'd heard about how Black people are often treated at check-out counters. But how much power there is in the extension of grace!

If she'd told me that handing people their change shows you're not afraid to touch them, and that indicating you're afraid to touch people can be hurtful to them, I would've exclaimed in such shock, such dismay, how much it wasn't about that at all, how I was just trying to help her get on with her day as quickly as possible, and that my two hands can't put her money away, but can put her books in a bag. And I would've learned how much my actions, even my small actions, can hurt others unintentionally. And I would've begun handing money to all my customers, something I did not do after being yelled at. And she, most importantly of all, would've left knowing I was just ignorant. That I wasn't disgusted by her or afraid of her—that I was, in my own stupid way, just trying to offer her the best customer service I could.

I don't expect others in my world to offer this kind of grace. That is entirely their choice and I will learn what I need to learn irrespective of whether they personally help me learn it. But if I have the opportunity to extend others grace, especially along political or knowledge-based lines, I will try to remember how much power lies in doing so. I will try to remember that those others could very well be the me of fifteen years ago.