Once upon a time, a little boy learned a big lesson at a small church. It happened at a Sunday night service, but this was no ordinary Sunday night service. All afternoon the little boy had been so excited he couldn't hold still, because on this Sunday night, he would sit by himself in church for the very first time.

When the service started, he proudly took his seat a few rows in front of his parents. And he did his best to behave. In fact, he was totally consumed by the sermon. He was so taken by the words that poured from the preacher's mouth, he didn't realize he had reached in his pocket and taken out a newlydiscovered treasure, a piece of blue cut glass that glimmered like a jewel.

As the preacher spoke, the little boy — without realizing it — began to drop the piece of glass on the uncushioned pew. Over and over and over.

The lad didn't realize he was disrupting the service until the preacher stopped the sermon, called him by name and asked him to quit dropping the glass on the pew. The little boy wanted to die.

After the service, his mother grabbed him up, red in the face with anger and shame, morti- fied that her son had made such a mess of a worship service. It didn't help that the little boy's mother had just started working as the church secretary.

As soon as the last "Amen" was uttered, the mother rushed the little boy back to the church offices and cornered the preacher, then demanded an apology from the youngster.

Through his tears, the young boy sputtered as sincere an apology as he could manage. But punishment wasn't on the preacher's mind. He quickly forgave the boy and told him not to give it another thought.

The boy's mother wasn't so merciful and told anyone who would listen there would be strict punishment at home later. The details of that impressive spanking soon spread through the church as well.

The little boy didn't sit alone in church again until he was in junior high. For decades he remained under the impression that forgiveness didn't count unless it came with a dose of humiliation and shame.

Luckily the preacher that called the kid down in church that day didn't feel that way. In fact, years later that same preacher came back from New Orleans to Savannah to help lay the little boy's father to rest.

Twenty years to the day later, that same preacher came out of retirement and flew from Oklahoma to Savannah to preach my mother's funeral, too.

I can't think of anyone I'd rather have had to do the job.

Mother and I finally made our peace, and long before she went to her grave, all was forgiven between us. As I grew older, I continued to mess up and was astonished every time someone forgave me without asking for anything in return.

Because of such kindness, I learned to pardon anyone who wronged me, except for the guy who poisoned my puppy on purpose. I hope he's still simmering in Satan's sauna.

For years now I've believed that the ultimate act of kindness is simple forgiveness with no strings attached. I have many friends who feel the same way, probably for similar reasons.

Years ago a preacher showed me that a serving of redemption didn't have to be accompanied by a side order of revenge. That's one sermon I really needed to hear at the time. And one lesson I never forgot. (Send your e-mail comments to: alex@newnan. com)