The package arrived on a Monday morning in April 1995. Tightly wrapped and taped, its hand-canceled stamps covered most of the upper right corner, and it was heavy. Moments after the last person left the room, Gilbert Murray, husband and father of two, professional forester, my boss and mentor, found scissors and cut what he thought was tape securing the contents ...

The blast killed him instantly and sent pieces of shrapnel hurtling through the brick building in an explosion that tore at the fabric of my faith, and at the family and friends of those who knew our team. I was sick at home that day. When I received a frantic call I thought that somehow we had been mistaken for a federal building like the one Timothy McVeigh had destroyed in Oklahoma. But I worked for The California Forestry Association, which was in the middle of a bitter fight over use of the forests in the Pacific Northwest. Dubbed the “Forest Wars” by news media, the battle had become personal for many, but surely not enough to kill someone?

The FBI informed us that Gil had been killed by the Unabomber (so-called because his first attempts at killing were at a university — his identity was yet unknown). We arranged the funeral and gave Gil’s family all the help and support we could. We picked up the pieces of our lives and tried to understand why someone would do this to people he didn’t even know. The hooded sweatshirt-wearing killer inhabited my days.

Now when speaking in public, my eyes scanned the crowd. Could he be in the audience planning his next attack? While I was away from home, were my unsuspecting children opening the next package? Fear became my constant companion. My support of rural forest communities was now the issue that made my family and me vulnerable.

When a job offer came from an association 1,500 miles away, we embraced the opportunity to start over. In moving away from the close-knit community our family had enjoyed for generations, it seemed as though I lost everything I had worked so hard to save.

Our family’s years in the Midwest were a time of struggle. I buried myself in my work. I drew away from my husband and children. Oh yes, I was “there” for them, but a part of me had died that April day. The Unabomber had succeeded; he had momentarily won. In those cold Wisconsin winters I felt as if my heart were freezing too.

Life became a series of tragic events: my son’s terrible automobile accident, my daughter’s struggles, my husband being forced to work far from home. I found that I could no longer hide behind the voices of my family. In my “alone” times, I had to listen to God’s voice — and He spoke with such kindness and love. He was impossible to ignore.

God was there in the people who sat next to me on the plane when I flew to see my critically injured son in intensive care. God lived in the lives of a new pastor and his wife. He answered my prayers for Gil’s family to prosper in spite of the evil that had touched them. I even grew to love the winter and its silence and peace. As I look back, I realize that even on my darkest days God was caring for us — leading my family beside still waters.

It was not a drum roll but a whisper in the crunch of snow on the ground, winter sun turning aspen trees crimson in the last rays of cold crisp days, a basket of petunias cascading down a brick porch rail … these things opened my heart. One day I realized that I had not found forgiveness — it had found me. On that day I started the following list:

Remember who you are fighting. When something bad happens, it is easy to target people you think are to blame for the pain. It is much easier to hate a fellow human than to put the blame where it really belongs, on Satan. We fight not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers and the principalities of evil.

Count your blessings. Each day is a miracle from God. Acknowledging those miracles is a way to honor the Lord’s work and turn your back on the devil. Whatever is true and good, think on these things.

Understand more; judge less. All sin looks alike to God and it should to us as well. When I took the time to understand more of Mr. Kaczynski’s life, I learned of mental illness and struggle. First take the log out of your own eye.

Avoid hateful and unkind rhetoric. Sometimes I wonder, if the Unabomber had not had access to such hateful rhetoric, would he have followed the advice of a radical environmental group to kill people on the “hit list”? The tongue is sharper than a two-edged sword. Are my words tearing down or building up?

Surround yourself with kindred sprits. As Anne Shirley from Green Gables used to say, you know them when you meet them. They are the people who have walked through the fire and understand that life is too precious to let anger poison you.

“Let go and let God.” This is such a simple phrase, but so true when it comes to forgiveness! Hate is an enticing vice, especially when it seems justified. Evil will triumph when we allow ourselves to look at those who hate us through our eyes and not God’s. Forgiveness does not mean we justify the sins of others. But forgiveness does save us from being consumed by hate.

Forgiveness is a solitary sport. No one can do it for you. This is something that requires you to lean on God in a way you have never leaned on Him before. It may seem impossible, but God will come through for you — if you really want Him to.

I prayerfully share my list so that you, too, might recognize that within our struggles there are also blessings.