Do You Need to Forgive?
The clock is ticking
In my late thirties, life was a whirlwind. Raising kids, pastoring two churches — everything seemed full speed ahead. But beneath the surface, I harbored a wound I refused to acknowledge. My relationship with my father had always been complicated. There were good moments — he coached my Little League games, bought me ice cream, and worked tirelessly to provide for our family. But there was also pain. His temper was like a storm, sudden and destructive. He’d call me “Dummy” when I couldn’t understand something, and the sting of the belt was never far off.
Even as an adult, I carried the weight of those childhood scars. Around him, I still felt like a clumsy boy, uncertain and immature. Eventually, I chose distance, hoping that by stepping away, the pain would go away too. I buried the bitterness deep inside, thinking I could move on. But pain doesn’t just disappear. It festers.
Then one afternoon, a knock on my door changed everything. The town’s Baptist pastor said that a group of deacons wanted to pray for me before an upcoming back surgery. I agreed, not expecting much more than a few kind words. But as the men prayed, something broke open in me. As I felt the dam of bitterness toward my father crumble, the tears began to flow. The men, filled with the Holy Spirit, led me to forgive my father.
But the story didn’t end there. On the walk home, I felt an urgent nudge in my spirit, silent but forceful words pressing into my heart: “Tell your father what happened. And do it now.”
I hesitated. Fear of rejection gripped me. But God’s whisper persisted, and with a pounding heart, I called my dad. When he answered, I took a deep breath and told him everything. “I forgive you,” I said. And then, in a surprise to myself, I added, “Please forgive me, too — for hating you.”
My father paused, then gently said he was ready to rebuild our relationship. We talked for a long time — about life, family, and faith. It was the first real conversation we’d had in years. When we hung up, I felt lighter and free.
About three hours after we hung up, my mother called, her voice drenched in tears. “Your father’s gone,” she said. Dad had come in from working outside and collapsed on the living room floor, dying of a heart attack.
There have been times, more than I care to admit, when I have refused to obey God, stubbornly staying on my own course. This is one time when I’m glad I didn’t. My back wasn’t healed that day, but something far more important was: my heart, and the heart of my dad.
The movement of forgiveness
Forgiveness is never easy, but it’s always necessary if we want to move forward. When you think of forgiveness, think of the word “away.” In Scripture, forgiveness means to throw away, put away, or send away. It paints a picture of motion — putting distance between yourself and a grudge or hurt. When I spoke those words to my father — “I forgive you” — I wasn’t just letting go of my bitterness; I was walking away from it. But I was also walking toward God, toward healing, toward spiritual liberation.
Forgiveness is not just a decision; it’s an ongoing process. Sometimes, you may offer forgiveness and the other person rejects it or tears apart the olive branch you extend. But forgiveness is less about their response and more about your heart, your walk with God. Even if the other person never seeks reconciliation, God can bring peace to your soul.
Is reconciliation possible?
How about you? Do you need to reconcile with someone today? If so, don’t wait. Life is unpredictable, and the opportunities we have to mend relationships can vanish in an instant. Maybe you’re struggling to forgive someone who’s hurt you. Ask God for help. You may find, like I did, that the freedom you seek is just a prayer away. Or maybe it’s too late to reconcile because the person has passed away. Remember, the One who split the Red Sea can also make a way to peace, even in impossible situations.
God is in the details — not the devil
Do you have trouble trusting God? I do, too. Yet that momentous day in October is a gentle reminder that the devil is not in the details — the Lord is.
“Aren’t five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten before God. Even the hairs on your head are all numbered. Do not be afraid; you are more valuable than many sparrows.” (Luke 12:6–7, NET Bible)
As I grow older, God has an easier task of counting the hairs on my head. And though I can’t explain every mystery of His hand, I can point to the signposts He’s shown me along the way. Those moments of His undeniable presence — quiet, yet powerful — are what I try to remember when I’m lost or uncertain. I pray that my story is one of those signposts for you.
