"let go and release the person to God."
You hear it all the time . . .
. . . to do it and feel the peace afterwards is unexplainable in words.
my journey to forgiveness with a particular individual was a long one.
And God was okay with it . . .
. . . He is in the healing business, you see.
every hurt, God saw. Every pain, God felt. Every injustice act, God understood on both sides.
To know this was so freeing . . .
. . . it was only then that I could share with Him my heart.
Who wants a life of bitterness? Who wants a life of anger? Who wants a life of pain?
I never did, but I lived it . . .
. . . When I finally got to forgiveness, years of healing had taken place by God.
There's so much that's said to us by people who mean well, who don't understand.
When the course of your life is altered by one person's action, or inaction . . .
. . . when the essence of who you are created to be is murdered . . .
. . . this is when forgiveness is a journey.
"Forgive and forget, like God."
those words used to cut me like a knife. . . .
. . . hearing them meant I was a failure.
Then, God opened my eyes to His character.
God knows all things forever . . .
. . . but forgets my shortcomings quicker than a blink of my eye.
How can I be like that?
it is impossible to be all knowing . . .
. . . striving to do so is in vain.
What I do know I can surrender.
I get let go of the hurt, the pain, and the memories . . .
. . . this was the beginning of the journey to being like Him.
When the heart would stir the pain, I had a choice.
I could own the pain forever and we'd remain friends . . .
. . . or I could look deeper into the wound, apply medicine, bandages, and heal it.
Every memory holds a false belief.
I could believe it to be truth . . .
. . . or I could excavate the ground beneath it to find its root and destroy it.
Forgetting is remembering without the pain.
It is choosing to see the events objectively . . .
. . . admitting how they affected you without seeking to destroy.
God remembers everything about me, but He still loves me anyway.
It is in this place that He died on the cross for me . . .
. . . it is in this place that He adopted me as His own.
I can forget like this.
I can have my memories of tragedy . . .
. . . and still choose to love you and still choose to see you with God's eyes alone.
My forgiveness journey was marked by my tears.
Grieving for who the person, the offender, would never be . . .
. . . and for their lack of ignorance to my pain and denial of their offence.
There's a river full of tears which God has numbered.
I don't need to make the person see them . . .
. . . the only One who truly matters has them stored in a bottle.
There's also a trail of blood a long the path I had to trod.
I used to believe it was my blood, from the wounds on my heart . . .
. . . to learn my wounds were also carried on the cross freed me from myself.
When we only see our pain and agony, we only see the darkness.
I was ineffective and purposeless for God . . .
. . . unable to share His love, His redemption, and His grace with others.
Prayer was the way to forgiveness.
It was the only key that could unlock that door . . .
. . . it was not an action I had to do, words I had to say.
Praying is communication with the Only One who matters.
All I had to do was talk it through . . .
. . . participate in a simple conversation.
There was no magical words or phrases I had to say.
I just had to open my mouth and speak . . .
. . . and open my hands in surrender.
There were these knots in my back for decades.
They sat behind my shoulder blades and weighed me down . . .
. . . nothing would make them go away, or the pain they caused to lessen.
After I prayed and forgave this person, they were gone.
The weight has been lifted. . .
. . . the physical ache is no more.
The power of forgiveness and prayer . . .
. . . it is beyond anything I have ever experienced.
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