The sermon last Sunday was from Matthew 18:21-35 “Peter approached Jesus and asked him, “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times….” 

A few things have happened in my life over the past two years that have shaken me to my core and taught me things along the way. I thought forgiveness was easy. After all, I have been preaching for years about the importance of forgiving, forgetting, and moving on. Let it go. It was imperative not to hold grudges. I was mistaken, however.

I have learned that forgetting can happen with the click of a button, but forgiveness has its own dance, a mystique of sorts that permeates your soul and tries to yank it out of your existence without permission. It carries its own weight that I haven’t yet learned how to fully surrender to it.

That knife cut too deep. It perforated my torax and went straight down to my soul leaving a wound that has yet to heal, no matter how many bandages and patches I have applied. I tried it all, don’t take me wrong. I have tried but the doors have stayed shut.

I have always been the one to subscribe to forgiveness, running around with the banner that nothing could ever be deep enough for someone not to be able to let it go as if there were term limits to how long the train ought to last. Yet here I am, learning that forgiveness is not always as simple as I once believed. Nope, doodoo, no. It depends on the size and the type of injury. Mine had too many layers which made difficult to just set aside my feelings and embark in a new direction. I have been carefully slicing it piece by piece, layer by layer, molding and sculpting it as I go.

I will get there eventually, I know I will but right now, let me drive. I am still in the highway as I find myself with a ton of unanswered questions and unresolved cobwebs —things I have not yet been able to close the door on.

The magic wand I once thought existed isn’t there. I used to believe that one day I would wake up and the pain would simply be gone, vanished —that forgiveness would arrive like the scent of Gucci perfume, some beautiful moment of clarity, and everything that happened would suddenly stop hurting. But it doesn’t work that way, sometimes, does it?! It still hurts.

Forgiveness does not mean I suddenly stop remembering. Some wounds leave scars, and some memories will always carry a little sadness but a scar is not an open wound. It is proof that something hurt me deeply, and that somehow, I survived it.

Forgiveness does not erase what happened. It does not make the pain less real, nor does it excuse the choices that caused it. It simply means, I am choosing not to let the hurt have the final say in my life. I am slowly realizing that my healing cannot depend on someone else’s remorse. It will never happen. The person is gone. I cannot keep waiting for others to acknowledge my pain before I allow myself to move forward.

So, I am giving myself permission to release what I cannot change.

I am releasing the conversations I will never get to have, the explanations I may never receive, and the version of the past I desperately wished could have been different.

I am releasing the need to make someone understand how deeply they hurt me.

And most importantly, I am learning to release the guilt I carried for loving, trusting, hoping, and believing. Those things were never weaknesses. They were simply evidence that my heart was genuine.