Could You Forgive Someone Who Caused You Unimaginable Pain?

Whether we can forgive someone who has caused us profound suffering depends on understanding forgiveness as God presents it. Forgiveness is not a feeling we must manufacture, but a deliberate choice rooted in recognizing what we ourselves have received. So, yes, I believe I can forgive someone who has caused me unimaginable pain, but not because I’m naturally strong, and not because the pain was small. I can forgive that person because God has shown me what forgiveness actually is, and because He has forgiven me in ways I could never repay. Forgiveness, as Scripture presents it, is not pretending the evil didn’t happen, and it is not calling injustice “okay.” Forgiveness is me releasing my right to personal vengeance, refusing to let bitterness become my master, and entrusting final judgment to God, who sees perfectly and judges righteously (Rom 12:17–21; Prov 24:29). 

I also want to say this again, plainly, forgiveness is not a feeling I wait for. It is a decision I make again and again when the memories resurface, when old wounds flare up, and when my heart wants to replay the wrong. Jesus told Peter that forgiveness isn’t measured by a limited number, but by a heart posture that keeps choosing mercy, because that is exactly how God has treated us (Matt 18:21–35). That parable hits us hard because it reminds us that we are the ones who have been released from a debt we could never pay. If God in Christ has forgiven us, we cannot turn around and make unforgiveness our identity (Eph 4:32; Col 3:13). 

When I think about the unimaginable pain I have experienced, like that of physical, mental, psychological, and sexual abuse, I also think about the examples God put in Scripture on purpose, because He knows we would need them. Joseph’s brothers did him real evil, betrayal, slavery, and stolen years, but Joseph refused to play God with vengeance. He acknowledged the evil, but he also trusted God’s sovereign ability to redeem what others meant to destroy. “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” is not denial; it is faith that God is bigger than the sin committed against us (Gen 50:19–21). That is one of the anchors that help us forgive when our emotions lag behind our obedience. 

And then I look at Jesus. The cross is the clearest picture of forgiveness because it shows us what we cost God and what God was willing to absorb so we could be free. Jesus, while being unjustly executed, prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do” (Luke 23:34). That does not mean their sin was small. It means His mercy was greater. Stephen echoed that same heart when he was being murdered, “Lord, do not charge them with this sin” (Acts 7:60). Those words confront me, because they remind me that forgiveness is not rooted in what the offender deserves; it’s rooted in what God has given us (me), and what God calls me to reflect. 

So when asked, “Could you forgive?” my honest answer is: I can, and I must, but I also understand why it feels impossible. Unimaginable pain leaves marks. Some wounds change you. Some losses don’t get “fixed” in this life. Forgiveness does not erase consequences. It does not always restore the relationship. Scripture even leaves room for wisdom, boundaries, and dealing with sin truthfully (Matt 18:15). Forgiveness is me refusing to hate, refusing to plot revenge, refusing to carry the offender’s sin like a permanent weight in my own soul. It is me choosing not to return evil for evil, but to overcome evil with good as far as it depends on me (1 Pet 3:9; Rom 12:17–21). It is me obeying God even when my flesh wants justice in my time and in my way. 

This is also why I take bitterness seriously. Bitterness is not a private emotion that stays quiet. It spreads. It defiles. It changes our tone, our relationships, and our spiritual clarity (Heb 12:15). I’ve learned that if I keep replaying what happened, rehearsing the injury, repeating the matter, I may feel justified, but I also stay chained to it (Prov 17:9). And if I’m honest, unforgiveness doesn’t punish the offender nearly as much as it poisons the one carrying it. That is why God warns me not to let anger turn into sin that opens a door for the enemy to exploit (Eph 4:26–27), and why Paul says forgiveness can be spiritual warfare, so Satan doesn’t take advantage of us (2 Cor 2:10–11). 

Forgiveness, then, becomes part of my healing, not because the offender earned it, but because Christ bought it. The gospel tells me that when I was still an enemy, God moved toward me in love and reconciled me through the death of His Son (Rom 5:8–10). That changes how I see everyone who has sinned against me. It does not make their sin right. It makes my posture clear: I am not the judge, and vengeance belongs to the Lord (Rom 12:19). My call is mercy, because I have received mercy (Matt 5:7; James 2:13). My call is to forgive as I have been forgiven (Eph 4:32; Col 3:13). 

Now, I also want to say that forgiving unimaginable pain does not mean we stop grieving. It does not mean we stop telling the truth about what happened. It means we bring our pain into the presence of the God who is “ready to forgive” and “abundant in mercy” (Ps 86:5), and you let Him teach our hearts what we cannot manufacture on our own. Oftentimes, I have to pray with honesty: “Lord, I am willing, but I’m not there yet; help me.” And God does help. He has a way of softening what has hardened and healing what I thought would never heal. 

So yes, I can forgive someone who caused me unimaginable pain, because Jesus forgave me first, because He commands me to forgive, and because I refuse to let evil have the last word in my soul. I may still have to work through the pain, set boundaries, and live with certain scars, but I will not be overcome by evil. By God’s grace, I will overcome evil with good (Rom 12:21). And if you are struggling to forgive, I want you to know this: you are not alone, and you are not being asked to do this in your own strength. God never commands what He will not supply. If He calls us to forgive, He will also give us what we need to obey Him in doing so.

What Evidence, Not A Feeling, Convinced You That The Bible Is Accurate And Inspired By God?

When someone asks, “What evidence, not a feeling, convinced you that the Bible is accurate and inspired by God?” I understand what they’re really asking. They’re asking whether Christianity can stand in the light of reality, history, and reason, or whether it collapses into private emotion. I cannot speak for others, I can only speak for myself, but I can do it honestly: So, “What evidence, not a feeling, convinced me that the Bible is accurate and inspired by God?” The strongest “evidence” God used in my life was not a single argument; it was the merging of God’s sovereignty in my history, His providence in my personal life, and the Bible’s consistent ability to explain what I was seeing in the world and in myself, in a way nothing else could. 

One of the anchor evidences for me is this: the Bible does not present God as a helper who reacts to history. It presents God as the Lord who rules history. Scripture speaks of God doing “according to His will,” with no one able to restrain His hand or successfully put Him on trial (Dan 4:35). It speaks of God declaring “the end from the beginning,” and accomplishing His counsel (Isa 46:9–10). It says God works “all things according to the counsel of His will” (Eph 1:11). That is a claim you can actually test, not by putting God in a laboratory, but by watching whether Scripture’s worldview fits the real world: human pride, human evil, human plans, nations rising and falling, rulers making choices they swear were their own, and yet history repeatedly turning in directions no one fully controls. Proverbs says a man plans, but the Lord directs his steps (Prov 16:9), and it even says the king’s heart is in the Lord’s hand like watercourses (Prov 21:1). The Bible’s explanation of reality is that history is not random and human power is not ultimate. Over time, I found that framework consistently fits what I see. 

But I also need to be careful here: God’s sovereignty is not only a “big picture” idea. Providence is sovereignty applied to life on the ground, God ruling in the details, even when I don’t understand them in the moment. Acts describes the crucifixion itself, human evil and divine purpose operating at the same time, Christ delivered by God’s predetermined purpose and foreknowledge, and yet carried out by lawless hands (Acts 2:23). Acts also says the powers that opposed Jesus did what God’s hand and purpose predetermined beforehand (Acts 4:24–28). That is not sentimental language. It’s a claim about reality: God is so sovereign that even human rebellion does not derail His purposes. That kind of providence is exactly what I have seen echoed in the patterns of my own life, ways I should have been destroyed, but wasn’t; ways I should have been lost, but God preserved me; ways my story should have ended, but didn’t. That is not “wishful thinking” to me anymore. It’s the coherence between what Scripture says God is like and what I have watched Him do. 

Now, I also want to answer the “inspired by God” part directly, because Scripture doesn’t leave that vague. The Bible claims its own origin and nature: “All Scripture is given by inspiration of God,” and it functions to correct, train, and equip the man of God (2 Tim 3:16–17). It claims that prophecy did not come by the will of man, but men spoke as they were moved by the Holy Spirit (2 Pet 1:20–21). Jesus said God’s Word is truth (John 17:17), and He treated Scripture as unbreakable (John 10:35). He said His words will not pass away (Matt 24:35). Those are strong claims. The question becomes: do they hold up? 

One way the Bible itself tells me to test is fulfillment and reliability over time. God gives a standard: if something is truly from the Lord, it will come to pass; if it does not, it is not from Him (Deut 18:21–22). Then Scripture repeatedly testifies that God’s promises did not fail, “not a word failed” of what the Lord spoke (Josh 21:45; 1 Kings 8:56). The Psalms say God’s Word is settled forever (Ps 119:89), and that the entirety of His Word is truth (Ps 119:160). That isn’t the kind of thing I can fake into being true just because I want it to be. It’s either true or it isn’t, and over time, I have found the God of Scripture to be faithful to His Word in ways that have held up under pressure, suffering, and the passing of years. 

Another piece of evidence that matters to me is the way Jesus and the apostles handled Scripture as a unified storyline centered on Christ, not as a pile of religious sayings. After the resurrection, Jesus opened the Scriptures concerning Himself, showing that the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms were pointing to Him (Luke 24:27; Luke 24:44–45). Jesus said the Scriptures testify of Him (John 5:39). In Acts, men like Apollos publicly demonstrated from the Scriptures that Jesus is the Christ (Acts 18:28). That matters because it means the Bible is not merely moral instruction; it is a coherent revelation that culminates in Jesus. That coherence, one story, one redemptive thread, is not something I’ve found any human religion reproduces with the same depth and consistency. 

Then there is the evidence of what the Word does, not merely what it claims. The Bible says the Word of God is living and active, and it discerns the thoughts and intents of the heart (Heb 4:12). It says the Word effectively works in those who believe (1 Thess 2:13). It says God’s Word accomplishes what God pleases and prospers in the purpose for which He sends it (Isa 55:11). That is not an argument I can “win” in debate, but it is something I can observe across time: Scripture exposes me, corrects me, steadies me, and remakes my thinking in ways that feel more like being read than merely reading. It confronts my pride. It names my sin. It calls me back when I wander. It leads me in ways I did not naturally choose. Psalm 119 says God’s Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path (Ps 119:105). That’s exactly what it has been in my life. Not always comfortable, but consistently clarifying. 

I also want to speak carefully about my own background, because it shaped how I approached “evidence.” I was raised in a highly religious environment where I absorbed a strong “perform to be acceptable” mindset. I learned a lot of religious practice, but I did not understand a personal relationship with God. When Christ drew me to Himself, I began to see that God is not impressed by my performance, and the gospel is not God offering me a ladder I climb. It is God offering me a Savior I trust. Jesus Himself said no one comes unless the Father draws him (John 6:44–45), and He said the Spirit of truth would guide into all truth (John 16:13). That shift from religious performance to knowing God became part of my “evidence,” because it matched what Scripture says salvation and transformation actually are. 

So when someone asks for biblical evidence and proof, I don’t hear that as a hostile question by default. I hear it as a question of authority: “Can the Bible actually explain reality better than the stories we tell ourselves?” For me, the answer became yes, because Scripture’s view of God’s sovereign rule over history, His providential rule over the details of life, and His faithfulness to His promises formed a consistent, testable framework that held up under time and suffering. It wasn’t that I used Scripture to escape reality. It was that Scripture finally made reality make sense. 

And I’ll say this plainly: I don’t believe I can argue anyone into the kingdom of God. I can’t manufacture faith in another person. But I can testify to what I have seen and learned. I have watched human counsel fail, human strength fail, and my own righteousness fail. I have watched God’s counsel stand (Prov 19:21; Ps 33:11). I have watched His Word prove stable when everything else shifted. I have watched Him break me down and rebuild me. If you want the “not a feeling” evidence I live with, it is this: God’s Word has proven itself faithful, durable, and true in the real world, and the God it reveals has proven Himself sovereign, purposeful, and personal.  

How Can I Develop Patience While Waiting On God’s Timing?

Learning patience while waiting on God’s timing is one of the most common human struggles we face. I say it is common because I know more people in the Christian faith who think and say the same thing as me. We know what it feels like to want answers now, relief now, clarity now, and to feel like God is moving more slowly than our pain, our plans, or our urgency. But Scripture teaches us that waiting is not God forgetting us. Waiting is often God forming us. Moreover, we believe this is true for all of humanity. 

Thus, when we read, “Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart” (Psalm 27:14), we are reminded that courage is not something we manufacture in our own strength. God strengthens our hearts while we wait. That means the waiting itself is not wasted time; it is training time. Psalm 37 says to “rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him,” and it even warns us not to fret when others seem to prosper (Psalm 37:7). That hits home because impatience is often fueled by comparison, what we think we should have by now, what we think God should have done by now, what we think other people are getting that we’re not. Waiting becomes more bearable when we stop reading God’s faithfulness through the scoreboard of other people’s lives. Comparison is the death of peace of mind and the cause of all manner of anxiety. 

Isaiah says that those who “wait on the Lord shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31). That tells us something important: biblical patience is not passive resignation. It is spiritual dependence that renews strength rather than drains it. We still have to walk through the day’s responsibilities, the unanswered prayers, and the delays, but God promises that waiting can become the place where we gain strength to keep going, where we “run and will not become weary” and “walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:31). In other words, patience is not only something we need in order to survive the wait; patience is one of the gifts God grows in us through the wait. 

Romans 8:25 says that if we hope for what we do not see, we “eagerly wait for it with perseverance.” That verse helps us reframe what patience actually is. Patience is not us pretending we don’t care. Patience is us hoping for something we can’t see yet and choosing to endure because God is trustworthy. It is the difference between despairing delay and hopeful endurance. 

Habakkuk brings it even closer to the pain of waiting. The Lord says the vision is for “an appointed time,” and even if it seems to be taking too long, it will come, and it “will not lie” (Habakkuk 2:3). That verse teaches us that God has timing, and His timing is not random. There are seasons where what God promised feels distant, but the distance is not the same as denial. When we’re tempted to conclude, “God isn’t coming through,” Habakkuk reminds us to interpret the delay as “not yet,” not “never.”

James gives one of the most practical pictures: the farmer who waits for the precious fruit of the earth until the rain comes (James 5:7–8). That helps us because the farmer is not lazy while he waits. He lives faithfully in the season he’s in, knowing God sends what he cannot produce on his own. That’s why James also says to “establish your hearts” (James 5:8). Patience isn’t only about the calendar; it’s about stabilizing my heart. That happens when we stop demanding instant outcomes and start trusting God’s process. 

Lamentations says the Lord is good to those who wait for Him, and that it is good to hope and “wait quietly” for the salvation of the Lord (Lamentations 3:25–26). That word “quietly” doesn’t mean emotionless. It means our soul learns to settle under God’s care instead of thrashing in panic. Psalm 62:5 says, “My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation is from Him.” That is a hard line for us, because our expectations often come from people, timelines, money, control, or our own ability to make something happen. God keeps pulling our expectations back to Him, because if they are in anything else, we will collapse when it fails. 

One of the biggest shifts in our waiting must be learning to pray while we wait, not just after we’re tired of waiting. Romans 12:12 ties it together: “rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer.” And Philippians 4:6–7 gives us the practical rhythm: when anxiety rises because of a delay, we bring our requests to God with thanksgiving, and His peace guards our hearts and minds. Waiting gets harder when I stop praying and start spiraling in my head. Waiting gets lighter when I keep handing the burden back to God. 

Patience also grows when we accept that God’s timing is not my timing, and that doesn’t make God late. Second Peter reminds me that God is not “slack” concerning His promise, but He is long-suffering and purposeful (2 Peter 3:8–9). That teaches us that sometimes what feels like a delay to us is mercy and wisdom from God. There are things I wanted earlier in my life that would have crushed me. There are things I begged for sooner that would have harmed other people. There are doors I demanded that God kept closed because He was protecting me from myself. 

Romans 5:3–4 and James 1:2–4 both say something I don’t naturally want to hear: tribulation produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character produces hope; the testing of faith produces patience. That means patience is not built in comfort. It is built in pressure. It is built when the clock is slow, and my faith has to breathe anyway. It is built when I keep doing good and refuse to quit, trusting that “in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart” (Galatians 6:9). That “due season” is real, and it is God’s season, not mine. 

So when asking how to develop patience, we must return to what Scripture keeps saying: I wait on the Lord, I rest in the Lord, I pray in the Lord, I do good in the Lord, and I keep my heart established in the Lord. I imitate those who “through faith and patience inherit the promises” (Hebrews 6:12). I remember that endurance is part of receiving what God has promised (Hebrews 10:36). I humble myself under God’s mighty hand, trusting that He will exalt me “in due time” (1 Peter 5:6). And when my heart starts to panic, I remind myself of the simplest truth in all of it: God acts for the one who waits for Him (Isaiah 64:4). Waiting is not empty. Waiting is faith in motion.