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.
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