THE HEART OF FORGIVENESS

Forgiveness begins in the heart; it can’t stay there.

We’re called to forgive as we’ve been forgiven. That’s hard. Especially when we’re angry, resentful, and hurting. To understand the true heart of forgiveness, we must look to Christ.

It was after midnight. The call came. I wasn’t asleep. I was sitting with our youngest daughter, helping her finish an assignment for school.

She’d be graduating from high school in the spring. That in itself was a miracle.

She’d spent most of her senior year in the hospital. Battling cancer. She was fragile but not broken. Tired, but not defeated. She’d beaten the odds.

Her focus was on healing, not on the road she’d already traveled.

I was exhausted, too. We all were. It had been a long year. We were grateful to be home. Thankful she was whole.

Then my phone rang.

I didn’t recognize the number. Something made me answer anyway. It was an acquaintance I hadn’t spoken to in a while.

“Jennifer,” she said through tears, “Alisa’s gone. He killed her.”

Just like that, my world changed. Again.

Alisa was my best friend. Over thirty years had connected us. So much life shared.

I knew who “he” was.

I knew the thing I’d feared most had happened.

It was the same thing that had made me distance myself from her in the last year of her life. I’d run out of patience. Wanted off the rollercoaster that was her relationship. It wasn’t healthy.

It’d gone on far too long. Every break-up was the last one. It never was. Until this one.

She’d called and texted during the day. I hadn’t answered. I didn’t want to hear it because I had no more words to offer.

In my silence, I’d failed to be the friend she needed.

I’d watched from the sidelines as her marriage fell apart. Never said a word to discourage her from going through with it. Supported her no matter what. I should’ve said something.

When the divorce was final, I supported her and the two kids she and her ex-husband shared. They were like my own kids.

When she began dating, I tried to remain open-minded. Her choice of partners raised red flags. Still, I said nothing. They tended to fizzle quickly, until him.

From the beginning, I was apprehensive. There were too many signs. I kept my concerns to myself. She seemed happy.

That’s all that mattered, right?

When the first cracks started appearing, I tried to be diplomatic. Tried to nudge gently.

I watched from the sidelines as my once confident, beautiful friend began to show signs of defeat.

The drinking increased. Health and vitality started waning. Injuries appeared. The excuses began.

I knew what was happening. Still, I accepted the explanations. Fell down the steps. Ran into the door jam. Cut my hand while washing a knife.

She’d never been accident-prone. I went along anyway.

For over six years. On and off, up and down. The cycle went on.

Life removed me from the merry-go-round.

Our daughter was diagnosed. We spent the better part of a year in Gainesville at Shands.

I wasn’t around for the ending. We’d been home barely a few months when that call came.

She was gone.

All the things I could’ve said. Should’ve done. Meant to say. Meant to do, lost forever.

He didn’t give her a chance to end things for good. He ended her.

That night, he tried to break in through her patio doors. She ran out the front. Went to the neighbors. Called 911.

Then went back. Why? I’ll never know.

By the time the police arrived, it was already too late.

She was gone, alone on her living room floor.

They’d called her ex-husband. He told the police to talk to me. I could describe him. Fill them in on their relationship. I knew what he drove.

They knocked on my door.

I answered their questions. Gave them all I could.

They told me how she’d died. I wish they hadn’t.

The shock began to wear off. The guilt began to seep in.

Why hadn’t I answered her calls?

Would it have made a difference?

Then came the anger.

I was so very angry.

I hated him. Swore I’d never forgive him.

He was apprehended quickly. Charged. I went to his hearing. Glared at him from the back row. Let the anger and the hate sustain me.

He was sentenced to life in prison. No parole.

He’d spend the rest of his life behind bars.

I’d spend the rest of mine hating him.

Missing her.

And carrying the guilt of all the things I failed to do.

God had a different plan for me.

Though I didn’t know it at the time, my own life would quickly spiral out of control.

The drinking that had once been social became more frequent and more necessary. Especially, since my father had passed eight years before.

The eating disorder I’d battled on and off since I was in my late teens began to re-emerge with a vengeance.

The stress of the last few years had taken a toll.

The anger, hatred, and guilt I was carrying were too much.

There was too much darkness. Oblivion was the only thing I wanted. Drinking and starvation were my punishments. And my escape.

I likely wouldn’t be sitting here now had I been left to myself.

My family wasn’t willing to let me go. They intervened.

I agreed to get help. For them. I entered rehab.

God wasn’t willing to let me go either. He was there when I finally reached for Him.

With His help, I began the long climb out of the darkness.

Without Him, I never would have made it.

It’s been almost eight years since my recovery journey began. Almost nine years since my best friend was taken.

In that time, God has healed me.

He gave me the strength to face my darkness. The clarity to understand and accept it exactly as it was.

My looking glass was a bitter thing to face, but God helped me face it. Without judgment or condemnation. He met me where I was.

He opened my heart to forgiveness. First, for myself. Then for others. Even him.
The one I swore I’d never forgive.

God showed me that forgiveness cannot come in pieces. It has to be whole and complete.

Forgiveness begins in the heart, but it cannot stay there.

It has to be given. Freely and without condition. For that is how He forgives us.

That is how we must forgive.

If I couldn’t do that, I would live the rest of my life behind those same bars. Right there with him. Embracing the anger and the hatred. Allowing it to cage me, too.

I didn’t want that. I wanted freedom and peace.

So, I gave it all to God.

He showed me the way. Never left my side. Stands beside me still.

Jesus taught us how to forgive.

Christ died on the cross carrying the sins of the world, including yours and mine.

He paid the penalty for us all.

He forgave us all.

How can we do less?

Profess to be Christians and not forgive?

Say we believe in Jesus Christ and not live as He taught us? As He showed us.

Even when it’s hard.

We don’t forgive by simply trying to forgive; we forgive because we’ve been forgiven.

If we truly want to forgive, God will enable us.

Through His Spirit within us, we’re empowered to forgive.

Because forgiveness isn’t about them, it’s about us. Our own hearts, our own peace, our own freedom.

Even if the other person never knows. God does.

And that’s all that truly matters.

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JN Fenwick (©2025) | mothjournal14 | All rights reserved. | I DO NOT WALK THIS RECOVERY JOURNEY ALONE.

I’m JN Fenwick.

Wife, mom, but more importantly, a recovering alcoholic with a grateful heart. For years, I struggled, not just with alcohol, but with an eating disorder and the burdens of guilt and shame. On March 22, 2018, I surrendered my life to Christ. I was 51. God did not forsake me. He welcomed me, as undeserving as I am. He did not see my brokenness. Instead, He saw my potential. My Recovery Journey is one of Faith. From the ashes of my failures, God built a fire in me. A fire that guides each step I take. My journey is yours. My healing can be yours, too. God is a mighty warrior. You can take comfort in the promise that the Lord will fight for you and grant you peace. | Exodus 14:14.