Lord, Give Me a Heart That Forgives Quickly.

There is a version of forgiveness I have gotten very comfortable with as I've gotten older. Someone wrongs me, or someone I love, and I forgive them. I genuinely do. I release the offence, I don't nurse a grudge, I wish them well.

But quietly, almost without noticing it, I also step back slightly from that relationship. I create a little distance. I stop investing as much. I decide, somewhere deep down, that my time is too short and my energy too limited to keep pouring into people who have shown me who they are.

It feels reasonable. Mature, even. Like I've finally learned not to let people walk all over me.

But lately I've been sitting with an uncomfortable question... is that actually forgiveness?

Because the picture of forgiveness in Scripture doesn't look much like stepping back. It looks like a father who sees his son while he is still a long way off and runs to meet him. It looks like arms thrown open before a single word of apology has been spoken. It looks less like releasing someone and more like going toward them.

That is hard for me. I have a strong sense of injustice. I notice when someone has behaved badly, and some part of me believes that people should bear the weight of their choices, that I shouldn't keep offering myself to people who haven't earned it. And honestly, I don't think that instinct is entirely wrong. Wisdom matters. Boundaries can be holy.

But I wonder if I have sometimes used wisdom as a way to avoid the harder work of love. It is much easier to forgive from a distance than to actually open your hands again.

I am not sure what this looks like in practice. I am not sure it means pretending nothing happened, or forcing a closeness that no longer fits. But I think it might mean keeping the door unlocked. Staying genuinely open. Letting my posture toward that person be warmth rather than a polite, managed chill.

Lord, give me a heart that forgives quickly. Not just the kind that lets go, but the kind that keeps leaning in.