Morning Meditation: Reconciliation and Forgiveness

Father, forgiveness is not a feeling — it is a flood.

When the prophet Amos stood before Israel, he did not whisper. He thundered. "Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream." Not a trickle. Not a polite gesture across a church lobby. A river — the kind that reshapes the land it touches, that carves new channels through stone and carries away what was dead and rotting on the banks.

I confess, Lord, that I have tried to make forgiveness small. I have offered it like a thimble of water when You commanded a torrent. I have nursed old wounds at kitchen tables, rehearsed arguments in the shower, and smiled at people on Sunday mornings whose names I quietly added to my list of grievances. But Your justice does not keep lists. Your righteousness does not trickle — it roars.

So today I bring the dam I have built, brick by bitter brick, and I ask You to break it. Not gently. Completely. Let reconciliation rush through the dry places in my relationships — the phone call I have avoided for months, the brother I speak about but never speak to, the neighbor whose name I have chosen to forget.

In the name of Jesus, who absorbed the worst humanity could offer and answered it with "Father, forgive them" — even while the nails were still wet with His blood — I surrender my right to stay wounded.

The hesed — the stubborn, covenant love — of God does not wait for the other person to apologize first. It moves. It rolls. It floods. And it leaves everything Christ-shaped in its wake.

Go today. Make the call. Write the letter. Cross the room. The river is already moving.

Amen.