28.They Say God Will Forgive You, But I Haven’t Forgiven God

They say He forgives,

that His mercy is vast as the sky,

wide enough to hold every sin,

every scar we bear.

But what about the wounds He left in me?

What about the nights I cried out

and heard nothing but silence,

the prayers that fell like stones

into a well too deep to see the bottom?

They say He loves,

but where was that love

when the ground gave way beneath me,

when the storms came

and left me alone in the wreckage?

What kind of love turns away,

lets you drown while whispering, "It's for the best"?

I've been told a thousand times,

"He forgives you,"

but I can't find the strength

to forgive Him in return.

How do I forgive the silence

that swallowed my voice,

the hands that didn't reach for me

when I was falling?

They say He has a plan,

but why does His plan feel like ruin,

like an endless road of broken glass

beneath my feet?

Why must I bleed for His wisdom,

why must I suffer for His grace?

They say trust Him—

but what is trust when it's always tested,

when faith is met with fire

and hope with ash?

I wonder if He watches,

if He sees how far I've strayed

from the path they say leads to light.

But the light feels too far,

flickering like a distant star

I'll never touch.

Does He know the weight I carry,

or is He content to watch me stumble

under the burden He's placed?

They say He forgives all,

but my forgiveness is not so easily given.

I can't forget the nights of doubt,

the days of endless questions

with no answers.

Why, God, why this suffering,

why this silence

when I needed Your voice the most?

I've been told to kneel,

to surrender my heart,

but how can I kneel

when my legs are too weak

from walking alone in the dark?

How can I bow before the One

who let me break

without offering a hand to mend?

They say He will forgive me

for every doubt,

every curse I've whispered

into the wind.

But I haven't forgiven Him

for the empty skies,

for the promises that never came.

They say I'm lost,

that I need His light to find my way,

but what if the light never wanted me?

What if I was meant to walk alone,

meant to carry this anger

like a stone in my chest?

I've built walls high enough

to keep Him out,

and still, they say He will forgive.

But forgiveness is a door

that swings both ways,

and mine remains closed.

They say His love is endless,

but my heart is not.

I've grown tired of waiting

for the voice that never speaks,

for the comfort that never comes.

They say God will forgive,

but I haven't forgiven Him

for the trials, the pain,

for the way He turns away

just when I need Him near.

What kind of love allows this,

what kind of God watches

and lets His children fall?

I carry the weight of questions

He refuses to answer,

and still, they tell me He forgives.

But what is forgiveness

when the hurt remains,

when the faith is shattered

and the trust is gone?

They say He forgives,

but I wonder if He even knows

how to ask for mine.