I'm not into revenge anymore, I just let go and let God.

Hear now the gentle yet powerful wisdom of Angela Yee, whose words, “I’m not into revenge anymore, I just let go and let God,” carry the quiet strength of a soul that has known pain and risen above it. Though simple in form, her statement is profound in spirit—it is the voice of one who has laid down the sword of anger and taken up the mantle of peace. These are not the words of weakness, but of mastery—the mastery of one’s own heart. For what is revenge, but the fire that consumes the vessel that carries it? And what is letting go, but the art of freeing oneself from chains unseen?

The origin of this quote lies not in the pages of scripture nor in the halls of philosophy, but in the lived wisdom of the modern age—an echo of the timeless principle found in every faith and moral teaching: that vengeance belongs not to man, but to the divine. To “let go and let God” is to trust that justice, in its truest form, is not born of wrath but of wisdom. Angela Yee’s words, though spoken in the language of today, carry the soul of the ancients—they are a reminder that the greatest victories are not those we win against others, but those we win within ourselves.

Throughout history, men and women have stood upon the edge of vengeance and chosen instead the path of grace. Think of Nelson Mandela, who, after twenty-seven years in prison, emerged not with bitterness, but with forgiveness. He had been wronged beyond measure—his youth stolen, his people oppressed—and yet, he chose to let go of hatred, for he knew that vengeance would shackle the future he sought to build. “As I walked out the door toward my freedom,” Mandela said, “I knew that if I didn’t leave my bitterness behind, I’d still be in prison.” This is the living embodiment of Angela Yee’s truth: that true liberation begins when we release the desire to harm those who have harmed us.

Revenge promises satisfaction, yet delivers only emptiness. It blinds the heart and poisons the spirit, chaining the avenger to the very suffering they seek to escape. In contrast, forgiveness is not surrender—it is sovereignty. It is the act of saying, “I will no longer allow what was done to me to define who I am.” When we let God take the burden of justice, we are not abandoning fairness; we are placing trust in a power greater than our own anger. To forgive is to reclaim peace from the jaws of resentment, to rise above the cycle that devours both victim and victor alike.

Yet make no mistake—letting go is not easy. It requires courage greater than revenge itself. To hold a grudge is effortless; to release it is divine. It demands that we see beyond the momentary wound and glimpse the eternal truth—that everything unfolds as part of a larger design, one that often reveals its meaning only when we cease to wrestle against it. In releasing anger, we do not condone injustice; we simply refuse to let it dictate the rhythm of our hearts.

Angela Yee’s words speak to the modern soul—one weary of conflict, longing for serenity in a world that glorifies retaliation. Her wisdom calls us to a higher place: to choose healing over hatred, calm over chaos, faith over fury. She reminds us that strength is not in striking back, but in standing still while the storm passes, trusting that the divine hand will right what we cannot. This is not the passivity of the weak—it is the serenity of the wise.

So let this be your lesson, O seeker of peace: vengeance enslaves, but forgiveness liberates. Do not poison your spirit with bitterness, nor waste your life plotting wounds for others. When wronged, lift your eyes to heaven and say, “I release this pain. I will not carry what is not mine.” In doing so, you open your heart to healing, to joy, and to strength that no enemy can destroy.

And thus, remember always: to let go and let God is not to retreat from justice—it is to ascend beyond it. It is to walk the path of kings and prophets, saints and survivors. It is to choose peace when war would be easier. So walk lightly, forgive freely, and trust deeply—for the hands that shape the universe also hold your heart, and in surrendering your pain, you become part of the divine work of restoration that no vengeance could ever achieve.