There are some hurts that we experience that can be forgiven but

Host: The churchyard was silent except for the wind that moved through the dry autumn leaves, a gentle rustling that sounded like the earth trying to speak. The sun hung low behind a veil of gray, throwing soft amber light across the old stone benches where the evening service had just ended.

People drifted away in quiet clusters, their voices muted, their coats buttoned tight against the cooling air. But on the far edge of the courtyard, near the old oak, two figures lingered.

Jack sat on the edge of the bench, his hands folded, head bowed slightly — a posture not of prayer, but of wrestling. Jeeny stood beside him, her scarf fluttering in the wind, her eyes steady and kind.

Jeeny: reading softly from her phone, her voice barely above the whisper of leaves
“Joyce Meyer once said, ‘There are some hurts that we experience that can be forgiven but we won’t forget them.’”

Jack: looking up slowly, his voice rough but controlled
“Yeah. Forgiveness and forgetting — two sides of a coin that never land together.”

Jeeny: quietly, sitting beside him
“Maybe they’re not supposed to. Forgetting erases. Forgiving transforms.”

Host: The bell from the chapel tower chimed, its echo carrying across the empty street — a sound of finality that somehow felt unfinished. A flock of birds rose from the trees, cutting across the fading sky like fragments of thought.

Jack: after a pause, staring into the distance
“You ever notice how people talk about forgiveness like it’s some switch you can flip? Like you say the words and the wound just… disappears.”

Jeeny: softly
“Because we confuse forgiveness with healing. Forgiveness is the decision. Healing is the consequence — and sometimes it never fully arrives.”

Jack: nodding slowly, his eyes distant
“I’ve forgiven people I’ll never trust again. It’s strange — you let go of the anger, but the memory sticks around like a scar that still stings in the rain.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly, her voice quiet but certain
“Scars are proof you survived. Not that you’re broken — that you’re still here.”

Host: The wind shifted, scattering leaves across their feet. The oak creaked softly, as though in agreement. A faint scent of smoke drifted from somewhere nearby — a fireplace, perhaps, or a burning pile of yesterday’s leaves.

Jack: after a long silence
“When Meyer said that, I think she was admitting something most people don’t want to — that forgiveness doesn’t mean amnesia. You can absolve someone, but still remember how it felt to be hurt.”

Jeeny: nodding
“Right. And maybe that memory has purpose. Forgetting might be merciful, but remembering is wise. The memory doesn’t have to be a prison — it can be a map.”

Jack: glancing at her, intrigued
“A map?”

Jeeny: softly, with conviction
“Yes. A map that shows where you’ve been and where not to go again. Forgiveness says, ‘I release you.’ But memory says, ‘I’ve learned from you.’”

Host: The sky deepened into violet, the light fading into a soft, melancholic glow. Their breath showed in the cooling air — small ghosts of warmth escaping into the night.

Jack: after a pause, voice lower now
“I used to think forgiving someone meant pretending it never happened. That if you still remembered, you were holding on.”

Jeeny: shaking her head gently
“No. Holding on is when the memory owns you. Letting go is when you own the memory.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself
“Then maybe forgiveness isn’t about forgetting the pain… it’s about remembering it without letting it define you.”

Jeeny: softly, a gentle smile in her tone
“That’s the freedom part. You stop trying to rewrite what happened, and start rewriting who you are because of it.”

Host: The streetlights flickered on, casting long, thin shadows across the pavement. The light caught in Jeeny’s eyes, reflecting something both strong and tender — the look of someone who has forgiven deeply, and not forgotten wisely.

Jack: after a moment
“You think it’s possible to forgive someone completely? Without a trace?”

Jeeny: sighing softly
“I think complete forgiveness is a myth. The human heart remembers — that’s its design. But I think the point isn’t to erase the memory. It’s to take away its power to poison you.”

Jack: smiling faintly, eyes softening
“Yeah. Because pain doesn’t vanish. It just… changes shape.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly
“And sometimes it becomes strength.”

Host: The wind carried their words upward, scattering them like ash into the darkening sky. Somewhere in the distance, a train rumbled softly, fading into the horizon.

Jack: after a pause
“You know, forgiveness used to sound weak to me — like surrender. But now, I think it’s the bravest kind of rebellion.”

Jeeny: smiling
“It is. Because it means choosing peace when your pain still asks for war.”

Jack: laughing quietly, shaking his head
“Peace is harder than revenge.”

Jeeny: softly, her voice steady and sure
“That’s why it’s worth more.”

Host: The bell tolled again, one last time — not a call, but a benediction. The world around them dimmed into silence, the kind of silence that holds both ache and acceptance.

And in that stillness, Joyce Meyer’s words found their home — not as doctrine, but as lived truth:

That forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting the wound — it means refusing to live from it.
That memory can remain without malice.
And that grace isn’t the act of erasing pain, but the art of transforming it into wisdom.

Jeeny: standing slowly, wrapping her scarf tighter around her
“Some hurts don’t fade, Jack. But they stop bleeding. That’s enough.”

Jack: rising beside her, eyes gentler now
“Yeah. Maybe forgiveness isn’t about erasing the past — maybe it’s about walking into the future without dragging it.”

Host: They walked down the stone path together, the sound of their footsteps soft against the fallen leaves. The wind eased, and the sky cleared — a faint sliver of moon emerging through the clouds, pale and patient.

And as they disappeared into the fading light,
the night seemed to whisper —

that the heart’s truest strength
lies not in forgetting the pain,
but in remembering it —
and loving anyway.