Some of us were not fortunate enough to have good parents. They were not inherently bad as such; often they were shaped by hardship, ignorance, or wounds they never healed. We watched them fail as partners and as parents. Still, they weren’t completely without love; they weren’t the kind who would hand you a snake when you asked for a fish. And yet many of us carry a quiet resentment that lingers long after childhood ends.
At some point, we have to loosen our grip on that anger, especially now that you know the Lord. It’s time to forgive not because what happened didn’t hurt, but because they truly didn’t know better. Their chapter is closing. Ours is opening.
When we speak about forgiveness, we have to start with the humbling reality that God forgave a wretch like us; so are you really so proud that you refuse to forgive your parents? Shame on you.
Jesus commands, “You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48), and the parallel passage explains what that perfection means: “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36). The standard is not brilliance or power but mercy that reflects God’s own heart.
Christ drives the point deeper in the parable of the unforgiving servant: after being released from an impossible debt, the servant chokes another over pennies, and the master rebukes him, “Should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?” (Matthew 18:33).
That story is a mirror held up to us: God forgave a debt counted in millions, yet we cling to small accounts and call it justice. Unforgiveness is spiritual amnesia; it forgets the cross that keeps us alive. The call is direct and unavoidable: repent, release what you are owed, and live as someone sustained entirely by mercy. Anything less is pride disguised as pain.
We’ve been given awareness they may never had. We found faith and perspective earlier than they did. That’s a responsibility, not just a blessing. We don’t get to repeat the same patterns and blame our past. The pain stops with us. Your children should never inherit the wounds you refused to confront.
Even if they failed you or even if they hurt you in ways that still echo; the call of a follower of Christ is not suspended by pain. They may have been wrong and unfair but discipleship asks something radical: honor them anyway. Not because they earned it perfectly, but because obedience to Christ reshapes how we respond to imperfection. Honor can look like care in their old age, patience in conversation, and a refusal to repay wound for wound.
More than that, we are entrusted with their souls, not just our memories. If we preach a transforming gospel, then it must reach our own homes first. Our parents are not beyond redemption; they are candidates for the same grace that rescued us.
Loving them now includes praying fiercely, speaking gently about the Lord, and creating opportunities for them to encounter God in a real and living way. The hope is not merely that peace exists between you on earth, but that you stand together before God in eternity.
At the same time, our responsibility stretches forward. We are architects of the next generation. Our children are studying us long before they understand our words. They are learning what marriage means, what forgiveness looks like, how authority behaves, and how faith breathes inside a household.
We must build families so rooted in love and integrity that our children never have to search outside the home to imagine what stability feels like. Respect should not be demanded from them; it should rise naturally from what they witness.
This is the turning point between inheritance and legacy. We can acknowledge the cracks in what we received without passing them on. By honoring those who came before us and leading those who come after us, we become a bridge generation: one that absorbs pain, redeems it through Christ, and hands forward something stronger. In doing so, we testify that the gospel is not theory. It is a force that remakes families, heals histories, and prepares souls for eternity.
This is a handoff between generations. We are the ones stepping forward now. So prepare yourself. Learn what they didn’t. Build what they never had the chance to build. The future is arriving, and we are the ones writing it.
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