I can still remember trying to piece it all together and grasp the idea of life and death. My uncle was only 26 years old and was probably one of the most mild-mannered people I had ever known. I was confused and heartbroken.
As the details gradually unfolded, I learned that my uncle had been out coon hunting when a juvenile neighbor, whom I'll call Steve (not his real name), stabbed him near the heart. My uncle died on the way to the hospital.
Apparently, Steve didn't like my uncle and had gone out of his way to make life difficult for him. What made the situation even harder for many people to understand was that Steve was the son of a local preacher.
I never went to the trial and was shielded from most of the conversations surrounding it. I remember bits and pieces from the news and snippets of conversations between the adults around me, but much of it was beyond my understanding at the time.
Larry's funeral was my first experience with death. Everyone around me was crying, while I sat there numb, staring at him in the casket. I remember thinking, Why is he wearing makeup? I didn't fully understand what I was seeing.
The trial did not feel like justice to my family. Steve's parents hired an experienced attorney, and he was not convicted of first-degree murder. His defense centered around self-defense, and although the legal outcome was decided in court, many people in my family struggled to accept it.
As a child, I often wondered how someone could live with themselves after taking another person's life.
Years later, Steve died by suicide.
I remember hearing family members express a sense of satisfaction or justification when they learned of his death. It was as though they believed karma had finally caught up with him and that he had received what he deserved.
As I've grown older, I've learned a lot about forgiveness through this experience.
I don't know if my grandparents, my father, or my uncle ever truly forgave Steve. Grief is complicated, and pain has a way of settling deep into our hearts. Some wounds heal quickly, while others linger for decades.
What I do know is that we live in a broken world. Heartache touches all of us in different ways and at different times. None of us escape it.
One of the things I admire most about Jesus is that He understood suffering, betrayal, loss, and injustice. He knew what it felt like to be wounded, yet He continually called people toward forgiveness. Not because the hurt wasn't real, but because carrying bitterness for a lifetime creates its own kind of prison.
Forgiveness doesn't erase what happened. It doesn't excuse it. It doesn't mean justice doesn't matter. Forgiveness simply frees us from allowing another person's actions to continue controlling our hearts.
Are there any "Steves" in your life?
Someone who hurt you deeply. Someone whose name still brings anger, sadness, or resentment to the surface.
If so, maybe the path toward healing begins where forgiveness starts.
Not because they deserve it.
Because you deserve peace.
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