Since the beginning of time, families have experienced conflict. The very first family did. Cain and Abel were brothers. One worked the land, the other raised livestock.
“In the course of time, Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the Lord. But Abel brought fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, but on Cain and his offering He did not look with favor. So Cain became very angry, and his face was downcast. Then the Lord said to Cain, ‘Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.’”
—Genesis 4:3–7
But Cain didn’t master it. He gave in to jealousy, rage, and bitterness—and murdered his own brother.
Why did Cain kill Abel? Because he was unwilling to let go of his sin. Unwilling to forgive. Unwilling to trust God. And sin took root.
What sin are you unwilling to let go of?
In my twenties, I had to do something that may sound strange: I had to forgive God—not because He had done anything wrong, but because I was angry about the family I was born into. We were loving but quiet. Distant. We didn’t talk much. It wasn’t anyone’s fault—it was just the way the cards were dealt.
I had to forgive my dad for getting sick. He didn’t ask for a stroke in his 40s. Before that, he was a hunter, fisherman, golfer, and a gifted bookkeeper and salesman. As a young man, I felt robbed. I envied my friends whose dads were active and teaching them how to be men. It hurt. I was angry. But over time, God showed me the upside: my experience helped me relate to others who felt the same kind of loss.
I had to forgive my mom for not meeting my bride until our wedding day. That was hard. No woman would have been good enough for her “baby boy.” But in time, I let it go. I asked God to forgive me for the resentment and bitterness I had let hang around for too long.
Later, my mom came to live with us for 7 years, until the age of 90. During that time, her relationship with my wife Jill, and with all of us, deepened. Mom even apologized to Jill for being hard on her early on, and told her she loved her. They became very close. It was a blessing to have her in our home—her health was relatively strong, her attitude grew more positive, and even through dementia, her heart remained grateful.
Eventually, we had to move her into a nursing facility near my brother’s home in Dallas. Her decline was swift, but peaceful. She passed in January. We all miss her smile.
So what made the difference?
Forgiveness.
Right now, I’m dealing with people who are angry with me over things I wrote in previous blogs. Ironically, many of them hadn’t spoken to me in years—or only on a superficial level. But say something that offends them, and suddenly they come out of the woodwork, breathing fire.
It’s sad—but I’ve already forgiven them. I realize they’re feeding off misinformation from secondhand sources. Rather than talking to me directly, they’ve chosen to gossip, assume, accuse, and judge.
We’ve lost the ability—and the courage—to have face-to-face, eye-to-eye conversations. Instead, we text. We email. We comment and unfollow. And we wonder why conflict never gets resolved. Misunderstandings multiply. Gossip spreads. Bitterness festers. Families fall apart—not because of big events, but because of small things left unresolved.
I’ve spent much of my professional life in leadership: recruiter, manager, director, president, CEO. And here’s what I learned—nothing resolves conflict better than a private conversation behind closed doors. Let the other person speak. Let them vent. Then work toward a solution. It’s uncomfortable, but it works. It heals. And more than ever, we need healing.
I’ve also been on the other side. The accuser. I’ve gossiped. I’ve resented. I’ve harbored anger and unforgiveness. And I still struggle at times. Some people I haven’t forgiven yet—but I’m working on it. Daily.
How?
By asking God to help me forgive even when my flesh screams, “To hell with them!” I’ve learned that the more I practice forgiveness, the more freedom I experience.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean we become best friends. It doesn’t mean I have to engage with the person. It means I let go—because holding on will destroy me. If I can make amends, I will. If I can’t, I’ll leave it with God and pray for peace.
Forgiveness requires humility. And humility is hard—especially for someone like me, with a strong personality and a drive to be “right.” But James 4:10 says:
“Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will exalt you.”
What does that mean? It means the burden will lift. Growth will follow. Peace will take root. Try it. Let me know how it goes.
One final thought: gossip is a cancer. It spreads quickly and kills quietly. When I saw it taking root in the workplace, I cut it off at the source. And I’ve learned to do the same in my personal life. Unforgiveness and gossip go hand-in-hand—and they destroy faster than a rocket launch.
Choose forgiveness.
It’s the only cure that works.
Adios for now,
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