The Scandal of Grace.

“Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” says the Lord. —Romans 12:19

I’ve been thinking a lot about justice lately. About forgiveness. About what it really means to trust God with the things that broke us.

Growing up, my siblings and I went through things no child ever should. A lot of that pain came from people who were supposed to protect us. And even now, years later, the past still shows up — in memories, in milestones, in the way we carry joy and grief at the same time.

There’s freedom in Christ, yes. I’ve tasted it. But to really grasp the beauty of His mercy, you have to face the weight of what mercy costs.

And I’ll be honest — one of the hardest things for me to accept has been the idea that the people who hurt us might be forgiven. That they could find mercy. That they might never feel the full weight of what they did — and still end up in the presence of God.

For a long time, that felt wrong.

It felt like grace went too far.

It felt unfair.

But then I realized something that changed everything: If grace doesn’t reach them, it doesn’t reach me either.

That’s the part that broke me. Because my heart, in its hurt and anger, wanted them to pay. I used to think, “God, deal with them. Make them feel it.”

But then I remembered what “being dealt with” by God really means.

It means eternal separation from Him.

And if you’ve truly known His presence — if you’ve lived even one moment aware of His love — then you know that’s the worst thing anyone could ever experience.

Worse than pain.

Worse than death.

I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even the ones who hurt me.

Because to be without Him — truly without Him — is the deepest kind of suffering.

That’s what changed me.

That’s what made me stop praying for wrath and start praying for mercy — even for them.

Because if we truly understand what forgiveness costs, we stop asking who deserves it.

And we start asking, who still needs it?