It was supposed to be the happiest time of the year for an eleven-year-old, right? I mean, what kid doesn’t love it when Christmas is just a handful of days away? The smell of pine as you walk into the house, the lights everywhere telling you to smile because we are all happy, the stockings full of candy and needless junk we want but don’t need, and the presents—you know, walking into the living room to see how many more gifts screaming your name fill the tree. Yep, Christmas really is the happiest time of the year—or it should have been.

But that year, and for many years after, Christmas became the most miserable time of the year for me. Why? My parents had divorced a few years earlier, and I rarely saw or spent time with my dad. When we did, those weekends were emotionally and sometimes physically abusive, leaving us not wanting to see him again for months.

Then came that Christmas when I was eleven. An envelope was dropped off for my older brother, sister, and me. It wasn’t a check full of zeros like we had hoped. No, it was a letter telling us how disrespectful we were and how we didn’t deserve to be his children. He said that if anyone asked if he had kids, he would say, “No, I do not… I did, but all three died in a fire,” and to “never contact him again, as we were all dead to him.”

As you can imagine, that left me devastated and filled with bitterness, rage, and confusion. How could a father do that to his own kids? My middle school and high school years were filled with painful tears of abandonment, getting kicked out of classes for acting out, and building the Great Wall of China around my heart.

But then, during my freshman year of college, I came to faith in Christ. That story is for another time, but not long after becoming a Christian, I read and then heard a sermon on Jesus’ words: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34 ESV)

Those words hit me like a punch in the gut from Iron Mike Tyson—back when he wasn’t throwing fights to YouTube influencers. They mirrored other Scriptures I had already seen:

“See to it that no root of bitterness springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled.” —Hebrews 12:15 (ESV)

“As the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” —Colossians 3:13 (ESV)

I can tell you that I didn’t want to forgive—and I didn’t, for many years. My dad didn’t just abandon me when I was eleven. He did it repeatedly—through college and beyond. He mocked my “fairy tale belief in Jesus” and disowned me for things like not replying quickly to messages or allowing my daughter to ask him for money for a mission trip to help orphans.

Like those mocking Jesus on the cross, my dad never asked for forgiveness or even seemed to know what he had done.

Then came February 25th, 2024. I was sitting in church when I received a text from a cousin I never knew I had. She said my father had fallen, broken his neck, was all alone, and needed me—badly. Something clicked. That same gut-punch feeling returned. I knew what I needed to do: forgive fully, and go love the father who had never chosen to love me.

I got on a plane and remembered those words I had read three decades earlier:

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” —Luke 23:34 (ESV)

“See to it that no root of bitterness springs up…” —Hebrews 12:15 (ESV)

“Bear with one another… forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” —Colossians 3:13 (ESV)

As the plane touched down, I prayed: that I would fully forgive my dad, serve him well, love him well, and let him see Jesus—not me. For the first time since I was eleven, I felt free. Free to enter in and love him. Free to serve him. Free to be who Christ called me to be—without bitterness, without malice.

That night at 11:00 pm, I walked into his house and immediately took him to the hospital. For the next 45 days, I had the honor and joy of loving, feeding, cleaning, and serving my dad with no trace of bitterness. On April 2nd, 2024, the dad I never really knew—the one who never seemed to want me, the one who rejected me countless times—died holding my hand as I watched him take his last breath on this earth.

In those final days, he said two things I had never heard: “I knew you were a good son; I just never realized how good you were,” and “You loved me and served me well.”  Forgiveness allowed me to lovingly share Jesus with the man who never wanted either of us. What changed? Nothing about him. But everything about me—because I gave him the same unmerited favor Jesus gave me. Grace. Forgiveness. Even when it was never asked for.

I set boundaries. I shared the gospel. And I walked in love.

Here’s what I’ve learned: Forgiveness and grace are never fair. They come at the cost of the blood of Jesus. They demand we lay down our pride and our understandable pain at the foot of the cross.

“Unforgiveness is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies.” In other words, when we do not forgive, the person we hurt the most is ourselves.  If unforgiveness is poison, then forgiveness is the cure.“Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you… Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” —Ephesians 4:31-32 (ESV)When we remember the gospel and choose to walk the long, hard road of forgiveness, we honor Jesus. We rid ourselves of toxic, self-destructive patterns. We get to walk in freedom.

Our call is to live out the words that haunted me for decades:“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” —Luke 23:34 (ESV). It isn’t easy. But for me, it finally honored Jesus, freed me from my prison, and gave me memories I will cherish for the rest of my life.

 

Cyrus Salehi – A Coach On Mission