God — and sometimes just your neighbors — has the perfect timing. When you're trying to teach forgiveness, something always arrives to test you on it. Not symbolically. Actually.
Why does life always interrupt when you're trying to practice peace?
Because it's not practice anymore. It's real. And God wants you to put it into motion…
I was four sentences into recording a meditation on forgiving others—sitting in my little home studio, voice soft, talking people through the tender work of releasing anger—when a leaf blower roared to life outside. Not a gentle garden rake. A full-on mechanical wind machine. And every fiber of my nervous system did that thing where it goes: “Oh, we're fighting now?”
There's something about being interrupted mid-instruction that hits different. It's not just the noise. It's the timing. It's the divine comedy of it. It's sitting there, guiding someone through releasing frustration with people who annoy them, while your own chest starts tightening because someone is literally, actively, choosing to blow leaves at the EXACT moment.
The irony climbed into my ribcage.
What happens when you can't practice what you're preaching?
You get really honest. Which is the whole point, actually.
For maybe thirty seconds, I sat there stewing. Genuinely angry. Not fake-mad, not spiritually-bypassing-it—actually furious. There was a small voice in my head that said: “You could march outside and tell them exactly what you're doing in here. You could explain the meditation. You could make it THEIR problem.”
And then—because I spend my days training my nervous system—I felt that anger start to shift. Not disappear. Shift. Into the hilarious image of that scenario.
I realized: I'm being tested on the exact thing I'm teaching. Not as punishment. As real-time feedback. My body was doing exactly what I was about to ask so many others to do—notice the tightness, name the anger, and then slowly, breath by breath, ask: “Do I want to stay gripped by this, or do I want to release it to God?”
The answer wasn't “forgive instantly and feel warm and fuzzy.” It was: “I'm frustrated. I don't have to like this person's choices. AND I can choose not to let this moment own me, by giving it to the Father of all.”
Can you actually forgive someone while they're annoying you in real-time?
Yes. But first you have to stop pretending it doesn't hurt.
Forgiveness isn't the absence of anger. It's the presence of a choice. You can be legitimately frustrated and decide that your God's love matters more than your grudge. They're not opposites. They're honest next to each other.
The leaf blower kept going for another ten minutes (because of course it did). And I kept recording. Halfway through, I started laughing again—not the tight, sarcastic laugh. The kind where you've collided with the absurdity of being human, trying to heal, while life does the exact thing it always does: interrupt, test, show you whether you actually mean what you're teaching. The moment you have to laugh and say, “Okay God, I hear you LOUD AND CLEAR.”
That's when I understood what forgiveness actually is: not the feeling. The decision to surrender to God's presence, timing, and goodness. Over and over again.
What's the faith practice that actually sticks?
The one that survives real life.
The prayerful meditations that changed my own life weren't recorded in perfect silence. They happened while I was healing from Lyme disease, dealing with real anger at doctors who dismissed me, learning to trust my body again when everything hurt, fighting through Lyme rage, a dysregulated nervous system, nutrient deficiency, and brain fog. The depth of the practice isn't in the silence. It's in the choosing. Choosing to surrender the moment to the LORD of all moments.
At Selah Reset, I created prayerful faith-based meditations specifically for this—for people who need a voice walking them through what happens in their body when they're forgiving. Your chest might feel tight. Your jaw might clench. Your throat might close. That's not failure. That's the nervous system doing what it does. That's where the real work lives.
If I'd deleted that leaf-blower-interrupted recording and tried again in “perfect conditions,” I would've missed the whole point God was teaching me. The forgiveness that matters isn't the kind that only works in the silent studio. It's the kind that works at the grocery store, in traffic, when your neighbor is genuinely testing your commitment to peace and God's love for others.
FAQ
What if I can't forgive someone?
You don't have to like them. Forgiveness is about releasing the grip that grudge has on your nervous system and reconnecting to God's love for all His children.
Does forgiving mean the person was right?
No. Not even close. You can forgive someone who's wronged you and still set a boundary.
How long does forgiveness take?
Sometimes five minutes. Sometimes years. If God has put it on your heart, there's a reason — He wants you to feel the kind of love He does for all His children.
Can I forgive someone and still be frustrated?
Yes. In fact, that's the most honest version of forgiveness there is.