Insight for Today
A Daily Devotional by Pastor Chuck Swindoll

"I'll forgive . . . but I'll never forget." We say and hear that so much that it's easy to shrug it off as "only natural." That's the problem! It is the most natural response we can expect. Not supernatural.

There is enough in the past few days' worth of devotionals to keep us thinking (and forgiving) for weeks. But there are a couple of specific applications that need to be considered.

Yesterday we read Jesus's parable of the king who forgave his servant—who then refused to forgive a fellow-servant. From this parable, we learned that to refuse to forgive is hypocritical. But there's a second lesson.

Over the past few days, we have examined Jesus's words to us when we have offended someone. Tough steps . . . yet essential. But what about when someone offends us? The apostle Peter asked Jesus a similar question.

Let's say you've mustered the courage to approach someone you've offended. You've confessed what you did with sincerity. You've asked for forgiveness. But he or she refuses to forgive you. Now what?

Matthew 5:23–24 describes in a nutshell the correct response and procedure to follow when we have been in the wrong and have offended someone.

When wrong has been done against another person, there are only two possibilities of blame. But whether we are responsible for the offense or we are the recipients of it, the first move is always ours.

Truth be told, it's God's forgiveness of us that makes possible our forgiving others. When on the cross Jesus Christ paid in full the penalty of our sin, God's wrath was expressed against Him—the One who took our place.

This is a true story, told to me by a young seminary student I met years ago. I'll call him Aaron (not his real name). Late one spring Aaron was praying about having a significant ministry the following summer.

Shortly after World War II came to a close, Europe began picking up the pieces. Much of the old country had been ravaged by war and was in ruins. Perhaps the saddest sight of all was that of little orphaned children . . .

A full year before the apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthian church, they had begun a project. No doubt they were filled with enthusiasm, the thrill of a fresh beginning. But with the passing of time, the newness had worn off.

I'll never forget an actual situation I heard about on the radio some years ago. A woman in West Palm Beach, Florida, died alone at the age of 71. The coroner's report was tragic. "Cause of death: malnutrition."

Following Christ as His disciple is a costly, unselfish decision. It calls for a radical examination of our self-centered lifestyles. Whew! That's one of those easy things to say but tough to carry out.

Quite a while ago, a young man I had known for several years expressed an interest in living in our home and being discipled in the context of our family.

The Christians in the Macedonian churches were servants who gave to the needs of the believers in Jerusalem, giving anonymously, in fact. Paul . . . also mentioned something else about those Macedonian servant-saints.

When Paul made his way through Europe, specifically the region of ancient Macedonia, he announced to the churches in that area the financial need of the church in Jerusalem.

The Word of God lays a solid, biblical foundation for what it means to have a servant mentality. But let's get some handles on what's involved in pulling it off. For starters, let me suggest three basic ingredients of servanthood.

Having "humility of mind" is really an attitude, isn't it? It's a preset mentality that determines ahead of time thoughts like this: "I care about those around me." "Why do I always have to be first?"

I like the tongue-in-cheek definition of philosophers one of my seminary professors would occasionally use. It's classic: Philosophers are people who talk about something they don't understand and make you think it's your fault!

I'll never forget a trip I took with my older son to shoot the rapids at the Rogue River in Oregon. While we were receiving instructions from the guide . . . , I began to study the canoes with my eyes.