Thanks Gemini for the collegiate alter ego with a Mikeacinno mug!
I'll start by saying I'm not talking about forgiving people in Facebook, but about how Facebook affected my capacity to forgive, and what I've learned from it. In any case, I wrote this for me with the hopes that it might have something for you as well.
When I woke up yesterday, I performed something of a ritual—except it wasn’t a Mikeaccino this time. It was Facebook. And I don’t mean “I checked it for a second.” I mean I gave that platform my attention the way you give attention to something you trust. I gave it my morning. I gave it my midday. I gave it my evening. Reel after reel after reel, like I was drinking from a faucet that never shuts off.
And the result was not heaven-sent (scent?). It was something else.
So let me talk about forgiveness first—because that’s the real work. And then I’m going to talk about the worldly narratives, because I’m convinced those narratives are not harmless for me. They’re not neutral. They are formative. They disciple.
Espresso forgiveness: strong, sharp, and not always pleasant at first
I’ve been sitting with this sentence for a while:
It becomes very, very hard to forgive in the midst of ongoing provocation.
That’s not a theological statement to me. That’s lived experience.
Forgiveness has a smell when you first start making it—like a Mikeacinno. It starts with a real espresso. Strong. Sharp. The taste—almost offensive if you’re not used to it. You don’t sip it naked and go, “Mmm, comfort.” You sip it and go, “Oh. That’s… real.”
That’s what forgiveness feels like when you’re tired, when you feel misunderstood, when you feel like you keep getting poked in the same bruise. And what makes it worse is when you’re trying to forgive and you’re also carrying a weight you know you need to put down.
God, I need healing. Like… You knew this. I know this. It takes time, but I need healing.
Because when you’ve survived fire—when life has blown up and God has had to rebuild you—there are parts of you that stay on watch. The old survival systems keep scanning. Keep bracing. And forgiveness doesn’t come easy when your nervous system is still trying to protect you from being hurt again.
Al taller del maestro vuelvo.
It means "I return to the Master's workshop."
And I say that like somebody who recognizes the sound of the tools, the heat of the forge, the way God goes after “hidden spots and secret spaces” in you—not to shame you, but to refine you.
The last time I was in that space, God taught me how to open doors and release things to Him, and then watch Him move. He showed me things I kind of knew were there, but I had placed them on an altar of self-forgetfulness—like if I don’t touch it, it won’t touch me. But it does touch you.
- It touches your tone.
- It touches your patience.
- It touches what you assume about other people.
- It touches what you “remember” in the middle of an argument.
And here’s what I want: I want to be free. I want to be a calmer, gentler me—where peace is the posture I’m consistently moving in. Passion can be there. Anger doesn’t have to rule there.
And I want that because I need to be a space of unyielding gentleness for my baby.
So yes. This is that season.
Awareness without process: the anxiety trap (and why the feed keeps you there)
While I was scrolling, I kept running into people who “knew the right thing to say.” Thirty seconds to two minutes, and they can hit you with awareness all day long:
- “You’re not crazy.”
- “You’re right to feel that way.”
- “That’s disrespect.”
- “That’s emotional immaturity.”
- “That’s manipulation.”
- “That’s trauma.”
- “That’s toxic.”
And listen—sometimes the awareness is accurate.
But I noticed something: awareness without process only creates anxiety. Awareness without the ability to get something done creates anxiety. Only when you combine awareness with ability and process do you get results.
That line landed in me because it put language on what was happening.
The feed was giving me volume—louder and louder awareness—without giving me the humility of a next obedient step. It was stirring me without steadying me. It was enlightening me without discipling me.
And then, because the human heart is not a computer, that agitation didn’t stay on the screen. It came with me into the room.
When the worldly narrative leaks into real life
I’m going to say this carefully, because this is low-disclosure. But after that day of scrolling, my body reacted before my theology did. There was a moment of physical repulsion—before I even knew I was reacting. And I had to cover it quickly because I could feel how fast something like that can escalate. And what was underneath it? A narrative.
A story I had been drinking all day:
- “You’re justified.”
- “You should withdraw.”
- “Don’t be surprised when you shut down.”
- "Distance is safer than continued pain."
All of it—justification for wrong actions, or wrong actions to be contemplated. And the Holy Spirit had to check me: I was being discipled by a feed. Not by Scripture. Not by wise counsel. Not by the quiet presence of God that makes you steady.
By a feed.
The algorithm does its job well (and that’s why it’s dangerous for me)
Here’s what I had foolishly forgotten: Facebook knows what I like. It gives me just enough. It gives me what I tolerate. And it tries to use the wedge of my tolerance to create apathy toward what I need and what I need to do.
It told me what I wanted to hear.
And this is the scary part: I wanted to be validated. I wanted to hear the question answered: Am I crazy for wanting respect?
And the answer is, of course, no.
But to hear it from so many voices, in so many forms, in so many “perfectly packaged” clips—that’s not just information. That’s the spirit of the world doing something insidious. Because the world will tell you what you want to hear, with a little hook in there: you get to become one of them and utilize their methods to resolve issues.
Rarely does the world point back squarely to the Bible and leave it there. A0nd that is why I’m calling it dangerous—for me. Not because I’m better than other people. Not because I’m “above” social media. Because I know my heart well enough to admit: my flesh loves validation more than it loves sanctification.
Godly counsel: truth with grace, not truth as a weapon
“In a multitude of counselors there is safety.” Yes.
But I’ve always stand with the caveat in hand: Godly Counselors.
A godly counselor is not just going to tell you the truth. They’re going to show you grace. And I need grace everywhere. And truth. Because truth without process does not create grace. Truth without ability to act on it at that moment does not create grace, nor is it graceful.
That is a word for this whole season.
Proactive forgiveness: forgiving before it becomes an issue
In this season of forgiveness, I’m learning to forgive quickly—not reactively, but proactively. I’ve learned how to forgive reactively. But I want to learn how to extend forgiveness before this becomes an issue. I want to already be able to see myself forgiving any and every offense… but not sweeping it under the rug.
No.
Knowing how to take it, how to put it on the shelf, and then intentionally come back and process it. Because I know if I learn how to do that, it’s going to affect the content of my heart—and then what comes out of my heart.
Forgiving what I can’t forget (and why “forgetting” is not the proof)
Let’s talk about what people don’t understand until they live it. It is easier to forget than it is to forgive. And maybe that’s why we’ve been taught the lie that if you have forgiven, you will forget it.
I’ve learned that is patently untrue.
Forgetting only means it no longer pings your awareness and therefore you don’t have to deal with it anymore—like something buried deep enough where no one can disturb it, and most importantly, it can’t disturb you.
And sometimes there is (God's intentional) mercy in the forgetting, because there are things we are ill-equipped to process. So our minds put them on a shelf—far, far, far out of reach—until we start growing. Until we get to a place where we can finally reach and see something that needs to be handled, healed.
And when you handle those boxes, you handle them carefully. Like broken glass. Like something hot. Like noxious chemicals. The only safe way to handle those things is through the aegis of the Holy Spirit...
- With gentleness.
- With kindness
- With wisdom.
- With care.
- With patience.
- With love.
Gratitude: washing my hands
And after you handle the heavy things, you have to wash your hands. That’s where gratitude comes in. Gratitude is how you wash your hands, hands that may have been handling dirty, dusty, even deadly stuff.
The things you are presently grateful for are the best anchors to today and what God has done—so you’re no longer stuck in the past, but moving forward in. That's what is most important: in Him.
“My yoke is easy… and my burden is light”
The Bible doesn’t say, “Go to the world, all you who labor and are heavy laden.”
It says:
“Come unto me all you who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me for I am meek and lowly, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
And there’s an interesting wordplay in that “light.”
I’m hearing: My burden is understanding. My burden is knowing. My burden is awareness. My burden is being able to see things as they truly are.
My burden is light… for He is the Light of the world.
And light, in the purest theological sense, is not always easy to bear. Illumination can bring self-doubt. It can bring resistance. It can make you face what you’ve been avoiding. Sometimes light cuts. But light also leads.
The prayer (plain)
So here’s my prayer, plain and unpolished.
Lord, help me.
Please forgive me of my sins and blot out my transgressions.
Purge me of my iniquities and create in me a clean heart, renewing the right spirit within me.
Teach me to humble myself to the process, not merely to the knowledge.
Help me not to memorialize what is and what isn’t, but to celebrate what is becoming.
Help me love my wife like You love my wife.
Thank You for bringing peace to my soul. Real peace.
Help me to communicate fully.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.
-Resting in Him, Mochamike
P.S. Songs for Seasons
Holy Spirit often gives me a song or small group of songs that are definitive for the season I am in. While I'm in that season, I could listen to the song on replay literally all day. I never know how I'll run across the song, I just do find it (it finds me?) and it grabs hold of me, suddenly I'm playing it over and over again.
In this season, the song is Al Taller del Maestro, a spirited song of loss and reconciliation to God. I married mi Mexicana bonita over a year ago and so we often play Spanish songs, and this stumbled across my feed. Released in 2002, and with an incredible 2022 remake by original artist Alex Campos, alongside greats Jesús Adrián Romero, and Lilly Goodman, even if you don't understand the lyrics, you won't be failed to be moved by the beauty.
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