This morning I found myself listening to the Avett Brothers’ “No Hard Feelings” and reading Proverbs 18.
Funny how sometimes a song and a chapter of the Bible show up at the same time and start talking to each other.
“No Hard Feelings” asks a question that becomes increasingly important the older I get: When this life is over, what am I still going to be carrying?
Anger?
Resentment?
Old arguments?
People who disappointed me?
People I disappointed?
Things somebody said thirty years ago that I can still repeat word for word?
I’m 76 years old. I don’t have enough time left to carry all that junk around.
Actually, none of us do.
Then I read Proverbs 18:
“A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city.”
I know something about that.
I’ve been the offended brother.
And, if I’m truthful, I’ve probably been the brother who did the offending more times than I would like to admit.
Church taught me a lot about offenses. Pastoring taught me even more.
People talk.
People gossip.
People misunderstand.
People choose sides.
People say things they wish they could take back—and sometimes things they have absolutely no intention of taking back.
Then we build walls.
Proverbs says an offended brother can become like a fortified city.
Walls.
Bars.
Locked gates.
And everybody inside thinks they are protecting themselves.
Death and Life
Then Proverbs 18 drops this bomb:
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue.”
Think about that.
Your words today can give somebody life.
Or they can take some life out of them.
A sentence can encourage somebody who is ready to quit.
A telephone call can remind somebody that they are not alone.
“I love you.”
“I forgive you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m praying for you.”
“How are you really doing?”
Those aren’t complicated theological statements.
But they can carry life.
Unfortunately, the opposite is also true.
Gossip carries death.
Humiliation carries death.
Constant criticism carries death.
And sometimes the most damaging words aren’t shouted.
They’re whispered.
I Love Mankind
Years ago, while pastoring a church, I discovered something about myself that reminded me of Charlie Brown:
I love mankind. It’s people I can’t stand.
Pastoring would have been considerably easier without people.
Unfortunately, Jesus kept putting people in the church.
Messy people.
Hurting people.
Stubborn people.
Wonderful people.
People just like me.
And somewhere along the journey I began realizing that maybe God wasn’t merely using me to change them.
Maybe God was using them to change me.
That’s considerably less fun.
Getting Free
For me, this is what Getting Free is increasingly about.
Getting free doesn’t mean pretending nobody hurt you.
It doesn’t mean calling evil good.
It doesn’t mean allowing somebody to abuse you again.
Forgiveness and reconciliation aren’t always the same thing.
Sometimes reconciliation is possible.
Sometimes boundaries are necessary.
Sometimes the other person is gone and the conversation you wish you could have will never happen.
But I can still decide what I’m going to carry.
I don’t have to drag every offense I’ve ever suffered all the way to my grave.
And I don’t want somebody else carrying something I did to them either.
So where I can say I’m sorry, I want to say it.
Where I can say I forgive you, I want to say it.
Where I can make something right, I want to try.
Where reconciliation is impossible, I can place the person—and the pain—in God’s hands.
Proverbs 18 also says:
“The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.”
Maybe that’s where freedom finally comes from.
Not winning every argument.
Not proving that I was right.
Not getting everybody who hurt me to admit what they did.
Running to the Strong Tower.
And leaving some baggage outside the door.
No Hard Feelings
Someday, sooner or later, each of us is going to leave this place.
When my time comes, I don’t want to be clutching a suitcase filled with forty-year-old arguments.
I want my hands open.
I want to have loved people.
I want to have forgiven people.
I want to have asked forgiveness.
I want to have spoken more life than death.
And when I finally cross that last bridge, I’d like to leave with something very simple in my heart:
No hard feelings.
Lord, teach me today to listen before I answer, to speak life instead of death, to forgive offenses, to treasure faithful friends, and to make peace wherever peace is possible.
And whatever bitterness I am still carrying—
Help me wrangle these thoughts before they escape my brain for good.
Amen.
—Charlie Wear
Charlie Wear’s Notes
Charlie Wear's Notes 
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