A beam of sunlight slipped into my living room one day and did what sunlight always does when it’s feeling bold—it told the truth.
It lit up dust. Dog hair. Little evidence of life I hadn’t noticed… or maybe had noticed and quietly ignored. You know how it is. When the light isn’t hitting things just right, you can convince yourself everything is fine. But that day, standing there in the middle of the room, my only thought was, Well… that’s unfortunate.
So I started cleaning. Nothing profound, just wiping and sweeping. But somewhere between one task and the next, my mind did what it loves to do when my hands are busy.
It wandered.
And it didn’t wander to pleasant places.
Before I knew it, I was replaying a situation that had hurt me—something a family member had done. I remembered what was said, how it felt, what I wished I had said back. The whole thing began looping in my head, like it had been waiting for a quiet moment to re-enter the room.
And then it hit me: while I was cleaning my house, something else was being exposed.
Not dust—something heavier.
Bitterness has a way of settling quietly, doesn’t it? It doesn’t announce itself. Sometimes it disguises itself as being right. Or being careful. Or remembering what happened so it doesn’t happen again. But if I’m honest, what I was carrying in that moment wasn’t wisdom.
It was weight.
That’s when the thought came, clear as day: You’re cleaning the wrong room first.
So I stopped. I set things down. And had what I like to call a “come to Jesus moment.” I poured my heart out to God right there—no pretty words, no polishing the edges. I told Him exactly what was sitting in me: the hurt, the anger, the built-up bitterness, the frustration I’d been carrying like it was normal. And as I talked, it became clear that I wasn’t only upset about what had happened, I was also tired of what it was doing to me.
That’s when I did the one thing I hadn’t wanted to do, but knew I needed to. I let the person go in prayer. I forgave—not because the moment suddenly felt painless, but because I didn’t want my heart locked in that room anymore. I asked the Holy Spirit to help me release what I couldn’t release by sheer will, and to replace all that sharpness with something more like Jesus.
Because a dirty living room is annoying.
But a dirty inner world can quietly shape everything.
That’s what Paul is getting at when he urges us to put away bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and all malice—and instead choose kindness, tenderheartedness, and forgiveness. He’s describing what no longer belongs in a heart that is being held and healed by Christ. Those inner leftovers—resentment, sharp words, unresolved anger—have a way of turning relationships sour and pushing peace just out of reach, even when nothing else seems wrong.
And then Paul offers the grounding reason we need: forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.
That last phrase steadies me every time.
Forgiveness isn’t pretending it didn’t hurt. It’s choosing to release the right to keep the poison, because Christ has already released me from mine. It doesn’t excuse sin—but it refuses to let sin keep living rent-free inside my soul.
If this Fireside Chat warmed your spirit and sparked fresh resolve to live what you believe, fan that flame with Scripture—“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly” (Colossians 3:16). Pull a little closer to the Light, and carry it into the week ahead.
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Star for the Journey 
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