My brother and I were born thirteen months apart. With identical blonde curls and mirror image faces, everyone thought we were twins. A family joke centers around the question as to whether I looked like a boy or he looked like a girl. My mom tries to stay neutral with a motherly assertion that we were both beautiful, but when pressed, she’ll giggle and admit he looked like a girl.

When I close my eyes and reminisce about my early childhood interactions with my brother, I picture us doing all the fun things kids do. We flew down the snowy sledding hill, the wind whipping our little faces into rosy smiles. We climbed trees and got into mud fights. We companionably colored rocks bright red then tossed them into the lake, squealing with delight as we raced to find them.

He was the hero who took the fish off the hook for me. A protector who’d gravely warn me against swimming out too deep, lest the water swallow me up whole. My best friend who made sure I never played alone.

But somewhere along the way, little fissures developed in our relationship.

Our elementary school was tiny with some classrooms combined, so my brother and I had the miserably sour luck of being classmates twice. There was no embellishing any story or stealing the spotlight within earshot of each other. “That’s NOT how it happened,” one would interject if the other tried to weave a tall tale.

He resented my academic ability and I resented his athletic talent. I distinctly recall him glaring at me and mouthing, “I hate you.” when I walked into any classroom he occupied. And I believed him.

Then my parents split up – shattering our world entirely. The aftermath did nothing to bolster my brother’s tolerance for anything, least of all me.

I became the target for all of his adolescent anger. And years of being pummeled with cruel words took their toll on my spirit. I developed a hatred deep and sure for this brother who had once been my twin, my number one ally, my best friend.

He went to college in the deep south and I headed north. I was content never to see him again. Those fissures in our relationship had grown into canyons so wide they’d swallowed any hope of reconciliation between us.

But then, God intervened.

One crisp fall night I sat in my dorm room reading a devotional. Thanksgiving was around the corner and I’d just found out my brother was heading home. I dreaded it. The last holiday we’d spent together had ended in shouting and tears. I was wary, angry and contemplating not going home at all to avoid him.

In a moment of quiet reflection and sullen resentment, my eyes fell upon these words: “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.” 1 John 4:20

It was one of those instants when the Spirit takes aim at your heart and sears it with truth so unsettling, you worry it might stop beating altogether.

I trembled as I realized where God was leading me.

“And whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.” Mark 11:25

We can find all kinds of worldly justification to hold fast to resentment. But to realize that behavior for the sin it is and to face the fact that YOU are a sinner, too, is an entirely different thing.

I knew within every inch of my soul that I needed to forgive my brother. To truly forgive him. It was time.

The night I arrived home, my brother and I eyed each other like the long time adversaries we were. Distrustful. Tired. Guarded. But I asked him if we could talk.

We sat at the table together and I poured out my heart. My hurt. My frustration. My resolve to be free from the years of hurt.

But most of all, I told my brother I forgave him.

And that brother of mine, he hung on every word I spoke. He whole-heartedly listened. And with tears in his eyes, he apologized with a sincere heart.

A weight was lifted. Years of anger and hurt were literally washed away. In that hour. Poof. Healing. A relationship restored.

Forgiveness had bridged a divide that seemed impossible to cross. And it was only the Spirit of God that made it possible. In my humanness I would never have been able to lay down the years of pain, anger, and frustration.

I had to trust God that His words are true and forgiveness is right. I had to come face to face with the reality that hating my brother was the equivalent of hating my God.

And who am I to hate anyone? Being wrapped up in animosity towards an individual is a pretty convenient way to avoid looking at your own sin. God had lovingly reminded me that I was not perfect, either. And yet Christ had forgiven me.

I truly believe that if I had held anything back – if I harbored resentment, if I had chosen to “forgive but not forget” and kept track of the wrongs, the restoration of our relationship would never have happened. And you know what? I would have missed out.

Because it turns out, my brother is a delight. He is funny. He is smart. He is unbelievably talented. I have seen him lovingly care for his family, extended family, community, and even now the world through a foundation he runs. My brother is a gift. And I would have rejected a lifetime of friendship based on a few years of angst if I had chosen to hold onto our past. But God showed me a better way. And I am so glad he did.