As Kaliyah walked a few paces ahead, her heart still burned with fury, murderous intent simmering beneath her skin. Then the Lord, her God, spoke within her.
"Forgive him." His voice was still, calm, and unwavering—so unlike the storm of thoughts raging in her mind.
The command was absolute, clearer than the endless sky above. Slowly, it began to pierce through the whirlwind of emotions, stilling the anger that threatened to consume her.
Yet a part of her resisted, unwilling to forgive, but if God has forgiven her for all of her sins, who is she to not forgive? Is she God? Is she more righteous than God?
She was only righteous because Jesus paid for her sins on the cross, His life for her life.
God himself paid for her sins, what right does she have not to forgive when she got the forgiveness without paying for anything?
A tear slid down her cheek, carrying the weight of her grief and the sting of feeling wronged.
Yet beneath that sorrow, a quiet resolve began to form. She would release her grievances—not upon the man who had sinned, but to God Himself, laying bare her pain and anger in His presence.
She tried all her might to stop herself from crying.
JB caught up with her and followed her into the woods. She immediately halted her steps, and handed the other side of the rope to JB without looking at him
"Hold this rope and stay here, I'll be right back." She went in the left direction while holding the other end of the rope.
JB was confused with her instructions, but he still stood still.
After Kaliyah had put a considerable distance between herself and her little brother, she turned to face the forest. Yet her gaze was not on the trees. It was fixed on the Presence before her—the Presence of Jesus.
He could not be seen by mortal eyes, yet His holiness pressed heavily upon her spirit. The air itself felt consecrated. Before Him, she released every grievance, every wound, to the One who had borne the sins of the world upon His shoulders.
"Did You hear what he said?" she asked.
Her voice was cold, edged with bitterness, dripping with hurt.
"He wanted to buy me—for five thousand pesos." Her breath shook. "Is that all I'm worth? Who does he think he is, measuring human dignity with filthy money?"
Her words trembled with disbelief and burning indignation, yet her eyes shone with unshed tears. Fear and violation churned within her—the memory of his perverted gaze, the audacity of trying to purchase her from her own brother, still clung to her skin like poison.
What kind of madness was that?
No words could fully contain how deeply wronged she felt.
"And You want me to forgive him?" Her voice rose, sharp and raw. "Why? Why should I? Why do I have to face this? Why am I always the one receiving their malicious words? Am I supposed to just accept this injustice?"
Then the answer came—not from outside her, but through her.
The Lord reminded her that she lived in a broken world, a world fractured by sin. Ungodliness would cross her path again and again. But take heart—Jesus had overcome the world. He had conquered sin and trampled death beneath His feet.
She was no longer living under the law that condemned sin with death. She lived under grace.
When Jesus took upon Himself the sins of the world—past, present, and future—and offered His life on the cross, He paid the price in full. Through His sacrifice, humanity was offered freedom from death. All who repent and receive Him as Lord and Savior are redeemed, no longer bound by chains of sin, no longer enslaved by shame.
They now carried His identity.
They now walked in His authority.
It was that authority Kaliyah had exercised when she rebuked the unclean spirit and confronted Roman's defiled thoughts.
She had been redeemed by God Himself.
And it was not only her sins that had been paid for—but Roman's as well.
That was why she was called to forgive. Because the God she worshiped had already borne the cost of his sin.
Yet she also knew this truth: vengeance belonged to the Lord.
If Roman refused repentance—if he rejected the grace freely given—then God Himself would be the righteous Judge. Grace was extended during life on earth, every breath another chance to turn back. But on the day of judgment, grace would no longer plead.
Kaliyah pressed her lips together. Tears blurred her vision and traced warm paths down her cheeks.
"I give all my grievances to You, Lord Jesus Christ," she said, her voice trembling yet resolute. "I pour out my pain before You. I forgive the one You ask me to forgive."
Her voice sharpened, not with rebellion, but with surrender.
"You forgave me of all my sins. So I choose to forgive him. I give it all to You, Jesus—the anger, the resistance, and even my pride."
Her words carried fire, yet they bowed low before her Creator. This was surrender—costly, painful, holy.
All the pain, indignation, and anger that had crushed her chest were no longer there. In their place came relief—deep, steady comfort—flowing from the presence of Jesus, her Lord and Savior. His nearness quieted the storm within her, not by denying her wounds, but by carrying them for her.
After pouring out every exhausting emotion before God, a command settled upon her spirit—clear, weighty, and inescapable.
"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations," the Lord's words echoed within her, "baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
— Matthew 28:19–20
Her heart recoiled.
She wanted to run from it—to hide, to be silent. Yet she knew the gravity of what had been entrusted to her. If she, who knew the way of salvation, withheld the truth from those who were perishing, then their blood would be upon her hands. She would not escape accountability.
But obedience carried its own cost.
To answer the call meant standing against the world—against principalities, against powers, against demonic forces that thrived in darkness. To stand with God was to declare war on Satan himself.
Kaliyah clenched her jaw.
So be it.
Why should she be afraid?
A child of God cannot be possessed.
A child of God carries the authority of Christ.
If she—Kaliyah—chose fear, she might as well beg God to save her. But God was already with her. He had promised it. He went before her and stood behind her.
So why should she be afraid?
She would not retreat.
She would not be silent.
She would go—clothed in the authority of Jesus Christ, backed by the promise of His presence until the very end.