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Romans 12:18 “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”

Think

The fifth commandment sounds straightforward—Honor your father and mother. But for many, those words feel complicated. Maybe even painful.

Not everyone grew up with warm hugs and birthday parties. Some grew up walking on eggshells. Some were yelled at more than spoken to. Others were left altogether. For some, the word parent brings up confusion, resentment, or silence that has lasted for years.

What does it mean to honor your parents when your experience with them has been marked by pain?

This is where the commandment becomes deeply personal. It’s also where we need to understand what honor truly is. Honor is not denial. It is not pretending everything was fine. It is not sweeping wounds under the rug in the name of obedience. That kind of dishonesty can damage the soul. God never asks you to pretend.

Honor does not mean you have to trust someone who broke your trust. It does not mean you allow abusive behavior to continue or pretend dysfunction is normal. It does not mean proximity. In some cases, space is necessary. Safety matters. Healthy boundaries matter.

But here’s the deeper truth: even if closeness is not possible, even if your parent is no longer living, you are still invited to honor them—not because of who they were to you, but because of who God is to you.

You are not honoring your parents because they deserve it. You are honoring them because God asked you to release what they could never repay.

That is what makes this command so hard, and so holy.

The Bible does not avoid stories of broken families. It is filled with them. Cain kills his brother. Jacob deceives his father. David’s sons rebel. Eli’s sons dishonor God. Even Jesus' earthly family misunderstood him. Scripture speaks directly to the mess. Which means your experience is not foreign to God. He sees it. And still, he invites you to respond differently than the world would teach.

The world says, “Cut them off. Cancel the past. Only give respect to those who’ve earned it.” But God says, “As far as it depends on you, live at peace.” That doesn’t mean peace will always be possible. But it does mean we are responsible for what we choose to carry.

Forgiveness is often the first step toward honor.

That might sound impossible. But forgiveness is not the same as saying what happened was okay. It’s saying, “I won’t let what happened define me anymore.” It is releasing the debt. Not because it wasn’t real. But because you’re tired of dragging it into every future relationship.

Bitterness never stays contained. It bleeds. It shapes how you see authority, how you receive correction, how you trust others, even how you talk to God. That is why this commandment matters—not just for your relationship with your parents, but for your relationship with everyone else too.

Letting go of resentment is not about letting someone off the hook. It’s about placing them in God’s hands. It’s admitting that justice and healing are not yours to force. They are his to bring. And he will.

You don’t have to fake a relationship. You don’t have to pretend the holidays are cheerful. You don’t even have to initiate connection if it isn’t wise. But you do need to bring your heart before God and ask, “Where am I still holding on to anger? Where have I stopped hoping for healing? Where am I still letting old pain dictate new choices?”

God is not asking you to honor a fantasy version of your parents. He is asking you to surrender your pain to him and walk in freedom.

Honor might look different than what you imagined. It might mean choosing silence instead of lashing out. It might mean speaking truth with gentleness instead of revenge. It might mean writing a letter you never send, not to excuse anything, but to release the grip it still has on you.

In some cases, honor might mean stepping into the role of healing. Breaking generational cycles. Raising your own children differently. Speaking life where you once heard only shame. God does not waste pain. He often uses the brokenness we grew up with to shape compassion, conviction, and courage in us. But that can only happen when we stop dragging that pain with us and start laying it before him.

You may never hear the apology you deserve. You may never receive the love you longed for. But you are not stuck. The Holy Spirit is more than able to do the slow, sacred work of restoration in you.

It begins with release. Not for their sake. For yours.

You cannot build a free life with hands still clenched around old wounds. At some point, honoring your parents means opening those hands and letting God be God. Letting him carry the parts you could never fix. Letting him lead you forward.

This commandment doesn’t come with conditions. It comes with a promise. A life of peace. A life of blessing. A life no longer ruled by what happened behind you. That kind of life doesn’t come through control. It comes through surrender.

Honor may not look like a phone call or a visit. It may look like quiet forgiveness. Private prayers. A heart that chooses to remember who God is, even if your parents forgot who they were supposed to be.

You are not defined by what they gave or failed to give. You are defined by what Christ gave for you. And that is more than enough.

Apply

Spend time alone with God today and name what is hard. Write it down if you need to. Be honest. Then take one small step toward release. That might mean praying for a parent, forgiving a memory, or talking to someone who can help you process the past. Don’t carry it alone. Give God the weight and let him carry you forward.

Pray

God, you know my story. You know the wounds I carry. You know what I hoped for and what I missed. Teach me how to honor, even when it’s hard. Help me release bitterness and walk in forgiveness. Show me how to live in peace, not because everything was perfect, but because you are. In Jesus’ name. Amen.