Many of us remember the past, but we don’t remember it rightly. We remember it through shame, regret, and self-punishment. We drag chains into a future God already unlocked. And here’s the irony: many of the things we’re still holding on to… God already let go of.

I keep picturing this image: God standing in front of us, arms extended, holding broken chains away from us. Chains of sin. Chains of guilt. Chains of failure. Chains of words spoken over us years ago. And instead of stepping forward into freedom, we lean backward, reaching, saying, “But that’s mine. That’s who I was. That’s what I did. That’s what I deserve.”

God has removed our chains. But we haven’t released them.

Psalm 103 speaks directly into this struggle. David begins by saying, “Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits.” That line alone tells us something important. Forgetting is natural. Remembering is a spiritual discipline.

David then lists those benefits: God forgives all your sins. He heals your diseases. He redeems your life from the pit. He crowns you with love and compassion. He satisfies your desires with good things.

And then David says something that anchors this entire message:

“As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”

We quote that verse all the time. It’s stitched on pillows and printed on mugs. But we rarely stop to ask what it actually means. David doesn’t say north from south. That’s intentional. North and south are fixed points. You can travel north until you eventually start heading south again. They meet. There’s an end. But east and west never meet. If you travel east, you will never suddenly be traveling west. There is no finish line. It’s infinite separation. David is using poetic geography to make a theological statement. When God forgives, He doesn’t create distance that might someday be closed. He creates separation that cannot be crossed.

The Hebrew word for “removed” means to cause something to be so far away that it is no longer accessible. Not hidden. Not buried. Removed from reach. And notice who does the action. God removes our transgressions. We don’t. We don’t earn distance from our sin. We don’t work our way out of guilt. God does the removing.

Just a few verses earlier, David says God does not treat us as our sins deserve. That’s courtroom language. That’s justice language. God is not responding to us based on what would be fair. Then David shifts metaphors again: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” This isn’t a distant God tolerating us. This is a Father stooping down to children who don’t even realize how heavy the chains are that they’re dragging. And Scripture keeps saying this same thing, over and over.

Isaiah says God blots out our transgressions.

Micah says He casts our sins into the depths of the sea.

Jeremiah says God remembers our sin no more.

Paul says there is now no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus.

And yet… we keep condemning ourselves.

We revisit things God refuses to resurrect. We replay moments God already redeemed. We punish ourselves for sins God already pardoned. Somewhere along the way, we confused humility with self-hatred. Holding onto guilt God has released is not repentance. It’s unbelief. Repentance agrees with God about sin and turns from it. But refusing to let go after God forgives is saying, “I trust my judgment more than His mercy.”

If your backward lens is filled with shame instead of gratitude, your forward lens will be filled with fear instead of hope.

You can’t walk confidently into the future while clutching chains from the past. Hebrews tells us to throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. Not gently set it down. Not keep it nearby “just in case.” Throw it off.

We try to follow Jesus while dragging things He never asked us to carry. No wonder we’re exhausted. It’s not meant to be carried. Jesus already took it. “As far as the east is from the west.” Removed means you don’t get to touch it anymore.

At its core, Frozen by Disney isn’t really about ice powers. It’s about fear. Elsa isn’t broken because she has power. She’s broken because she’s afraid of it. After one mistake, fear teaches her to hide instead of heal. Gloves replace connection. Control replaces trust. Distance replaces relationship. She stops hiding eventually — “Let It Go” — but she’s still running. She builds a beautiful ice palace, but it’s still a prison. Prettier, yes. Free? No. Healing doesn’t come when she runs farther away. It comes when love replaces fear. And that’s the turning point for so many of us too. We aren’t healed by pretending the past didn’t happen. We aren’t healed by running from it. We’re healed when fear stops defining our future. God didn’t ask us to manage our sin, shame, or regret. He removed it. And yet some of us are still living like the chains are within reach.

Every runner reduces weight. Shoes are shaved down by grams. Clothes are light. Racecars strip everything non-essential. Swimmers shave their bodies. Planes only carry enough fuel to get where they’re going. In every race, unnecessary weight is removed. So why, in our spiritual race, do we keep gathering weight instead of dropping it?

Hebrews says to throw off everything that hinders and fix our eyes on Jesus. If what you’re carrying is crushing you, there’s a good chance it was never yours to begin with. You can run with extra weight. You just can’t run far.

Chains We Keep Reaching For

We re-prosecute forgiven sin.

We wear shame Jesus already carried.

We answer to identities God replaced.

We believe words God already contradicted.

We grieve decisions God already redeemed.

We let fear speak louder than love.

We cling to control God asked us to release.

We camp in seasons God already closed.

We imagine a God Scripture already corrected.

And all of it comes back to the same question:

If God removed it… why are we still holding it?

Let It Go — and Walk Free

This is why Double Vision matters.

If you look back and only see failure, you’ll move forward in fear. But if you look back and see mercy, you can step forward in freedom. God has already removed what you keep revisiting. He has already taken what you keep carrying. The question isn’t whether God let it go. The question is whether you will. So maybe faith today looks like opening your hands. Looking back and saying, “God was faithful—even when I wasn’t.” Looking forward and saying, “God will be faithful—even though I’m not perfect.” And standing right here, right now, releasing what heaven already released. You don’t need to grab what God has taken as far as the east is from the west.

Let it go and walk free.