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There is a kind of person we have learned to admire. The one who does not stop. The one who is first to arrive and last to leave. The one whose discipline looks like devotion and whose endurance looks like strength. For most of my life I was trying to be that person. I believed that if I pushed hard enough and long enough, I would arrive somewhere worth arriving at. Rest felt like a luxury I had not yet earned. Recovery felt like a confession that I was weak. So I kept moving, certain that the moving itself was the proof of my worth. What I did not understand then is something I see clearly now.
Have you ever felt trapped by your past? You know life could be different—freer, healthier, full of hope—but something is not allowing your turnaround. What if God reveals to you the secret to your turnaround? It's not hidden from you on purpose by Him, but the enemy hides it because it brings deliverance. It's simple, scriptural, and yours—if you take responsibility for your heart. But why do you want your turnaround so much… yet hesitate? You long to escape the past dictating your future. You feel stuck because of guilt, shame, and condemnation. Maybe you made a big mistake when you were younger out of ignorance, but it's still haunting you today.
Loneliness is no respecter of persons. It can strike young and old, married and unmarried, male and female, rich and poor, extrovert and introvert. For some, loneliness may result from life circumstances that isolate and prevent us from cultivating relationships in the ways we'd like. For others, loneliness can be present despite being around other people regularly. In both cases, there can be a deep sense of feeling unseen, unknown, unloved, and disconnected from others, which can fuel anxiety, shame, or depression. As Christians, how do we understand loneliness from a biblical perspective to orient ourselves in this painful providence?
Life is filled with twists and turns that trouble us. An evil person may intend us harm. Our home might lie in the pathway of a terrible storm. A child may have made poor decisions leading to addiction. A family member may seem set on ruining our reputation. A medical diagnosis may change the trajectory of our career or ministry. Betrayal by a spouse may upend a marriage we thought secure. Whatever the twist or turn, we need a refuge in whom we can trust. That's why Psalm 91 is such good news. A refuge and stronghold not only exists for us, but if we turn to this Savior, we can cry with the psalmist, "my God, in whom I trust" (Ps. 91:2; italics mine).
What if I told you there is a library in Heaven, and inside that library are books written about you — stories filled with your identity, your destiny, and the very treasures God has hidden in your life? Would you want to know what's in those books? Most of us have never heard of a prophetic story. We are familiar with prophetic words — someone stepping forward with a microphone and declaring, 'Thus says the Lord.' That expression of the gift is powerful and biblical, and God still uses it. But what if there is another expression of the prophetic that Jesus Himself modeled — one that doesn't announce the Kingdom but instead invites you to discover it? That is the heart of what I call the Prophetic Story.
I remember as a little girl spending long summer evenings on a swing set in our backyard. I would pump my legs furiously, leaning back as far as I could, trying to make my toes touch the sky. There was such freedom in those moments. Such delight. I never measured whether I was doing it correctly. I never worried about performance. I was simply enjoying the experience of soaring higher and higher into the warm summer air. Years later, I sensed the Holy Spirit whispering to my heart that prayer was always meant to feel more like that than like another obligation waiting quietly on a checklist.
Most of us find forgiveness a difficult subject. After all, when someone "does you wrong," YOU are the victim of injustice! But forgiveness is a broad subject — there is forgiving other people, forgiving groups, forgiving corporations, and governments who have failed you. Then, there is forgiving yourself. Peter, the fisherman who left all to follow Jesus, swore his allegiance and undying love for the Master. So much so that when Jesus announced at the last supper that "one of you will betray me," Peter boldly declared: "Though they all are offended and stumble and fall away because of you [and distrust and desert you], I will never do so" (Matthew 26:33 AMPC).
My name is Patrick, but if you grew up around my family, there's a good chance you wouldn't have known that. To my dad, I was usually Peaches. Sometimes I was Peachy, and occasionally just Peach. I'm still not entirely sure where the nickname came from. I've heard it was because I had a lot of peach fuzz when I was a little boy, and that explanation seems reasonable enough. Like most family stories, though, the details have become less important than the tradition itself. Dad started calling me Peaches when I was very young, and over time the variations came naturally. Even today, some family members and lifelong friends still call me Peaches, Peachy, or Peach, and every time they do, it brings a smile to my face.
You don't have to suffer and sacrifice simply because you messed up. Your chest tightens. Nervousness develops in the pit of your stomach. You know better, so how could you do such a thing? Then fear kicks in. You fear you can't talk to God like before; you fear you're not clean enough to be in His presence—not after what you've done. These symptoms of guilt and shame are almost as old as time itself. Adam and Eve instantly felt shame after the Original Sin. They tried to hide from God. Peter denied Jesus three times and then wept bitterly. After betraying Jesus, Judas took his own life. Not much has changed, has it? Thousands of years later, guilt and shame remain as crippling as ever.