I had a quiet, beautiful birthday. No big production, just stillness, peace, and the kind of silence that I love.
When I got home that evening, I pulled out my journal, ready to spend some time with God. I had a plan to look back over the years with a heart full of both gratitude and regret. I was bracing myself to revisit some painful memories, to apologize yet again for the ways I’ve messed up, for the seasons I wandered off course. I was ready to tell Him thank you for rescuing someone like me, someone who’s so often chosen the wrong path when I knew what was right.
But something unexpected happened.
Instead of my planned reel of past failures, my mind was suddenly flooded with memories of good. Beautiful moments. Sacred moments. Times when I had said yes to the right thing. When I showed up even though it was hard. I remembered holding my grandfather’s hand in his final days. I remembered flying overseas to be with my brother after his accident. I remembered adopting my children from Russia. The list went on and on.
It caught me off guard.
Instead of needing to be reminded of my forgiveness, I was reminded of my value. Instead of shame, I felt seen. Loved. Isn’t that just like God? When we’re ready to lower our heads in guilt, He gently lifts our chin and says, Look again, my child. You’re more than your mistakes.
What a Father.
It’s not that God is unaware of our sin. But in His mercy, He refuses to define us by it. In fact, He died so He wouldn't have to. That’s the staggering beauty of the cross: sacred grace, poured out on people who could never earn it. He does not want us living trapped in the shame of our past. He’s not the God of guilt trips. He’s the God who’s always doing something new.
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” Isaiah 43:18–19
His love is not hesitant or limited. It is absolute, unrelenting, and defined by compassion. When we see no value in ourselves, He gently reminds us of the value He placed in us from the beginning. When we hang our heads in shame, He is already speaking over us: Look forward, not back. I’m not finished with you yet. He is the God of new beginnings. Of unending, unfailing, infinite love.
So, as usual, things didn’t go according to my plan when it came to my birthday plans with God.
I thought it would be a quiet time of repentance and reflection, a walk through the memories of mistakes I’ve made. But instead, it turned into something unexpected, a kind of victory lap. A gentle reminder of the good I’ve brought into the world. Of the moments I showed up, stepped in, and said yes when it mattered most.
Instead of failure, He showed me value.
He also reminded me of something we don’t talk about nearly enough: doing good isn’t easy. Those memories came at a price, He reminded me. Doing good comes at a cost. It takes effort. It takes sacrifice. It often means choosing the harder road, and He sees that. He knows. He understands the invisible weight behind every good thing we choose to do in His name.
I came away from that night reenergized. Reinvigorated. With a new resolve, not to live in the rearview mirror of my past mistakes, but to move forward. To do good. To keep becoming more of that person He sees in me. Because really, what good does it do to sit and focus on past mistakes, when God is calling us to step into a future filled with purpose?
It reminds me of Peter.
Breakfast On The Beach
Peter was the disciple who was ready to die for Jesus at any given moment. He made bold declaration after bold declaration, from a love that ran deep in his heart for his Savior. Sure, there were times Peter’s ego might’ve gotten the best of him, just like the rest of us. He famously declared to Jesus in front of others, “I’ll never deny you.”
But then, the night came. That night.
He couldn’t have imagined the horror that was ahead of him. He couldn’t have imagined the fear that would take hold of him. Everyone turned against Jesus. Everyone was chanting for Him to die. It’s easy to be brave in front of one or two people, but when the weight of an entire movement turns, it’s different.
Then, the exact thing Peter swore he’d never do, he did. He denied Jesus. During His darkest hour.
The Person he loved most on earth, he denied. Not once, but three times.
It wasn’t like Jesus didn’t know. Jesus knew. In fact, Scripture says Jesus looked at him the moment it happened, right there in the middle of His pain, right after the rooster crowed. Peter then remembered Jesus had predicted it, and the weight must’ve crushed him.
The regret. The shame. Imagine hurting someone you love most during their hardest hour.
Imagine betraying your child, your spouse, while they’re being tortured, and they know it. The love Peter had for Jesus was greater than a love for a child or a spouse, so we can only imagine.
The loss of Jesus over those three days wasn’t just grief for Peter. It was laced with the terrible truth that at Jesus’ moment of greatest sacrifice, Peter had completely failed Him. How many times did he replay it in his mind? How many times did he revisit every mistake, wonder if he had disqualified himself for good? All those moments, walking on water, acts of faith, devotion...all of it felt erased in one flash of fear.
But that’s not the end of Peter’s story. And it’s never the end of ours, either.
Our Savior refuses to define us by our worst moment. Three days later, the most beautiful thing happened: Jesus rose from the dead.
If that weren’t miracle enough, He went looking for Peter. When He found him, it wasn’t to shame him. It wasn’t to demand an apology or give a lecture on loyalty. Jesus found Peter by cooking him breakfast on the beach.
Why was Peter on the water? Because he (and some of the other disciples) had gone back to his old life as a fisherman. After that kind of failure, he didn’t think he was worthy of leading anyone, let alone starting a church that would be the most meaningful movement in the history of mankind.
Peter had gone back to what he knew. After the grief, the failure, and the crushing weight of shame, he returned to the familiar rhythm of casting nets and hauling fish. His heart may have still loved Jesus, but he no longer believed he was worthy of following Him. So he fished.
Then, one early morning, while the sky was still soft with the blush of dawn, someone stood on the shoreline. The disciples didn’t recognize Him at first. But this stranger called out from the shore:
“Friends, haven’t you any fish?”
They hadn’t.
“Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.”
So they did.
Just like that first time, their nets were overwhelmed with fish, bursting, straining under the weight of grace. In that moment, something clicked.
John whispered it first: “It is the Lord.”
Peter didn’t hesitate. He didn’t stop to pull in the net. He didn’t wait for the boat to turn around. He didn’t worry about how deep the water was or what the others might think. He jumped.
Fully clothed, soaking his garments, heart pounding, Peter threw himself into the water. It was the second time he had stepped out of a boat to get to Jesus, but this time, it wasn’t about walking on water. This time, it was about getting back to Him, as fast as possible.
I imagine Peter swimming hard, his arms cutting through the waves, his eyes locked on the shoreline. No more distance. No more denial. Just the overwhelming need to be near his Savior again. When he reached the shore, there He was.
Jesus. Not with a sword. Not with a list of grievances. But with a fire, breakfast, and the peace and love He always brings to every encounter.
Can you imagine that moment? The warmth of the fire. The sound of waves lapping quietly behind them. The smell of fish and bread. Peter, dripping wet, breathless, in shock, standing face-to-face with the One he thought he had lost forever.
Jesus simply looked at him. No condemnation or shame. Just welcome. It was reunion. It was restoration. It was grace that cooked breakfast and waited patiently by the sea.
Then, Jesus asked a question.
“Peter, do you love Me?”
He asked it three times, one for every denial. With every answer of confirmation from Peter, Jesus restored him and gave him instructions.
Feed my sheep.
Care for my people.
Follow me.
It’s as if Jesus was saying, I’m not here to relive your worst moment. I’m here to remind you of who you are, and who you’re becoming. I’m here to give you purpose. I’m here to tell you to look forward, not backward.
God didn’t define Peter by his past. He gave him a calling. That’s the kind of God we serve. The kind who meets us in the middle of our self-doubt and gently says,
“You’re still mine. I’m not finished with you. Let’s keep going.”
Jumping Off the Boat
It’s amazing how quickly we return to what we knew when we’re confronted with our own failure. When we fail, it’s almost instinctive. We slip back into old habits, old thought patterns, old versions of ourselves that feel familiar, even if they were never truly safe. It didn’t take Peter long to return to fishing. His Savior was gone (or so he thought) and he had failed in every way imaginable.
He had denied the One he swore to protect. The One he loved most. The shame must’ve been unbearable. Maybe, deep down, he even blamed himself for what happened. Peter, who had always seen himself as a kind of shield for Jesus, now bore the weight of powerlessness and regret.
So he went back to what he knew. Back to fishing.
But isn’t it fascinating that the moment he realized Jesus was still there, still alive, still loving him, still choosing him, he couldn’t get off that boat fast enough? He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t wait for the nets to be hauled in. He didn’t calculate how deep the water was. He just jumped.
Nothing else mattered more than getting back to Jesus. And you know, the same is true for us. We don’t lose our Savior just because we fail.
Our failure doesn’t un-resurrect Jesus. It doesn’t send Him away. He’s still there. Waiting on the shoreline of our hearts. When we come to our senses, when grace breaks through the fog of shame, we have only one job:
Jump off the boat.
Soaking wet clothes and all.
Whatever it takes to return to the One who still calls us “mine.”
The One who heals us, restores us, protects us, and speaks purpose over us again.
Temptation always tries to drag us back into our past. It whispers about our failures and throws our memories in our face. But Jesus is always looking forward. He is always ready to redeem what’s been broken, restore what’s been lost, and rewrite our story with grace.
So when you find yourself drifting back into the old life:
Jump.
Don’t wait.
Swim hard.
Because your Savior is still there, cooking breakfast on the shore, ready to remind you that your story is not over.