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.
Today we live in a fast-paced society that seems to be placing more and more demands on us with each passing year. People are hurrying everywhere, and they're often rude and short-tempered. Many people are experiencing financial stress, marital stress and the stress of raising children. There's often mental and physical stress on the job caused by overwork. Many times this type of lifestyle causes health problems—adding even more stress.
One of the most overlooked promises is found in Isaiah 48:17: "I am the LORD your God, who teaches you to profit, who leads you in the way you should go." Most people read this verse and immediately think about money, provision, or financial increase. While God's blessing certainly includes those things, the promise reveals something much greater. God is not promising simply to give you more. He is promising to develop you into someone capable of carrying more. This is the great distinction between provision and inheritance. Provision meets a need for today. Inheritance prepares someone to possess, multiply, and govern what has been entrusted to them. Anyone can receive a gift. Sons and daughters are trained to carry an inheritance.
Recently, I was reading through my dream journal from a couple of years ago. One night I dreamed I walked into my room and felt a gentle breeze coming through the window. When I looked up, I saw the window was open about an inch and the shades were slightly parted. I immediately understood that this was a prophetic dream. The open window was symbolic of an intruder attempting to break in- not a natural break in, but a spiritual one.
We've all looked at our family trees or our past mistakes and wondered: Is this just who I am now? Is this story already written? It's easy to feel trapped by the momentum of old habits, generational patterns, or the choices of those who came before us. But if today's sermon reminded us of anything, it's this: We serve a God who specializes in the turnaround. What the enemy seeks to finalize, God has the absolute authority to reverse. To fully understand the magnitude of this truth, we have to look at a powerful moment in the Old Testament where history, legacy, and a supernatural miracle collided on a single sundial.
In a dream the other night, I was shown a choice between pursuing a deeper connection through Holy Spirit, versus retreating to what feels safe and familiar. Age-old mindsets are pulling some back to tried and true methods of church life in hopes of avoiding disappointment. And yet, the choice we make will not only determine our unity, but our ability to perceive truth. In the dream I was sitting in an outdoor mall café talking to a woman about spiritual things. She was well dressed and came from a conservative background and was very interested in the things I was sharing. Her husband came up, dressed in a suit and tie, and she began to share of our conversation. He seemed interested, as well, and I decided to invite them to church. They were eager for the invitation and asked where I attended.
For most of my life I thought I understood the story of Job. I had been handed the version most of us inherit. A righteous man appears to become a pawn in a wager between God and the accuser. He loses everything in a single afternoon. His wealth, his servants, his children, his health. Then three friends arrive and sit with him in silence before taking turns insisting that somewhere, hidden in the folds of his life, there must be a secret sin. Surely a just God would not let a man suffer unless he had earned it. Job protests his innocence. He holds his ground through speech after speech. In the final scene he receives back double what he lost, and we close the book satisfied that he passed the test and collected his reward.