There are some roads that don’t seem to end.
Fourteen hours to Orange Beach turned into fifteen… then fifteen and a half. Rain. Traffic. Fuel stops. Stiff legs. Aching backs. Coffee that quit working hours ago. Every mile seemed to ask the same question:
“Are you sure you want to keep going?”
And then it hit me.
That’s the Christian life.
This journey to heaven isn’t a Sunday afternoon drive. It’s a marathon across mountains. Sometimes the tank runs dry. Sometimes your soul is weary. Sometimes you have to pull over, stretch your faith, refill your spirit, wipe the rain off the windshield, and keep moving.
But you don’t quit.
Because on the other side of this wilderness is a river.
The Jordan.
Beyond that river lies our Promised Land—not the shadow, but the substance. No more pain. No more tears. No more funerals. No more hospitals. No more cancer. No more graves.
Just Jesus.
Perfect peace.
Perfect rest.
Perfect joy.
That is why every difficult mile is worth it.
Now hear me carefully.
The book of Hebrews gives one of the strongest warnings in all of Scripture. If a person knowingly and finally turns away after fully embracing Christ, Hebrews 6 describes an unimaginably serious condition. That passage should never make us casual about our walk with God. It should make us cling to Christ with all our hearts.
That reality is why I care so deeply about people.
Just today I walked up to a man and shared what I believed God had put on my heart.
I told him,
“God is a God of second chances… and third… and fourth… and fifth. Peter denied Jesus three times, yet Jesus came looking for Peter. He didn’t throw him away. He restored him. Then He said, ‘Feed My sheep.’
“So even if you’ve had one failed ministry after another, there’s one thing God is better at than you…
Reconciliation.
The same Jesus who went after Peter is going after you.”
I gently tapped him on the chest.
He smiled and said,
“That’s funny… people have told me that my whole life.”
But I could tell…
He heard the words.
He hadn’t yet received them.
I walked away thinking,
“Lord… I failed.”
Then the Holy Spirit whispered something I’ll never forget.
“You didn’t fail. I haven’t finished.”
Then it became crystal clear.
The Holy Spirit said He would bring back to that man’s remembrance every prophetic word, every sermon, every conversation, every warning, every invitation, every moment someone had spoken truth into his life.
One after another.
Like arrows stored in a quiver.
Not forgotten.
Waiting.
Then the Lord reminded me of something else.
When I first saw that man, I was comfortable on the balcony.
I almost stayed there.
I thought,
“What if this isn’t really You?”
Finally, I obeyed.
I went downstairs.
He was gone.
I searched another place.
Nothing.
A third place.
There he was.
Then he disappeared again.
It almost felt as though God was making me search—asking one simple question:
“How much do you care?”
At last I found him.
I delivered the message.
The results?
Those belonged to God.
That’s when the Holy Spirit settled the matter forever.
“Conviction is My responsibility. Obedience is yours.”
What freedom there is in those words.
We are not called to change hearts.
We are called to speak truth.
We are not responsible for the harvest.
We are responsible for planting the seed.
We are not the Holy Spirit.
He is.
So tonight I pray for my friend.
I pray those words keep echoing through his soul.
I pray Peter’s story becomes his story.
Because the God who restored a broken fisherman is still walking shorelines today…
Still calling wandering sons…
Still restoring broken servants…
Still saying,
“Follow Me.”