Published

Never Too Far Gone

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Someone needs to hear this today. Maybe it’s you. Maybe this year that began with celebration and hope—vision boards pinned, declarations made, fasts undertaken—now feels like a memory from someone else’s life. The momentum is gone. The goals feel distant. The voice you once recognized as God’s seems faint, like an echo lost in a valley of disappointment. You’re not just off track—you’re adrift. You don’t even recognize the person you have become. Shame has wrapped you in filthy garments, and regret clings to you like a heavy fog. But here is the truth: God has not changed His mind about you.

The story isn’t over. Not because you haven’t failed, but because He hasn’t. His faithfulness is not a reflection of your strength or consistency. It is rooted in His nature—He cannot deny Himself (2 Timothy 2:13). That means even when you fall short, even when you run, even when you grow numb or ashamed or angry, He remains faithful. Remember Mount Carmel. Elijah didn’t just rebuild the altar of the Lord (1 Kings 18:30)—he drenched it. He poured water on it three times until it was humanly impossible to ignite. Why? Because he wanted Israel to see that it wasn’t about man’s ability to spark revival—it was about God’s power to answer with fire. The sacrifice was soaked, just like your dreams might be soaked in disappointment. Your year might feel waterlogged with failure, discouragement, and delay. But fire still fell. The altar still burned. The impossible still became the scene of God’s glory.

You might feel like Samson—blinded, bound, humiliated (Judges 16). The strength you once had is gone. The choices you made, the laps you laid your head in, have left you shackled and robbed of vision. You didn’t just stumble into this—your own hands played a part in your downfall. But even in the prison of his consequences, God was not done with Samson. The Bible says his hair began to grow again (Judges 16:22). Quietly. Slowly. Grace was already working beneath the surface. What had been lost was being restored. Your strength is not gone forever. Your story is not sealed. Even in chains, God can work a comeback. Or maybe you’re more like Jonah. You heard God’s voice clearly, but chose your own way instead. It wasn’t the storm or the whale that derailed you—it was your stubbornness and decision to run. And now you find yourself swallowed by the weight of your own choices, surrounded by consequences pressing in from every side. Still, in that low place, Jonah cried out, “I called to the Lord out of my distress, and He answered me” (Jonah 2:2). God didn’t discard him—He redirected him. The mission hadn’t changed, and neither had God’s mercy. His plans for you are still intact. The belly of the whale doesn’t cancel the call; it simply sets the stage for grace to intervene.

Perhaps you resonate with Habakkuk—standing in a season of barrenness. “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines… yet I will rejoice in the Lord” (Habakkuk 3:17–18). The fields are empty. The barns are bare. The progress you hoped for hasn’t come, and the evidence of growth is nowhere in sight. But faith still whispers: rejoice always. Not because of what you see, but because of who God is—unchanging, unwavering, faithful. The absence of fruit does not mean the root is dead. Sometimes God does His deepest work underground—in the hidden places, in the stillness of your prayer closet, where no one else sees but heaven is listening. But maybe it’s not barrenness you’re facing—maybe it’s compromise. Maybe you’re more like Israel on Mount Carmel, torn between two opinions (1 Kings 18:21). Your heart has been divided, pulled in directions that offer comfort, control, or the approval of others. It’s not that you lack provision; it’s that your devotion has faded. Yet even then, God did not come to condemn Israel—He came to reclaim them. When His fire fell, it was not judgment; it was mercy. It was a call to come back. And the people responded, falling on their faces and crying, “The Lord—He is God!” (1 Kings 18:39). Even in your wandering, God hasn’t turned away. He still calls. He still draws. And He still longs to ignite your altar again with His holy fire.

Here’s what you must remember: God still answers by fire. He still restores vision. He still pulls prodigals out of fish bellies. He still turns empty fields into fertile harvests. And He still calls wayward hearts back to the altar. When He shows up, He consumes shame, dries tears, revives purpose, and rewrites the ending. You can never be too far gone. Your year is not too far wasted. The fire hasn’t stopped falling. And even now—when it feels too late, too broken, or too far gone—He can shift the entire narrative. By this time tomorrow (2 Kings 7:1), everything can change. Because God is not finished with you. There is still fire in your year.