My sister-in-law has already started decorating for Christmas—and it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet.
Yes, I’m one of those people who believes Christmas décor should go up after Thanksgiving, not before. My other pet peeve? Wise men shouldn’t be part of the nativity scene—they came later!
But despite my noble crusade to correct these “cultural inaccuracies,” I find I’m marching alone.
Speaking of my sister-in-law, I got this text the other day:
“My second biblically inaccurate nativity is going up right this moment!”
I couldn’t resist replying:
“It’s okay, it’s just your girls who’ll grow up with a wrong view of how it happened.”
To which she said:
“It’s okay, you can straighten them out. 😂😂”
About twenty minutes later, another text came through:
“Well, it looks like it won’t be so inaccurate after all, because I came off the ladder—and it came off with me.”
Me:
“God has spoken. 😂😉”
Fast forward the story a bit—she started repairing the broken wise man, piecing him back together one fragment at a time with superglue so he could return to his place on the mantle, ready to fulfill his purpose of bringing Christmas cheer… even if it’s only November.
And as I thought about it, that’s exactly what God does for us.
When we fail, when we mess up, when we fall—He is always willing to pick us up and put us back together again.
That’s grace.
Peter’s Fire
God’s been doing this for a long time.
He even did it for Peter.
In John 21, Jesus meets His disciples on the seashore. They’ve gone back to fishing, and He calls out to them. When Peter realizes it’s Jesus, he jumps into the water, swims to shore, and runs to Him.
And there, Jesus has built a fire and is cooking breakfast.
Let’s remember: the last time Peter stood by a fire, he failed.
In John 18:18, Peter warmed himself by a fire while denying Jesus on the night of His betrayal. Three times he said, “I don’t know Him,” until a rooster crowed and the weight of his denial hit him like a ton of bricks. That fire became the symbol of Peter’s worst moment—the place where loyalty burned out under fear.
So imagine standing by another fire, smelling the same smoke, feeling the same warmth—and remembering.
But this time, in John 21:9, the fire isn’t one of failure.
It’s a fire of restoration.
Peter stands there, the scent of fish cooking over the coals filling the air. Jesus looks at him—not with disappointment, but with compassion.
And then Jesus feeds him.
No lectures.
No “I told you so.”
Just warmth, food, and presence.
Jesus doesn’t shame Peter—He feeds him.
When He speaks, there’s no shame in His voice. No tone of accusation. No “look what you did.”
It’s hard to wrap our minds around this truth: God never comes to shame us.
He convicts, yes—but conviction draws us toward Him, while shame drives us away.
When You Fall
So what happens when you fail Jesus?
When you replay your mistakes in your mind—the moments you didn’t represent Him well, the times you denied Him with silence or fear, the times your secret sin showed up again and you fell back into it?
If you’re like me, shame fills your heart and soul in those moments. You feel worthless. But here’s the truth—that shame isn’t from God. That’s you, not Him.
God isn’t interested in rubbing your face in your failure.
He’s interested in restoring you so you can fulfill your purpose.
When you’ve given up on yourself—when you feel you’ve lost any value you ever had—He reaches down, lifts your chin, and says, “Look at Me again.”
That’s grace.
The Pattern of Grace
We’ve all messed up.
We’ve all had moments we wish we could undo.
But none of that has ever changed God’s willingness to forgive or restore us.
You can follow Jesus and still fail—He knows that, and He loves you anyway.
And when you do fail, He doesn’t leave you in the ashes.
He meets you there, feeds you, and says, “Follow Me again.”
And even if you mess up again tomorrow—it’s still not over in the mind of God.
He’ll still be there, making breakfast by the fire.
For grace always meets you with breakfast, not a lecture.
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