Gracious and merciful Lord,
I come before you humbled and broken,
standing at the shore of my own failures.
I know what it feels like to deny you.
Not once, not twice,
but repeatedly.
Through my words,
through my silence,
through the things I have done and left undone,
the moments when fear overtook my faith,
when pride silenced my love,
when I chose comfort over courage.
And yet you come to me again.
You stand on the shore of my shame,
not with judgment in your eyes,
but with a fire,
already burning a fire of welcome,
You do not turn your face away from my disgrace.
You do not abandon me to the weight of my regret.
Instead, you call to me across the waters of my confusion and self-doubt,
inviting me once more to dine with you,
to be near you,
I marvel at your grace.
You are the same Lord who called me in the beginning,
who saw something in me when I saw nothing.
You knew that I would falter,
and still you chose me.
You knew I would fall asleep in Gethsemane,
swing my sword in the dark,
and then flee in fear,
and still you loved me.
Still you loved me.
Lord, I thank you for the morning you met Peter by the sea,
for the charcoal fire that echoed the courtyard of denial,
but this time,
not for judgment, but for healing.
I thank you for the three-day prayer,
for the three questions,
each piercing deeper than the last.
Do you love me?
You did not ask for explanations or excuses.
You did not shame him.
You asked for love.
So now I hear you ask me the same question.
Do you love me?
And though my heart aches with the memory of my betrayals,
I dare to answer,
You know that I love you.
My love is imperfect.
But it is real.
You know me better than I know myself.
You know the love that flickers even when I fail.
And when I answer,
you do not send me away.
You entrust me with purpose.
What mercy is this that you still have work for me to do,
that you would take my brokenness and turn it into a vessel of blessing,
that you would call me again to follow you?
Lord Jesus, I receive your forgiveness,
but as a weighty, wondrous gift.
It heals what shame cannot touch.
It silences the accuser.
It washes me clean,
not because I am worthy,
but because you are so full of mercy.
I receive it with open hands and a surrendered heart.
And I receive the call too,
to love as I have been loved,
to tend to those who are hurting,
wandering,
just as you tended to me.
I do not have all the answers,
but I have your love.
I do not always know the way,
but I will follow you.
I will go,
Even if it costs me,
even if it breaks me,
even if it takes me where I never imagined.
Because I remember the look in your eyes
as you restored Peter,
and I know that same love reaches me.
You are the shepherd of my soul.
You restore what I thought was lost forever.
Thank you, Jesus,
for finding me in my denial
and calling me by my name,
for meeting me not in triumph,
but in failure,
and transforming that failure
into a testimony of grace.
Thank you for the mornings you come again
and you say it is not.
I am still here.
Follow me.
I no longer want to be defined
by my worst moments.
I want to be defined by your mercy.
I no longer want to live in fear of falling.
I want to live in faith that you will catch me,
restore me,
and use me.
So here I am, Lord.
I bring my past,
my heart,
my hope.
and I place it in your hands.
Teach me to love you more deeply.
Teach me to serve you more faithfully.
Teach me to follow you,
not for the sake of being seen,
but because you are worthy.
Thank you for the restoration.
Thank you for the new beginning.
Thank you for seeing more in me
than I ever saw in myself.
I am yours, Lord.
I love you.