http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/14821305/what-is-the-futility-of-the-human-mind

Failures guide. Blunders cry out information. —William Stafford

Crowing roosters never left the region. Each morning the rest of his life, Peter awoke from his sleep to a squawking alarm.

Paul would experience his own devilish messenger sent to thorn-taunt him. But unlike Paul’s tormentor, Peter’s barn-stoop condemners had flesh and blood. The winged creatures didn’t know that their most instinctive way to help the world could ritually sabotage a once-guilty man.

Like many of us, the apostle Peter was acquainted with failures and their relentless reminders. How did Peter come to believe this grace-truth that failure isn’t final, that a failed Christian isn’t a finished Christian?

Learning His Love Again

This question knocks at my door each night as I speak reminding words amid forehead kisses to my 3-year-old.

“You are a loved boy,” I say.

“Yes!” he says with assurance. “I am a loved boy!”

I marvel at his confident acceptance of my love. And yet, why do I marvel? If the little one said to me, “No, Daddy, I am not loved,” my heart would enlarge to defend him from that wretched lie. If he were to feel it too proud to agree that he is loved by me, my heart would enlarge to dissuade him from this thieving view of humility that steals God-given joy from us both.

Why, then, in the presence of my heavenly Father’s love, do I find it so difficult to say, “Yes! I am a loved person.” I think Peter understands.

Failure pokes the tender ribs of memory. Makes us wince. Too many storm-sinking, “you’ll never wash my feet” miscalculations in our faith. Too many “though everyone else forsakes you, I never will” debacles of our pride. Too many “you’ll never go to the cross,” “get behind me, Satan” moments to count. Too many Gethsemane-sword, blood-cut misapplications of zeal. Too many “I tell you I don’t know the man” betrayals and fears. And sometimes the fault isn’t ours but the bruise still swells (Mark 10:35–41).

How then did failed Peter learn that he was a loved man writing to a beloved people (1 Peter 2:11; 4:12)? John tells part of the answer. While Peter huddled near home, throwing his grief like a net into the sea, Jesus “revealed himself in this way” (John 21:1).

How Jesus Reveals Himself

Jesus is like a host who comes in the aftermath of failure with a “This Is Your Life” approach. By the end, Jesus will thread Peter’s life together by saying, “When you were young” and “when you are old” (John 21:18). But here at the beginning, in this way, what Jesus wants Peter to see is Jesus. “Jesus revealed himself again . . . and he revealed himself” (John 21:1). John says it twice in one verse.

“Unknown is enough when on the margins of the world with Jesus.”

What Peter most needs within the bog of his failure isn’t to strain forward to seize the narrative, or to protect his image, or to preserve the brand of the original disciples, or to get back his old platform. Unknown is enough when on the margins of the world with Jesus. This delightful sufficiency signals the first lesson Peter, and any of us who’ve failed, must relearn.

He remembers how you began with him.

This sea of Jesus’s revealing is full of memory for Peter. The smell of boats and fish. The presence of home feels safer here, far from the bitter weeping of Jerusalem.

Where did you grow up? Where in this world do you feel most at home? What might it mean for you that, when you think of those places amid failure, Jesus intends you not to escape them but to remember them again, and this time to see more of him there than you did before?

But wait. Jesus then enacts a bizarre startlement.

Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. (John 21:3)

Haven’t we lived this scene already (Luke 5:1–11)? Yet this is no déjà vu experience. The one who holds all things together orders providence right where the waves lap over the sand-squished toes of Peter and the others, right where they stand.

Do you remember when you and Jesus first met? Why might Jesus bring you that flashlight memory amid the power outage of your failure?

He remembers the scenes of your life with him.

Slowly, Peter recognizes that Jesus is the one behind these ways, and he “threw himself into the sea” (John 21:7). With John’s word choice, we can barely forget an earlier Peter, the boat, a water-walk (Matthew 14:22–36). Do you remember acts of faith that caused you to step out toward Jesus, when you were in over your head and he rescued you?

Then Jesus breaks bread with fish (John 21:9). How could Peter and the others look at Jesus breaking bread without remembering the earlier wonders (John 6:1–14; Luke 24:35)? Do you remember such moments of startling wonder, years ago, with Jesus?

The charcoal fire burns more certain. It waits for Peter as he high-knee splashes toward Jesus (John 21:9). The Greek word for charcoal fire occurs in only one other place (John 18:18), when Peter denied Jesus by that charcoal fire.

Someone else lit the original charcoal fire of betrayal when Jesus and Peter met anguished eyes (Luke 22:61). But this fire, Jesus prepared. Jesus’s and Peter’s eyes must meet again.

What if, after these grace-reminders of our beginnings and life memories with Jesus, the only way to go forward is to face Jesus again by the charcoal fire? Tempted to recover without this step, what we most want is the denial or removal of the rooster and the charcoal blaze. But what if what we most need is the grace-learned strength to see more of Jesus than we do of them, like one who learns to regard the moon more than the shadows lurking beneath its glow?

What if Jesus reveals himself in this way?

He remembers your name.

Now Jesus does something so subtle we often overlook it. Jesus calls Peter by his birth name. “Simon, son of John” (John 21:15).

This must have startled Peter. How long had it been since Peter heard “Simon, son of John” on Jesus’s lips? Two or three years?

I’m “Zack, son of Vern and Jan.” What’s your name — the name you had when you were a child and helpless in the world? What is your experience with your family, for better and worse?

Why do we in our failures need to come to terms with our pre-ministry name and see it in relation to Jesus again?

Love is his question for you.

With your life remembered and your name spoken, now comes the one question three times (John 21:15–17).

Not, “Peter, do you believe me? Will you go all out for the gospel for me?” Not, “Peter, will you leverage a platform for me? Or promise never to fail me again?” Not, “Peter, will you get to work, take back the ministry you once had, and prove your detractors wrong?” But, “Peter, do you love me?”

In this way, Jesus reveals himself.

Do you notice the hurt, tethered to love, that Jesus lets us feel (John 21:17)? After all, disordered love was the untended leak that ultimately sank our boat.

There is no “feed my sheep” without first coming to terms with where you are from, how you and Jesus met, the wonder and the needed rescues of his being with you, what your name is, the charcoal-fire sins, and the condition of love in your soul. Search committees, media opportunists, and relatives may not approach you in this way. But Jesus does.

Do you find Jesus more lovely and preferable to anything else you need or want? Peter says yes and means it.

A new call can’t save us.

Yet, a fly buzzes around Peter’s head and distracts him. As it turns out, restoring Peter from failure doesn’t remove Peter’s ability to fail (see also Galatians 2:11–14).

“But what about John?” Peter asks (John 21:20–23). Peter is like a dog easily unhinged into chase by a squirrel. Though in the loving presence of your Master, is there someone you regularly snap your collar to chase?

“If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?” Jesus says (John 21:22).

“As it turns out, restoring Peter from failure doesn’t remove Peter’s ability to fail.”

At that, Jesus takes Peter back to basics. “Follow me” (John 21:22). Jesus said this to Peter years prior, but the grace-need Peter had then hasn’t subsided.

Even forgiven people can repeat what breaks them. Roosters are rarely one-morning creatures. So, Jesus repeats his call with pointed exclamation. “You follow me!”

How did failed Peter learn that he was a loved person writing to a beloved people?

In this way.

Redeemed Voices of the Failed

Humble yourselves. . . . Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him . . . (1 Peter 5:6, 8–9)

Words like these aren’t spoken from new-shoe theologians, barely worn God-talkers who walk with no scuff and teach with no gravel scrapes on their soles. Peter speaks as one thrashed firsthand by the roaring, clawed devil.

Unlike some who’ve failed, Peter owned what he did. He bitter-wept for the cuss he became and caused. We need such redeemed voices of the failed. These broken sages know of Jesus by creed, yes, but also by cries.

So, when an ant colony of condemnation breaks open into a torrent of flash-flood crawlers creeping all over you, you can holler and jump, flick and cuss, run and scratch, but only Jesus knows the way to relieve you.

When you’ve mud-stepped into the muck, you are never minefield abandoned. Stop where you are. Let go of trying to tell us it’s not that bad. There is One among the mines who knows how to guide you home, wash you clean, make you safe.

How can the failed like Peter overcome the condemning crow?

In this way.

We hugged, said our goodbyes and “I love you.” He walked with us to the car, turned, and walked away. And as we sat there looking at his back, I cried my heart out. Our firstborn child was launched, and I felt like my insides were being ripped out.

Two years later, we had a repeat. Once again, after goodbyes, “We love you,” and hugs, another son walked us to the car. Watching him as he turned and walked away, those same deep heart cries rose up in me.

One last time, a few years later, goodbyes and “I love you” were said, and hugs were given. We went to the car and watched as our youngest son turned and walked away into his new life. And yes, we sat there looking at his back and I cried my heart out.

Not that I would never see our sons again, of course. But when our kids left home, I was keenly aware that my life would dramatically change. For years I had anticipated this day and often thought I couldn’t survive the emotion of it all, but I did. It’s been many years now since those goodbyes. And today I am so grateful to God for his sustaining grace, and for the surprisingly sweet joys he’s given in each season of life since.

New Strength After Kids

I had been a “full-time” mom, and so obviously when our sons left home, the whole structure of my life altered. No more hurried breakfasts to get out the door in the mornings. No games to go to late in the day. No large meals to prepare that would satisfy teenage boys. No kids hanging out at the house or event-planning with other parents. Oh, yes, life was going to be different, and I wasn’t at all sure I was going to like that!

Early on after the kids left, I found myself on my knees before God with a kind of blank, empty feeling, when I found these words:

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being. (Ephesians 3:14–16)

That good word assured me that God would fill me with his strength for the new season ahead.

Six Lessons for Empty Nests

We moms want to be good mothers, and we give everything we have to our children. As Christian moms, we feel a special calling to raise our children to love Jesus and follow him, which can seem especially weighty. And on top of it all, our identity can get so wrapped up in our children that we forget who we are. So when it comes time for the kids to leave home, it’s hard! And it’s sad. But we need not stay stuck in sadness. We can move forward into adult relationships with our children which have a sweetness all their own.

“Our identity can get so wrapped up in our children that we forget who we are.”

If you are in the transition years, anticipating the day when your kids leave home, or are already adjusting to an empty nest, here are some practical steps that have been a great help to me.

1. Pray fervently.

No doubt you have prayed for your children since before they were born. Keep praying! As you pray for your child who is no longer under your daily care, you will discover your prayers will become deeper and your relationship with both God and your child will be enriched. Remember, you can cast your anxieties on God, because he cares about you — and your child (1 Peter 5:7).

2. Place your child in the arms of God.

I never understood what it meant to “let go” of my children. Then someone suggested, rather than letting go of my children to float out into some kind of never-never land, I can deliberately place them into the strong and loving arms of God where they are protected and cared for. “The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33:27). This has been a great comfort.

3. Perspective helps.

The aim of parenting is to raise little humans to become productive adults. Throughout the child-raising years, we want to create a nurturing environment so our children will develop and mature. We want our children to be adults. In a sense, we raise them to leave.

4. Prioritize your husband.

While our kids are home, they often require the biggest chunk of our time and energy, but the priority still should be our husband. Make time for him when the kids are home, so you’ll know each other when they leave. Have fun together now, so that you will enjoy each other later.

5. Personal development is essential.

Take care of yourself — physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Develop an interest or involvement while your kids are home that will carry over into the empty-nest years. One way to do this is to cultivate friendships and fellowship with other women in your church.

6. Plant yourself by streams of water.

“A tree planted by streams of water yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither” (Psalm 1:3). Get rooted, and stay rooted, in God’s word, take delight in God’s Son, maintain fellowship with God’s people. When you do this over the years, you will be fruitful in every season of your life.

Enjoy Being a Child Again

Most Christian moms, like me, focus on God’s love for our children. We remind ourselves that God loves our kids more than we do — and he does. We help our children understand and accept God’s love for them. But I discovered, when my boys left home, I’d nearly forgotten that God loves me, too. He cares about me. He knows my needs. He wants to bless me because I am his child.

“I discovered, when my boys left home, I’d nearly forgotten that God loves me, too.”

Mom, if your kids have just left home — or are soon to leave — you are about to enter a new season with great potential for fruitfulness. As young women we bore the fruit of the womb. Then the childrearing years were full of great blessing, energy, and vitality. These years were times of hope, of spring and the warm summer sunshine. But, surprisingly, the empty-nest years can be a very productive and fruit-filled season, too.

When kids leave home, parenting takes on new and rewarding dimensions. Daily life is different, for sure, but you are still, and always will be, your kids’ mom. In fact, you no doubt will discover as I have, that as the years move on and you and your kids grow older, your relationships will deepen and enrich on many levels. At the same time, fruit that you bear in this new season of life can have an even wider impact now as you stay connected to your local church. Look for ways to be involved with the younger women in your church. You are a seasoned woman who can nourish the upcoming generation of women.

Be encouraged, dear mom. God is with you and loves you through every season of life. He will not forsake you. He wants to bless you and make you a blessing!

O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come. (Psalm 71:17–18)