Frank Sinatra used to sing,
> “Just what makes that little old ant think he’ll move that rubber tree plant?”
Anyone knows an ant can’t…
But he’s got high hopes.
That silly song always makes me smile. It’s about an ant with more courage than common sense — a creature who refuses to quit even when the odds are impossible.
You and I have met people like that. They’re the ones who plant tomatoes in a drought, who keep buying birthday cards for prodigal kids, who believe things can still turn around when everyone else says it’s over.
Hope has always had bad timing.
In fact, Hope called me just last week — right when the car battery died.
I told her, “Hope, this is not a good time.”
She said, “Oh, but that’s the only time I ever show up.”
That’s the thing about hope. She never waits for blue skies; she shows up in the storm with jumper cables.
And maybe that’s why Jesus talked so much about looking up instead of looking around — because when you’re living on the edge, you don’t need more data; you need direction.
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The Edge We Feel
We’re living in a world that feels paper-thin.
Every headline hums with tension — nations on alert, markets quivering, storms naming themselves faster than meteorologists can count.
People talk about mental health the way past generations talked about the weather, because the forecast changes every hour.
We live with phones that promise connection but deliver comparison.
We scroll through smiling faces while quietly wondering if anyone’s truly okay.
And somewhere in that endless feed of information, the soul whispers, “Is there still hope?”
That’s the edge.
Not just war or famine or disease — the edge is the feeling that tomorrow might come apart before we get there.
And into that very space, Jesus speaks.
Not from a mountain of denial, but from the Mount of Olives — looking straight at a trembling world.
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Jesus on the Edge
His disciples pointed to the shining stones of the Temple and said, “Isn’t this glorious?”
Jesus looked past the marble and saw centuries. He said, “Not one stone will be left upon another.”
They were stunned. How could something so solid crumble?
It’s the same question we ask today: How could the world we know fall apart?
And Jesus answered — not with panic, but with prophecy.
He listed wars, rumors, earthquakes, and fear. Then He said something that still cuts through the static:
> “When these things begin to come to pass, look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.” (Luke 21:28 KJV)
He didn’t say when these things end.
He said when they begin.
Hope shows up early.
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Proof That God Keeps His Word
History has already carried many of those signs.
The earthquake that shook Lisbon in 1755, the darkened skies over New England in 1780, the falling stars in 1833 — each a thunderclap saying, “You can trust what He said.”
They aren’t museum curiosities; they’re mile-markers proving that the Bible keeps its promises down to the detail.
And if God kept those, He will keep the biggest one of all: “I will come again.”
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Living on the Edge — Now
Yet 2025 feels like its own prophecy.
Viruses jump continents faster than airplanes.
Artificial intelligence writes love songs and lies with equal fluency.
Nations argue about truth itself.
Children learn code before they learn kindness.
We can talk to the world but can’t listen to our neighbor.
You can almost hear the creak of creation groaning.
But Jesus said this would happen — that hearts would fail for fear of what’s coming on the earth.
He wasn’t scaring us; He was preparing us.
Every fulfilled sign isn’t a reason to panic; it’s a reason to trust.
Every shaking is Heaven saying, “Hold on — I told you this was coming.”
Hope doesn’t deny the edge; she lives on it, sings on it, prays on it.
That’s why Paul could write from a prison cell, “We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed.”
He had high hopes — rubber-tree-plant hopes — because his faith was bigger than his fear.
Maybe tonight you feel close to the edge — financially, emotionally, spiritually.
Hope called you again, and you almost didn’t answer.
But remember: she only shows up when things look impossible.
Jesus hasn’t forgotten the world, and He hasn’t forgotten you.
The same Lord who traced the timeline of history also traces the tears on your face.
He said, “When these things begin to come to pass…” — not to frighten you but to free you from despair.
If the edge is real, so is the hope waiting beyond it.
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The Hope We Hold
Hope called again this week. She didn’t leave a voicemail — just a quiet reminder: “Don’t hang up.”
And I smiled, because I almost did. Life gets noisy. The line crackles with headlines and worry.
But if you listen long enough, you realize Hope never loses signal. She just speaks softer than fear.
Last time we stood at the edge, looking at a trembling world.
We saw that Jesus told the truth about history.
He told us not to panic but to look up.
So now we turn our eyes from the horizon to the heavens — from what’s breaking apart to the One who’s coming back.
Because prophecy was never meant to end in panic. It was meant to end in presence.
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Hope’s Long Wait
Let’s be honest — sometimes Hope feels late.
You pray for healing that doesn’t come, for a door that won’t open, for silence to end.
But the silence of God is not the absence of God.
It’s the sound of Him drawing nearer, slower, surer, preparing the moment when waiting will turn into seeing.
Peter said, “The Lord is not slow in keeping His promise as some understand slowness. He is patient with you.”
He delays destruction to extend redemption.
Every sunrise is another twenty-four hours of mercy.
Hope might seem late by our calendar — but she’s right on time by Heaven’s.
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The Promise That Still Holds
Jesus said, “I will come again.”
Three words that divide history and redefine despair.
He didn’t say I might. He said I will.
And the same voice that spoke galaxies into being will one day speak your name across the sky:
> “For the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God.” (1 Thessalonians 4:16)
Can you imagine that sound?
It won’t be background noise on your phone.
It’ll be the ringtone of eternity.
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A Modern Parable of Hope
An airport worker once told me a story.
A soldier was coming home after years overseas. His wife waited by the glass doors, holding a cardboard sign that said, “It’s really you.”
When he finally appeared, she ran to him before the doors could open all the way.
That’s a picture of the Second Coming — not God checking IDs at the gate, but a reunion of hearts that have waited too long.
He’s not returning to scold His church but to embrace His bride.
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Signs of Life, Not Death
Yes, the world is shaking.
Yes, the moral compass spins like a broken app.
But Jesus called these not the death throes of creation, but the birth pangs.
Something new is being born.
When a mother cries out in labor, the pain is real — but so is the joy waiting on the other side.
The contractions of our century are announcing that Heaven is in the delivery room.
Hope doesn’t deny the pain; she says, “Hold on — life is coming.”
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Faith in the Fracture
Have you seen a green shoot pushing through a cracked sidewalk?
That’s hope’s favorite neighborhood.
Some of you tonight are those shoots — pushing through grief, addiction, disappointment, guilt.
The fact that you’re still reaching upward means resurrection power is already working.
Paul said, “If the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He will give life to your mortal bodies.”
The same power that will lift graves open on resurrection morning is already lifting your spirit tonight.
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The Great Reversal
In every true revival, there’s a moment when fear turns to faith.
That’s the pivot we’re standing on now.
For centuries preachers have listed wars, earthquakes, and pestilence — and they’re real.
But the final sign Jesus loves most is not disaster; it’s disciples.
> “This gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.” (Matthew 24:14)
Right now that prophecy is being fulfilled.
Satellites, smartphones, and streaming sermons are carrying the Word faster than ships ever did.
The last sign before Jesus returns is not a war — it’s a witness.
That means the edge is brighter than it looks.
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When the Sky Rolls Back
Revelation says, “The heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together.”
That’s not the curtain falling — that’s the curtain rising.
Clouds peel back like drapes, and suddenly the spotlight of eternity floods the stage.
Trumpets echo through galaxies.
Graves shiver and yield.
Dust gathers itself into form; breath re-enters lungs; eyes reopen to daylight that never dims.
And in that moment, every tear becomes a diamond of testimony, every scar a badge of survival.
Hope will no longer need to call; she’ll be standing right beside you, smiling.
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The Home We’re Headed For
Jesus said, “In My Father’s house are many mansions.”
He wasn’t talking about marble; He was talking about belonging.
The mansion is where loneliness ends.
Think of the best moment of peace you’ve ever known — laughter around a table, a hug that lasted a second longer than expected.
Multiply that by infinity and remove the fear of it ending.
That’s Heaven.
Heaven is not an escape from Earth’s story; it’s the sequel where every character gets redeemed.
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The Hope We Hold Right Now
Maybe you’re wondering, “What about until then?”
That’s the beauty of the gospel: the coming Kingdom has already sent advance representatives.
Every time you forgive, Heaven breaks into Earth.
Every act of kindness, every prayer, every temptation resisted — that’s Kingdom life leaking into a fallen world.
The same Christ who will descend one day is already living in you today.
We don’t just wait for Hope; we walk with her.
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A Story from the Storm
A Florida pastor once told me about a hurricane that tore through his town.
When it passed, he stepped outside expecting ruin.
What struck him most wasn’t the fallen trees — it was a tiny bird perched on a broken street sign, singing at the top of its lungs while the wind still blew.
He said, “That’s hope — singing between the gusts.”
Maybe tonight you’re still in the storm. Sing anyway.
The wind can’t drown out worship; it only carries it farther.
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Final Appeal — Lift Up Your Head
Friend, this is not a time to hang your head.
This is not a season for despair or distraction.
Lift it up!
You were born for this generation — not to survive the edge, but to shine on it.
When others curse the darkness, you light a candle.
When others count headlines, you count promises.
When others say, “It’s over,” you say, “He’s coming.”
Hope is calling right now. Don’t send her to voicemail.
Answer her with surrender.
Because one day soon, the One who promised will appear, and every trembling heart will be steadied by His voice:
> “And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.” (Luke 21:28)
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Closing Vision and Prayer
Picture it:
The eastern sky blushes with light.
Graves break open like blossoms at dawn.
Families reunited, tears wiped away, laughter echoing across forever.
And the universe hears a song older than sorrow:
> “Just what makes that little old ant think he’ll move that rubber tree plant?”
Anyone knows an ant can’t… but he’s got high hopes.”
Only this time the chorus is cosmic — creation singing back to the Creator:
We’ve got His hope.
And hope never fails.
> Prayer:
Lord, we’ve seen the edge, but tonight we choose the hope.
Teach us to live awake, love deeply, and look up daily.
Write courage where fear once lived, and when the skies open, find us not hiding — but shining.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
