1 · The Start You Never Chose
Ever think about how little control you had over showing up here?
You didn’t pick your family, your DNA, your town, your decade.
You didn’t choose your eye color, or your first language,
or whether your parents were happily married or barely speaking.
You just … arrived.
Some of us landed in warm homes; some in storm zones.
Some grew up with bedtime prayers, some with slammed doors.
But however it looked, you were dropped into a story already in progress.
Before you could spell your name,
other people’s choices were shaping yours.
And now here you are — half grown, half guessing,
trying to figure out what kind of life you’re actually writing.
Maybe that’s why you sometimes feel like a side-character in your own movie.
The script was started without you.
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2 · The Problem Underneath the Problems
Romans 5 says,
> “Through one man sin entered the world, and death through sin.”
That’s Paul’s way of saying the story got hijacked early.
Humanity made a decision that bent the plot.
And the world’s been carrying the scar ever since.
You see it everywhere:
in wars that make no sense,
in secrets that break families,
in the quiet self-hate that chews through people’s joy.
Nobody has to teach a child how to lie.
It’s already in the software.
That’s what the Bible calls sin — not just bad behavior,
but a sickness that keeps rewriting every good intention.
It infects the systems, the schools, the songs.
It even shows up in the mirror.
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3 · The Honest Moment
Be real for a second:
Haven’t you ever caught yourself thinking,
“I don’t even understand me”?
You make promises you can’t keep,
feel guilt you can’t shake,
and chase validation that disappears by Monday.
You want freedom, but the freedom you grab
usually ends up owning you.
That’s not just teenage confusion — that’s the human condition.
And right there, God doesn’t look away.
He looks closer.
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4 · God · The Original Author
Psalm 139 says,
> “All the days ordained for me were written in Your book
before one of them came to be.”
That means you’re not random.
Even the chaos has coordinates.
God saw you before your parents ever argued about baby names.
He wrote possibilities into you — creativity, courage, humor, empathy —
but He never took away your freedom to choose the ending.
You’re not a puppet in His story.
You’re a partner He keeps inviting back to the page.
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5 · The Scene Change
Jesus once told a story about a kid who wanted to write his own script.
We call it the prodigal son, but it’s really the story of all of us.
He basically says, “Dad, I’m done living by your rules.
Give me what’s mine, I’m out.”
And the Father — this picture of God — lets him go.
Not because He doesn’t care,
but because love without freedom isn’t love.
The son burns through his money,
his friends ghost him,
and he ends up broke, barefoot, and ashamed.
At his lowest, he rehearses a speech:
“I’ve ruined it. I’ll beg for mercy. Maybe I can be a servant.”
But before he reaches the driveway,
the Father runs.
Wraps him up.
Calls for a robe, a ring, a feast.
He doesn’t just forgive him;
He restores him.
That’s what God does with stories that collapse.
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6 · The Twist
You’d expect God to hand you a new notebook
and say, “Start fresh.”
Instead, He writes grace right over the old lines.
He doesn’t hide the scars; He turns them into punctuation marks.
Every comma where you thought it was a period—
that’s mercy keeping the story alive.
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1 · When the Author Walked Onstage
Most stories keep their writers hidden.
The author lives off-screen, outside the plot.
But ours did something unheard-of—
He walked into His own story.
> “The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” — John 1 : 14
God didn’t fix the world by remote control.
He moved into the neighborhood.
He spoke our language, wore our skin,
felt the ache of homesickness that lives in every human chest.
Jesus didn’t come to erase the story.
He came to redeem it from the inside out.
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2 · The Scene Nobody Expected
If I were writing this story, I’d have God arrive with fireworks,
power, and a soundtrack that rattles mountains.
Instead, He shows up as a baby who can’t even hold His head up.
He worked in a carpenter’s shop,
got blisters,
sneezed sawdust,
laughed at inside jokes with friends who still didn’t get Him.
That’s the humility of love—
entering a broken script without demanding a rewrite first.
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3 · When the Plot Turned Dark
Every good story has a moment where it looks like hope dies.
For Jesus, that moment came on a cross.
He was accused by liars, condemned by cowards,
and nailed up between criminals.
If you had been there, you might’ve thought,
“This is how the story ends—another good person crushed by evil.”
But from heaven’s view, it was the Author using the darkest ink
to write the brightest sentence:
“It is finished.”
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4 · The Exchange That Changes Everything
Romans 5 says,
> “By the trespass of one man, death reigned;
but through one Man, Jesus Christ, grace reigns.”
That means Jesus didn’t just die for the world;
He died as the world.
He took the consequences of every selfish choice—
every curse, every betrayal, every hidden wound—
and absorbed it.
Then, when He rose, He broke the power of the old script.
Death stopped being the period at the end of the sentence.
It became a comma—
a pause before resurrection.
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5 · The Part Where You Step In
Here’s where your choice comes in.
Jesus already rewrote the ending,
but He won’t force you into the new chapter.
He hands you the pen and asks,
“Will you let Me co-author your life?”
Salvation isn’t about pretending the past never happened;
it’s about handing Him the pages you’d rather rip out
and letting grace edit them with love.
You can’t rewrite yesterday,
but you can decide who holds the pen tomorrow.
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6 · What a Rewrite Looks Like
Maybe you’ve seen it already:
a friend who used to carry bitterness, now forgiving.
A classmate who used to chase attention, now peaceful.
Someone who lost hope and found purpose.
That’s what happens when Jesus starts writing—
He doesn’t just correct grammar;
He changes the genre.
Tragedy turns into testimony.
Shame turns into story.
And you realize God’s been using even the messy chapters
to lead you back home.
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7 · You Still Get to Choose
Some people hear this and say,
“I’m too far gone.”
But that’s like a character telling the Author,
“You can’t write me back in.”
He can.
He already did.
The only limit to grace
is the wall you build to keep it out.
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8 · A Moment of Honesty
What’s one page of your story
you wish you could rewrite?
Maybe it’s the argument that broke trust.
Maybe it’s the secret that keeps you up.
Maybe it’s the silent guilt that clings to you like fog.
Whatever it is,
God’s not waiting for you to get over it.
He’s waiting for you to give it to Him.
That’s where healing starts—
not when you fake it,
but when you finally face it
with the One who already knows.
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9 · The Hope Behind the Horizon
Colossians 1 says,
> “He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness
and brought us into the kingdom of the Son He loves.”
Rescued.
That’s the word.
He doesn’t just patch us up.
He transfers us—new citizenship, new direction,
new purpose pulsing in every heartbeat.
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1 · The Father Still Runs
When the prodigal turned for home,
he didn’t hear footsteps of anger behind him—
he saw his father running toward him.
Think about that.
The man he’d embarrassed in public,
the one he’d betrayed for cash,
is sprinting down the road
like dignity no longer matters.
That’s God’s posture toward you.
Not distant.
Not arms crossed.
Running.
He’s not pacing the porch
waiting to see if you’re serious.
He’s halfway down the driveway
with forgiveness in His hands.
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2 · You Can Come Home
Some of you think you have to clean up first—
pray better, act better, feel better.
But grace isn’t a car wash; it’s a rescue.
You don’t need to fix your life to come home.
You come home so He can fix your life.
When the son stumbled into his father’s arms,
he barely got the words out:
> “I’m no longer worthy…”
But the father cut him off.
“Quick! Bring the robe. Bring the ring.”
Translation: “My child is home. The story continues.”
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3 · The Real Ending
Maybe you’ve believed the lie
that your story is already decided—
that the chapters are written in permanent ink.
But the blood of Jesus is better than ink.
It rewrites outcomes.
It erases condemnation.
It adds hope to pages that used to end in fear.
That’s what the cross did.
It was God taking the pen back from sin.
And the resurrection?
That was the Author signing His name
on a brand-new ending:
“To be continued … forever.”
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4 · The Invitation
Jesus says,
> “Behold, I stand at the door and knock.” — Revelation 3 : 20
He’s not kicking it down.
He’s waiting to be welcomed.
Every heart in this room is a door.
And right now,
He’s knocking softly—
through memories, through music,
through the quiet voice that says,
“This is your moment.”
If you hear Him, open.
That’s all.
Just open.
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5 · The Promise
Paul wrote,
> “Nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.” — Romans 8 : 38-39
Not your past.
Not your failures.
Not even your doubts.
Grace doesn’t run out at the edge of your mistakes;
it runs faster.
The Father still runs.
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6 · The Decision
So here’s the question tonight:
If you were born into a story you didn’t write,
will you let Jesus help you finish it?
You can keep living the plot that’s already hurting you,
or you can hand Him the pen.
He won’t erase you.
He’ll reveal you—
the you He saw before the world ever began.
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7 · The Prayer
Maybe you just whisper it under your breath:
> “God, I’m tired of pretending.
I want You in my story.
I’m giving You the pages I’ve messed up.
Write something new.”
That’s not a formula.
That’s surrender.
And heaven always answers surrender with celebration.
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8 · The Final Word
When the prodigal’s father threw the party,
he said something that belongs to you too:
> “This my child was dead and is alive again.”
That’s resurrection language.
That’s your future tense.
You were born into a story you didn’t write—
but tonight,
you can start co-writing the ending with the God
who never stopped believing you were worth the ink.
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***
So if you walk away remembering one line,
let it be this:
Grace doesn’t rewrite who you are;
it reveals who you were always meant to be.
