The Year of the Lord's Favour
Isaiah 61
Imagine a house on fire. The flames are spreading rapidly, devouring everything in their path. Smoke fills the rooms, making it impossible to breathe, let alone think. In such a moment, would you call an architect to discuss how to rebuild the house? Would you call a counselor to mediate between the fire and the walls? No. You would call for help. Firefighters, paramedics, anyone who could get you out alive. The priority is not repair or reconciliation; the priority is survival.
Our family was that burning house. Pain was the fire, raging unchecked for years, suffocating us all. But how can healing begin when the flames are still roaring around you? Conversations have its place, but not while you’re trapped in a blaze. No amount of talking could extinguish the fire or undo the immediate danger we faced. The first step had to be escape. Removal from the source of harm.
The rescue team acted as the firefighters in our crisis. They didn’t ask who started the fire or who was most to blame; they acted to protect us. They pulled us from the wreckage, ensuring that each of us. Me, my husband and our two boys, had the chance to breathe again. They didn’t choose sides or suggest that one person’s burns were more deserving of treatment than another’s. They saved us because that’s what was necessary.
But even as we were being rescued, the misconceptions lingered. People seem to believe that if only we had tried harder, things would become easier. They don’t understand that trying to mediate in the middle of an inferno only gives the fire more time to destroy.
Healing couldn’t happen in the burning building. We had to leave it behind. Once we were out, the next step wasn’t rebuilding but it was treating the burns and the smoke inhalation. Recovery takes time. Healing is slow. But it is only after we heal that we can begin to assess the damage and eventually rebuild.
But some still insist, perhaps they don’t see that a family requires safety as a foundation, a space free from fear. In our case, safety was impossible until the fire was extinguished, and for that, we needed intervention. It wasn’t about punishment. It was about survival. And just as firefighters don’t stop mid-rescue to argue over the cause of the blaze, the authorities didn’t hesitate to act when we needed saving.
Jesus, too, walked into the aftermath of the fire. He didn’t just rescue me.He has paid the price for the pain we have endured and the pain we have inflicted. I cannot deny that I, too, played a role in the fire that raged through our family. I have repented for the ways I contributed to the damage. The careless sparks I might have struck, the moments I failed to douse the flames when I could have, and the ways my actions or inactions fanned the inferno.
When I look at the wreckage, I see the cost of my guilt as well. I know that healing comes with its own price. There is a weight to the damage I’ve caused, a cost I cannot afford to pay. I’ve tried to tally it, to imagine the compensation it would take to repair what was broken, and the enormity of it tells me it can only end in a catastrophe.
Here’s the thing about grace: Jesus walks into the ashes, looks at the guilty party, and says, ‘I’ve already paid the cost.’ Jesus doesn’t deny my guilt, nor does He excuse it. Instead, He steps into the space between what I owe and what I could never repay. He lifts the burden I cannot carry and says, ‘Your freedom has been bought, and the restoration is My gift to you.’ As I sit in the ashes, I see a truth I cannot ignore: grace transforms guilt into hope.
..........He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners. Isaiah 61
The same Jesus who saved me from the fire also saves me from being consumed by my shame. He doesn’t just remove the chains, I believe He uses them to forge something new, something stronger than before. As I rest, as I heal, I begin to see the beauty in this new beginning. I pray for my family, that they too will find freedom. That they won’t hold onto the scars of this fire as reminders of pain but as symbols of grace. Scars are part of the story, but they don’t define us, but they testify to the survival, the redemption, and the chance to rebuild. Freedom doesn’t erase the scars, but it redefines them.
..........And to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. Isaiah 61
While some may still question the path we’ve taken, I know this: surviving the fire required intervention, even when others didn’t understand. Only by stepping out of the flames could we begin to truly live.
....They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations. Isaiah 61
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