What If God Isn't Disappointed — He's Just Waiting With You?

There is a version of coming back to God that looks nothing like what we imagined it would.

We think return will feel triumphant. Resolved. We picture ourselves arriving with the right words, the right posture, the right amount of healing already done. We think we need to have something to bring Him before we can come back to Him.

And then we get to the shore of John 21 and find Jesus already there. Fire already lit. Breakfast already made. No agenda. Just presence.

He didn't wait for Peter to apologize. He didn't open with a question. He fed him first.

The Shore

By the time we get to John 21, Peter is in a particular kind of hiding. Not the dramatic hiding of Genesis 3. Not fig leaves and disappearing into the trees. This is the hiding of a man who has gone back to what he knew before. Back to the boat. Back to the fishing. Back to the version of himself that existed before Jesus called him — and before he denied ever knowing Him three times around a fire. He was not absent or estranged from the disciples. He was absent from himself.

I understand that kind of return. After years in ministry — years of giving, leading, and pouring out — I came to a season where I had nothing left to perform. No idealism. No youthful certainty. No energy to pretend I was further along than I was. I went back to what I knew. I got quiet. I got still. And Jesus showed up on the shore with food for my soul. Not a sermon. Not a to-do list. Not a recounting of everything that had gone wrong. Just… come. Eat. I got you.

That was the moment I stopped running. Not because I got stronger — because I ran out of runway. And what I found at the end of it was not judgment, but a fire on the shore. The smell of a life-giving meal made by a God who had been waiting there the whole time.

The Question Beneath the Question

After breakfast, Jesus turns to Peter and asks him something.

He asks it three times. And if you have ever read this passage and felt the weight of that repetition — once for each denial — you are not wrong to feel it. Jesus is doing something deliberate here. He is meeting Peter in the exact place of his wound.

But here is what the original Greek reveals that our English translations can only approximate. The first two times Jesus asks, He uses the word agape — the highest, most sacrificial form of love. The love that costs everything. The love Peter had claimed at the Last Supper when he said, "I will lay down my life for you."

And both times, Peter answers with a different word. Phileo. I am fond of you. I care for you. You are my friend.

It seems to me that Peter cannot bring himself to claim agape — not yet. He has seen his face in the flames of that fire where he sat warming himself as he betrayed Jesus. He knows now what he is capable of. He is not yet confident enough to make the grand declaration of agape again. He offers what he honestly has — phileo — I love you as a friend. That much I know is true.

Something happens the third time. Do you see what Jesus does? He meets Peter where he is. He drops the word agape and meets Peter in phileo. "Do you care for me, Peter? Do you have fondness for me?" He does not demand that Peter rise to where he is supposed to be. He connects with Peter where he actually is.

That is who God is to us. Not standing at the top of a mountain demanding your best self before He will engage with you — but walking down to the shore where you are, sitting with you in the space you are in. He wants you to bring Him what you actually have to give. He knows He can and will multiply it exponentially.

The Reset

Three times Jesus asks. Three times Peter answers. And three times Jesus gives him back his calling.

This is not a reinstatement ceremony. This is a restoration — and there is a difference. A reinstatement is institutional: here is your role back, here are your responsibilities. A restoration is personal: I see you. I know what happened. I know what it cost you. And I am giving you back to yourself.

Peter did not return to ministry the same man who had left. He returned with something he did not have before — the knowledge of his own weakness, held alongside the experience of Jesus' faithfulness. He no longer served God from a place of idealism or the thrill of the calling, but because he had seen his own face clearly, seen himself at his worst, and found Jesus still there waiting for him on the other side of it.

That kind of comeback is different. It is quieter. It is durable. It is not performative. It simply loves in whatever word it honestly has, and lets the Holy Spirit do the rest.

For You, Right Here

Maybe you are on the shore today.

Maybe you have gone back to what you knew before — the old rhythms, the old numbing, the familiar version of yourself that existed before God called you into something deeper. Maybe you have been hiding in plain sight: present in your life, but absent from yourself.

Or maybe you are like Peter on the shore — sitting with Jesus but not sure you have the right words yet. Not sure you are healed enough, whole enough, or far enough along to offer Him what He is asking. He is not seeking perfection. He is asking for your honesty and your commitment to stay beside Him. He is seeking relationship with you.

Come and eat first. The conversation can wait until you are fed.

The fire is already lit. The food is already made. He will be on the shore before you get there — waiting. Come and eat.