Returning From The Drift
When Jesus Meets Us on the Shoreline
I can still remember what it felt like to drift. After my husband passed away, the ache of grief hollowed me out in ways I couldn’t explain. I still believed in God, but His presence felt distant, and I didn’t know how to find Him again. Over time, I wandered into New Age teachings, thinking I could manifest peace and purpose on my own. I numbed my pain with alcohol, filling the silence with anything that would quiet the ache. I searched for meaning in a thousand places, but no matter what I reached for, nothing could fill the emptiness. Somewhere in the wandering, I lost the intimacy I once had with the Lord — my first love — and I didn’t even realize it was happening until I was far from Him. That’s how it so often happens.
The drift isn’t always loud; it’s quiet. Subtle. Almost unnoticeable at first. We get busy. We chase distractions. We rely on ourselves instead of surrendering to Him. And then one day, we look up and realize how far we’ve wandered. This is exactly what Jesus warned the church in Ephesus in Revelation 2:4 when He said, “I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first.” The Ephesian believers were doing good things. Outwardly, they looked strong and faithful. They were active, discerning, hardworking, and committed to truth — but their passion had faded. They had replaced intimacy with activity, devotion with duty, and somewhere along the way, their hearts grew distant from the One who loved them first.
And maybe you’ve felt it too. How do you know when you’ve lost your first love? Sometimes it’s obvious — rebellion, sin, addictions, the things we know lead us away from God. But often it’s quiet: when you serve God but no longer seek Him, when you open your Bible but your heart no longer burns with hunger, when you’re busy doing “for” Him but forgetting to sit “with” Him. You can build ministries, teach Bible studies, lead others — and still find your heart has wandered. I know because I’ve lived it.
But Jesus doesn’t leave us in our wandering. He pursues us. That’s His heart. In Jeremiah 2:2, God speaks to His people and says, “I remember the devotion of your youth, your love as a bride, how you followed Me in the wilderness, in a land not sown.” Can you hear the longing in those words? God remembers when His people loved Him with abandon, when their hearts were tender and surrendered. But over time, they drifted, trading living water for empty wells. And yet, He didn’t stop loving them. He didn’t give up.
In Hosea 2:14, we see His heart again: “Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her.” The wilderness — the place of stripping, silence, and surrender — becomes the place where God restores intimacy. He doesn’t shame us into returning; He draws us with love. He leads us into the very places we want to avoid and meets us there with His tenderness, turning our valleys of trouble into doorways of hope. That’s exactly what He did with me.
God moved me — literally — to the middle of nowhere, Indiana. I didn’t know it then, but He was placing me in the heart of the Bible Belt so He could wake me from the spiritual dead. He used an unexpected job and, in His goodness, He used my new husband to lead me back to life. What started as brokenness slowly became restoration. The New Age teachings I once chased fell empty, and the numbing patterns of alcoholism lost their grip. God led me back into His Word, back into His presence, back to the One I had left behind. And now, somehow, I find myself here — teaching theology, leading a small women’s Bible study, hosting a podcast that traces worship songs back to Scripture. If you had told me years ago this would be my life, I wouldn’t have believed you. But that’s what happens when grace calls your name. It lifts you from the ashes and writes a story you never expected to live.
When I read John 21:15-17, I see myself on that shoreline with Peter. After denying Jesus three times, Peter went back to what he knew — fishing. Not because he stopped believing, but because shame whispered that he had failed too deeply to ever be used by God again. I’ve felt that. I know the pull of returning to the familiar, of settling for surviving when you were made to follow. But Jesus didn’t leave Peter in the boat. On that quiet morning, He recreated the moment of Peter’s first calling — another miraculous catch, another invitation, another charcoal fire waiting on the shore. And then came the question that pierced Peter’s soul:
“Simon, son of John, do you love Me more than these?”
“Yes, Lord; You know that I love You.”
“Feed My lambs.”
“Simon, son of John, do you love Me?”
“Yes, Lord; You know that I love You.”
“Tend My sheep.”
“Simon, son of John, do you love Me?”
Peter was grieved and said, “Lord, You know everything; You know that I love You.”
“Feed My sheep.”
Three questions. Three denials undone. Three restorations spoken over shame. But the beauty goes deeper when we look at the words. Jesus first asks if Peter loves Him with agape — a love of total surrender, the kind of love we’re called to in Matthew 22:37 when Jesus says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” Peter, humbled and broken, responds both times with phileo — affectionate, brotherly love, a love that admits its limits. The third time, Jesus comes down to Peter’s level: “Do you phileo Me?” And Peter grieves, not because Jesus doubts him, but because Jesus knows him — really knows him — and still calls him.
That’s what undoes me. Peter didn’t have enough, and Jesus still chose him. I didn’t have enough, and Jesus still chose me. And maybe you feel that too — like you’ve wandered too far, failed too deeply, or grown too cold for God to call you close again. But hear me: if Jesus could meet Peter on the shoreline of his shame, He can meet me at mine. He can meet you on yours too.
That’s why Revelation 2 hits so deeply. Jesus isn’t just speaking to Ephesus; He’s speaking to us: “Remember the love you had at first. Repent of where you’ve wandered. Return to Me.” This is the call. To remember where it all began — the tenderness, the fire, the sweetness of His presence. To repent — not in guilt, but in surrender — laying down everything that has drawn our hearts away. And to return — not to religious activity or surface-level striving, but to intimacy, to the quiet, transforming love of Jesus.
This isn’t about recreating a feeling. It’s about rediscovering the One who first loved us, the Bridegroom who still pursues His bride. That’s what He did with Peter. That’s what He did with Israel. That’s what He did with me. And it’s what He longs to do with you.
Maybe you’ve been busy working for God but far from His presence. Maybe, like me, you’ve wandered into places you never thought you’d go. Maybe shame has convinced you you’re disqualified. But Jesus is standing on the shoreline. He has already prepared the place where restoration begins. He’s not waiting for you to clean yourself up or prove your devotion. He meets you where you are, just as you are, and He loves you enough not to leave you there.
Your story isn’t over. Your failure isn’t final. And your first love isn’t lost.
The same Jesus who called Peter from his boat, who pursued Israel in her wilderness, who spoke to a church that had grown cold, is calling you back to Himself. He’s still asking the same question He asked that morning by the sea:
“Do you love Me?”
If this blog post resonated with you as it does me, would you pray alongside of me?
Jesus… I hear You calling me.
You’ve been standing on the shoreline of my life, even when I wandered. Even when I chased after lesser loves. Even when I let the noise of this world drown out Your voice. I see now how far I’ve drifted from my first love — from You.
And yet, You’ve never stopped pursuing me.
Thank You for the tenderness of Your invitation. Thank You for meeting me here — not where I think I should be, but exactly where I am. Like Peter, I bring You my heart in all its limits, all its weakness, all its longing. I don’t have perfect love to offer You today, but I give You the love I have — and I trust that You’ll grow it into something deeper.
Lord, I remember the devotion of my youth, the sweetness of walking closely with You, the days when my heart burned to be near You. I repent of the ways I’ve wandered — the distractions I’ve clung to, the idols I’ve pursued, the places I’ve tried to find life apart from You. And today, I return. Not to striving. Not to performance. Not to surface-level faith. But to You — the One who loved me first.
Restore to me the joy of my salvation. Rekindle the fire that once burned within me. Make the wilderness of my wandering a doorway of hope. Remind me that my failures don’t disqualify me — they simply make room for Your grace to meet me here.
Jesus, teach me to love You with all my heart, all my soul, and all my mind. Draw me back to the place of intimacy. Pull me closer to Your heart. And as You restore me, use my life — not for my glory, but for Yours.
I’m standing on the shoreline, Lord. I hear You asking, “Do you love Me?”
And with all that I am — and all that I hope to be — my answer is yes.
Amen.
