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SERMON SECTION 1: The Big Question
There comes a time in many lives when a quiet statement slips out, almost unnoticed: “I don’t trust my feelings anymore.” It’s not a cry of despair. It’s something deeper—a signal. A hint that something has come loose beneath the surface.
In our age, emotions are often treated like sacred evidence, proof that something is real, or right, or meaningful. What if that signal is scrambled? What if the voice inside us isn’t guiding us toward truth, but echoing from something broken?
That brokenness, the ache of not knowing what to trust, may be telling us more than we think. It could be a symptom of something larger—a structure once stable, now fractured.
There is a framework we begin to explore here, one called the caretaker vantage model, part of a larger way of understanding known as Structural Christianity. It offers this starting point: that creation wasn’t meant to be chaotic or uncertain. It was designed to run in harmony, guided by a Divine Father—the ultimate Source of all being. But the system also allowed freedom, and that freedom came through another role, a free caretaker, meant to stand at a vantage outside of creation, overseeing it with both clarity and loyalty.
That role was not symbolic. It was real. And the one who first filled it fell—badly. The fall wasn’t just personal. It was structural. And that rebellion left behind more than a moral failure. It infected the way we sense, the way we decide, the way we feel. That corruption echoes through our emotions, which is why sometimes, the voice in our chest tells us to do the very thing that breaks us.
So when someone says, “I don’t trust my feelings,” they’re not broken. They might be waking up. Because if that caretaker vantage—the one meant to help us see straight—was compromised, then what we feel most deeply might not be insight. It might be distortion. And that changes everything.
It means that trust, real trust, must be placed somewhere else. Not in ourselves. Not in fleeting emotional highs. But in something beyond us—an anchor not swayed by our moods or memories. That anchor is the Divine Father, who has not left the system adrift. He has appointed a new caretaker, a Divine Champion, to occupy that external vantage rightly.
This is not a return to vague faith. It’s a shift in perspective. The Divine Champion stands not as a symbolic figure, but as a structural necessity—a person who reestablishes the broken vantage and heals the system from the outside in.
The model doesn’t stop there. It offers a new way to understand even heaven and hell. Not as reward and punishment, but as structural outcomes. Heaven becomes the restored creation, aligned with the Divine Father and maintained by the Divine Champion and the Living Bond. Hell becomes not eternal rage, but necessary removal—an extraction of what refuses to be healed.
All of this brings us back to the question: where do we place our trust, if not in our feelings? The caretaker vantage model tells us this: the role that once failed is now restored in Christ. And in Him, the clarity returns. Not all at once. Not perfectly, yet. But steadily, surely, faithfully.
It is not enough to tell people to “have more faith.” Faith is good—but the structure must be sound. That’s what this model offers. A sound structure. A reason for the chaos. And a way back toward wholeness.
So when we look around and wonder why people are drifting—why they chase what feels good, or crash in guilt, or burn with zeal only to collapse again—it’s not just human weakness. It’s sabotage. Sabotage embedded in the very framework we inherited. And the answer is not to throw out feelings. It is to realign them.
But that alignment can only happen when the caretaker role is held by someone who cannot be corrupted. Someone who has already withstood the test. That someone is Christ.
We begin here, with a simple truth: the heart cannot be the compass, not until it is retrained under the guidance of the true caretaker. As it says in Proverbs 3:5 (KJV), “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.” There is a reason that ancient verse still whispers through the ages. It speaks not only to personal faith but to structural reality.
This is the beginning of the journey. And the first answer to the question, “Why can’t I trust my feelings?” Because they were never meant to lead. They were meant to follow.
SERMON SECTION 2: The Deeper Problem of Distorted Feelings
Many of us have heard the advice: “Just follow your heart.” It sounds comforting. Even spiritual. In church circles, people speak of an “inner witness,” a subtle stirring that seems to say, “This is right.” Outside the church, feelings are framed as authenticity—as proof that we’re being true to ourselves. But deep down, many of us have started to question whether those signals are really trustworthy.
The caretaker vantage model says this questioning is not failure. It’s wisdom. Because there’s a reason feelings can pull us in opposite directions. There’s a reason they’re so easily hijacked. It’s not just emotional instability. It’s not just moral failure. It’s structural sabotage—baked into the very way we perceive and interpret the world.
We inherited a compromised vantage. A position that was originally created to help guide, guard, and correct us was turned against us. The one who held that caretaker role—the vantage outside ourselves, free and clear—chose pride. Chose rebellion. And the result? Human nature itself was affected.
Not just our actions. Our instincts. Our sense of right and wrong. Even our moments of spiritual inspiration can be filtered through that sabotage.
So when someone says they “feel led,” the caretaker vantage model challenges us to ask: led by what? If the lens is corrupted, the view will be skewed, no matter how sincere the viewer.
This helps explain why two equally devout people can have opposite feelings about the same issue. Why some spiritual experiences seem powerful, yet produce division or confusion. The problem is not sincerity. It’s vantage.
Traditional theology often says we “fell in Adam,” and that’s true—but the caretaker vantage model takes it further. It says the fall didn’t just stain us with guilt. It warped the system that interprets reality itself. And that’s why no amount of moral effort or emotional insight can fix the problem on its own. We cannot simply feel our way back to truth.
Even in the world of therapy and self-help, where people explore their emotions to find clarity, something is still missing. Reflection can be useful. Healing is important. But unless the underlying structure is addressed—unless the corrupted vantage is replaced—all we’re doing is rearranging furniture in a house with a broken foundation.
The world has noticed something is wrong. Psychologists speak of cognitive biases and emotional hijacking. Scientists explore the brain’s chemical triggers. But what few are willing to say is this: there’s a larger sabotage at work. One that no internal adjustment can fully overcome.
The same issue creeps into religious assumptions. In many places, God’s sovereignty is treated like a blanket statement: “If God is in control, then whatever I feel must be part of His plan.” But that overlooks the fact that the Divine Father, in His freedom, allowed for a separate vantage—one that could go wrong. And it did.
And yet, many still cling to the idea that if they just pray harder or believe more strongly, their feelings will guide them rightly. But faith, even deep faith, cannot replace a necessary structure.
Even secular views fall into a similar trap. They might reduce feelings to chemicals or evolutionary programming—no cosmic meaning, no deeper truth. Just neurons and survival strategies. But that worldview offers no escape from chaos—only the illusion of control in a sea of randomness.
So whether we spiritualize our feelings or strip them of meaning entirely, the result is the same. We are stuck with a compromised vantage and no clear way forward.
Unless.
Unless a new vantage is offered. A different occupant. One not shaped by sabotage, but aligned with the Divine Father. One who restores the original function of the caretaker role. That is the heart of the caretaker vantage model. Not that feelings must be suppressed or exalted, but that they must be brought under a new oversight. A trustworthy one.
This also changes how we view judgment. In traditional thinking, hell is often portrayed as either a horror movie or a divine tantrum. But the caretaker vantage model sees judgment not as emotional vengeance—but structural necessity. If something remains bound to a corrupt vantage, it cannot last. It must be removed. Not because God delights in destruction, but because His creation cannot thrive under sabotage.
This is not a fear tactic. It is architectural truth. What is unsustainable cannot be sustained. And the Divine Father will not allow what is broken to distort the system forever.
This brings us to the core insight of this section. If your feelings are in chaos, you are not broken. You are not failing. You are detecting the tremor of a deeper collapse. And the answer is not to mute your emotions or indulge them blindly—but to shift your vantage.
Only then can your emotional life begin to heal. Only then can your instincts begin to align with truth. Because only under the Divine Champion does the vantage return to what it was always meant to be—clear, free, loyal.
In the chapters ahead, we’ll turn to Scripture. Not to cherry-pick verses, but to see the full arc—from Genesis to Revelation—through the lens of this model. And we’ll find that the story it tells is not merely theological. It is structural. It’s the story of a system sabotaged, and a Champion sent to restore it.
And so we keep asking the deeper question—not just “Can I trust my feelings?” but Whose vantage am I standing under? Because the answer to that question changes everything.
SERMON SECTION 3: The Structural Story in Scripture
To understand the turmoil within us—the conflict between what we feel and what is true—we must go back to the beginning. Not just our beginning, but the beginning of all things.
In the very first words of the Bible, Genesis 1:1 (KJV) declares, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” Here, we see the Divine Father, the Source of all that exists, initiating a reality that is ordered, purposeful, and good. But the next verses do not describe a solitary God in stillness. There is motion. There is structure. And there is a hint of something more.
By verse 26, God says, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.” That “us” has long intrigued theologians. In the caretaker vantage model, this plural speaks to something essential—a triune design, involving not just the Divine Father, but a distinct external vantage (the Divine Champion), and a living presence that unites them (the Living Bond).
What follows is not just a story of humanity. It’s a story of structure. The garden was more than paradise. It was a system, placed under oversight. Adam was told to dress it and keep it. But Adam wasn’t the only one watching.
Another occupant was present. A being entrusted with a higher vantage, meant to guide, to test, to correct. But instead, that being turned inward. The one designed to oversee creation from a stable, external place chose sabotage. And so, in Genesis 3, the serpent speaks. The words are subtle. But they are fatal: “Ye shall not surely die.”
A challenge. Not to Adam. Not to Eve. But to the Divine Father Himself. This is where the corruption begins—not with an action, but with a broken vantage. The caretaker meant to align with God now speaks against Him. Eve, trusting what she feels, what she sees, what seems good, takes the fruit. And the system cracks.
From that moment on, the structure is compromised. The sabotage doesn’t just affect outer creation. It seeps into perception. Into emotion. Into how we discern right from wrong. And this story is not just metaphor. It’s the framework.
The same pattern appears in the book of Job. In chapter 1, Satan appears among the sons of God. He stands before the Divine Father—not as a stranger, but as a former occupant of the caretaker vantage. Still roaming. Still accusing. Still undermining. “Whence comest thou?” the Lord asks. And the answer? “From going to and fro in the earth.” Not just observing. Distorting.
Later, in 1 Chronicles 21:1, we read that “Satan stood up against Israel.” The sabotage has scaled. It now influences nations, policies, and kings. What began in a garden now infects an entire people.
But the story does not end there. In Isaiah 7:14, a prophecy breaks through: “Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” This is not just a sign of hope. It is the signal of a new occupant. A new Champion. The Divine Champion. One who will take the vantage seat rightly. One who will not fall.
Isaiah 9:6 gives Him titles that stretch the imagination: “Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” This is no ordinary figure. This is not a backup. This is restoration in flesh.
Scripture is clear: the original occupant, later called Lucifer, chose ascent over allegiance. In Isaiah 14, the cry is recorded: “I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most High.” The fall was not about violence. It was about vantage. Ezekiel 28:15 echoes this truth: “Thou wast perfect… till iniquity was found in thee.” The flaw was not in the system. The flaw was in the one who chose to sabotage it.
Then, the Gospels arrive. In Matthew 4, Jesus enters the wilderness—and the fallen Champion reappears. The challenge is direct: “If thou be the Son of God…” The old vantage tests the new one. But this time, the answer is different. The Divine Champion does not waver. He responds with Scripture, with truth, and with alignment.
In Matthew 16, Peter resists the idea of Jesus suffering. He feels protective. He means well. But Jesus rebukes him sharply: “Get thee behind me, Satan.” Not because Peter is evil, but because his feelings, unaligned, echo the voice of the fallen vantage.
In Mark 7, Jesus teaches that what defiles us comes from within—“evil thoughts… pride… foolishness.” This is not just sin in the moral sense. This is structural contamination. Our emotions, our instincts, our impulses—they have been shaped by the failed vantage.
But the correction has begun. In John 1:1, the declaration is made: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” The Divine Champion is not just a helper. He is God. He is the rightful occupant.
John 1:14 says, “The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.” The new caretaker steps into the broken system—not from above, but from within. He will endure the sabotage. And He will not fail.
In John 10:30, Jesus says, “I and my Father are one.” Not identical. Aligned. This is the very heart of the triune structure—the Divine Father, the Divine Champion, and the Living Bond.
At Pentecost, in Acts 2, the Living Bond is poured out. The Holy Spirit no longer rests on a few. It indwells believers. The structural realignment is now communal. The same Spirit that animated the Divine Champion now binds His people to Him.
Romans 5 explains this in vivid terms. By one man, Adam, sabotage entered. But through the Divine Champion, grace overflows. Romans 7 reveals the struggle: “What I hate, that do I.” The internal war is real. But the solution is not self-effort. It is vantage shift.
Galatians 2:20 says, “Christ liveth in me.” Not as inspiration. As occupant. As vantage.
1 Corinthians 2 reminds us that natural minds cannot grasp this truth. Only by the Spirit—the Living Bond—can we perceive it.
Colossians 1:17 proclaims, “By him all things consist.” He is not a patch. He is the structure.
And Revelation declares the end: the old serpent is cast down. Death and hell are removed. A new heaven and earth are revealed—not as fantasy, but as the final state of restored structure.
So when we ask, “Can I trust my feelings?” the Bible answers by showing us a system corrupted—and a new Champion who restores the way we see, think, and feel. And the real question becomes: Whose oversight am I living under?
Because only one vantage leads to truth. And only one Champion will not fall.
SERMON SECTION 4: The Journey to Realignment
Let’s return to the quiet moment where this all began—the statement that so many have whispered in weariness: “I don’t trust my feelings anymore.” That confession may sound like defeat, but it’s not. It’s the beginning of clarity. A recognition that what we’ve used to navigate the world, what we thought would lead us home, keeps leading us into the storm.
And here, the caretaker vantage model makes its most distinct claim. It tells us that what we feel—what we instinctively trust about ourselves, about others, about God—is not just emotionally unreliable. It’s structurally misaligned. There’s a deeper reason our internal compass spins wildly. Because the signal is being jammed. Sabotaged. By an old influence, still echoing through our instincts.
The one originally entrusted with oversight—the caretaker who was meant to steward creation with loyalty—turned traitor. And that betrayal didn’t just wound the system. It rewired it. The corruption became inherited. And so we are born into a framework that already bends toward distortion.
This is why salvation, in the structural model, must be more than forgiveness. It must be more than moral effort or emotional sincerity. It must be a vantage switch. That’s the heart of this argument.
The Divine Father, in His absolute sovereignty, did not design a closed system. He allowed space for a free occupant—a vantage point distinct from Himself, one that could correct and support the system in real time. But that freedom also made rebellion possible. And when it came, it wasn’t a mistake. It was sabotage.
That sabotage embedded itself in how we interpret everything—our relationships, our temptations, even our concept of God. So when someone insists, “I feel strongly that this is right,” we must ask: Which vantage is speaking? Is it the voice of alignment? Or the whisper of sabotage?
The caretaker vantage model doesn’t deny human freedom. In fact, it affirms it more deeply than most systems. But it warns that freedom within a collapsed framework becomes self-sabotaging unless it is re-anchored externally.
And that’s where the Divine Champion enters—not as a moral example, not as a spiritual inspiration, but as the replacement occupant. One who shares the essence of the Divine Father, yet remains distinct enough to hold the external role faithfully. One who cannot be compromised.
In Him, the system begins to heal. And this healing isn’t mystical alone. It’s architectural. The Divine Champion doesn’t just forgive us. He retakes the seat of oversight. He reclaims the vantage that was lost.
Which means we are no longer forced to interpret life through a compromised lens. We are offered a different one. A secure one. And through the Living Bond—the Spirit who joins the Father and the Champion—we can begin to live, think, and feel in alignment with the truth.
But the implications go further still. Because the fallen occupant—the one still active in the world—doesn’t always sound evil. That’s part of the danger. Sometimes he speaks in tones of moral outrage. Sometimes in emotional certainty. Sometimes in what sounds like faith.
But if the voice does not align with the Divine Champion, it cannot be trusted. And so the question for us isn’t whether we are trying hard enough. It’s whether we’ve transferred vantage. Whether we’ve turned from the fallen caretaker and taken shelter under the rightful one.
This model also changes how we understand judgment. In many traditional views, God’s judgment is imagined as anger unleashed, a fury that punishes forever. But the caretaker vantage approach reframes it: judgment is not rage. It is extraction. Whatever remains bound to the collapsing vantage—whatever insists on staying under the sabotage—must eventually be removed. Not out of malice, but necessity. The structure cannot be stabilized while sabotage still infects it.
This is not cruelty. It’s design. If you remain under the fallen Champion’s rule, you inherit his end. But if you transfer your vantage, you step into the system that cannot fail.
The beauty of this argument is that it makes room for both God’s sovereignty and our freedom. The Divine Father remains in control. But He chooses to act through a structure that includes a genuinely free caretaker. And when that freedom is misused, He does not crush it—He replaces it. With the Divine Champion, who holds the role in perfect harmony with the Father.
So here is the choice: remain in a system where your feelings, instincts, and perceptions are shaped by a corrupted lens. Or step into alignment with the Champion who restores the design. It’s not about feeling more religious. It’s about standing under a different vantage.
Because without that shift, no feeling—no matter how powerful or sincere—can be trusted. The fallen Champion was subtle. That’s how sabotage spreads. Not by obvious rebellion, but by distortion that feels right.
This is why history is filled with tragic movements led by people who felt absolutely certain. Their downfall wasn’t a lack of passion. It was a corrupted vantage. And this is why we must go beyond emotion. Beyond sentiment. Beyond even moral effort. We must transfer alignment. Because only one vantage will stand. And only one Champion remains faithful.
SERMON SECTION 5: Conclusion – Life Under a New Vantage
If our feelings can’t be trusted—if our internal compass has been compromised by a fallen vantage—then how should we live? How should we choose, decide, or even love? These aren’t theoretical questions. They reach into the moments that matter most. When anxiety rises. When grief hollows the soul. When desire burns. When joy bursts unexpectedly into our chest. We feel. Constantly. Instinctively. And if the caretaker vantage model is right—if our emotions are being shaped by sabotage—then what do we do with them?
The answer is not to ignore our feelings. And it’s not to follow them blindly. It’s to reorder them under the oversight of the Divine Champion. This model invites a new kind of spiritual practice. A quieter discipline, where we pause—not to suppress our emotions or exalt them, but to ask: Who is overseeing this feeling? Who is speaking through this reaction?
Each emotion becomes an invitation. Not a judge, not a dictator, but a signal. A question. A place to seek alignment. Over time, something powerful happens. When our emotions are continually brought to the Divine Champion—tested, shaped, refined—they begin to heal. The inner sensor, so long distorted by sabotage, starts to recalibrate. Slowly. Gently. But unmistakably.
This isn’t instant perfection. It’s realignment. And that realignment doesn’t stop with individuals. It transforms communities. Churches, fellowships, and groups that understand the caretaker vantage approach begin to relate differently. Instead of following the loudest passion or the most magnetic personality, they learn to ask together: Is this teaching aligned with the Divine Champion? Or does it echo something else?
When that becomes the standard—not emotional charge, not tradition, not even the comfort of agreement, but alignment with the right vantage—a congregation gains resilience. It becomes less vulnerable to manipulation. Less prone to spiritual confusion. It becomes, little by little, a community that stands under the truth instead of being tossed by every passing feeling.
And on a wider scale, this model speaks into philosophy itself. For centuries, thinkers have asked whether truth is objective or subjective, whether we find it by reason or by intuition. The caretaker vantage model answers: truth is structural. It flows from a Prime authority, revealed through a faithful Champion, and made knowable by a Living Bond. That structure makes truth both relational and reliable. It is neither locked in abstract formulas nor left to personal whims. It is anchored.
This has deep implications for mental health, too. Many suffer under emotional storms—depression, obsession, addiction. And while therapy and medication can bring needed relief, the caretaker vantage model offers another layer of clarity: what if the chaos is not just psychological, but structural? What if part of the suffering is the result of living under a sabotaged vantage?
In that case, real healing doesn’t just come from better habits. It comes from a vantage switch. From stepping out of the domain of the fallen Champion and under the care of the Divine one. That kind of spiritual reorientation doesn’t eliminate struggle. But it does reframe it. Now, the battle is not just with chemical imbalances or bad memories—it is part of a cosmic process of restoration.
Even the concept of free will takes on new light. So often, debates swirl about whether we are truly free or merely following a script. The caretaker vantage model says: you are free—but you’re choosing from within a broken structure. Your will is real, but the vantage is sabotaged.
So yes, you can choose—but unless you shift your vantage, you may continue choosing harm while believing you’re choosing good. That’s not condemnation. That’s a diagnosis. And it’s why the Divine Champion was sent—not to coerce our will, but to free it.
And then, there’s the question of suffering. Why would a good God allow pain, confusion, deception? This model answers: because real freedom demands a real vantage. And that vantage must be free enough to betray—but also redeemable enough to be replaced. The Divine Father doesn’t delight in our pain. But He doesn’t cancel freedom to avoid it either. Instead, He provides a structural solution: a new occupant who restores the system from within.
That’s not a distant theological idea. That’s how God acts in your life. And in our everyday discipleship, the implications are just as profound. Following Christ becomes less about striving for perfection, and more about learning to switch vantage in every moment. In prayer. In conflict. In desire. In sorrow. We ask, Am I responding through the sabotaged lens? Or am I seeing through the Champion’s eyes?
Over time, our decisions change. Our instincts shift. Our inner world begins to reflect the structure of heaven. And as that happens in each believer, something astonishing happens in the world. Emotional chaos begins to quiet. Not disappear. But come under order. The reckless chase for feeling fades. The tyranny of guilt loosens. And truth—stable, enduring, wise—takes its place.
This is not emotional suppression. This is emotional liberation. Under the right vantage, feelings become trustworthy again—not because they’re perfect, but because they’ve been realigned. This is what it means to live under the care of the Divine Champion. A life where peace is not just a mood, but a sign of structural integrity. Where joy is not a fleeting pleasure, but the resonance of living in harmony with the true design. Where sadness is not weakness, but an honest response—now safely cradled by a vantage that sees the whole. And in this light, the world begins to heal. One heart. One mind. One vantage at a time.
SERMON SECTION 6: Final Reflections
And so we come to the close—not of the struggle, but of the beginning of its answer. We started with a whisper. A moment of honesty. “I don’t trust my feelings anymore.” Now we can see why that whisper matters. It is not a loss of hope. It is the first sign of awakening. A realization that the compass inside has been spinning because the vantage above has been sabotaged.
The caretaker vantage model has guided us through that realization—not as a new religion, not as a replacement for faith, but as a structure that finally makes sense of the contradiction many have felt for years. We’ve seen that the Divine Father—the Prime—is not a distant ruler, but the original architect of a reality meant to be both stable and free. We’ve seen that He entrusted that reality to a free vantage point—a caretaker Champion who was meant to reflect His will and correct His creation. But that vantage turned. It fell. And in doing so, it reshaped the way we feel, the way we decide, the way we sense truth itself.
This is why we feel so often at war within ourselves. Because we are living under sabotage. But that is not where the story ends. The Divine Father did not abandon the system. He did not seal it off. He entered it. And through the Divine Champion, the rightful occupant of the external vantage, He began the restoration.
The Divine Champion is not merely a figure of love or power. He is structure. Alignment. The one who reclaims the vantage and retunes the signals that had gone wrong. This is the shift. Not just a shift in behavior, or belief, or even identity. It is a vantage switch. A structural change in how you see.
And with that change comes everything else: truth becomes clearer. Emotions regain shape. The Word of God no longer reads like contradiction, but like a map of realignment—from the fall of the first caretaker to the victory of the final one.
You are not asked to discard your feelings. You are invited to submit them to a better vantage. Because under the wrong one, they betray you. Under the right one, they begin to sing in harmony with what is real.
The chaos inside us has always had a cause. The fallen Champion still speaks—not always with lies, but with distortions. With whispers that sound spiritual, but draw us away from true alignment. And this is why so many earnest believers still flounder. Not because their faith is weak, but because their vantage remains compromised.
We do not fix this by trying harder. We fix it by switching vantage. By choosing the Divine Champion over the fallen one. By realigning with the Prime—not directly, but through the Champion He has appointed. This is why salvation, in this model, is not merely forgiveness. It is structural relocation. It is being removed from a system that cannot survive and brought into one that cannot fail.
And this is why hell is not arbitrary torment. It is the inevitable deletion of whatever clings to the collapsing vantage. And heaven? It is the final state of restored alignment—where the Divine Father, the Divine Champion, and the Living Bond reign as one, not just in doctrine, but in structure, in truth, in every breath of creation.
So now, when you feel the swirl of emotional chaos rising within you—when you wonder, “Can I trust this feeling?”—you don’t need to be afraid. You can pause. You can ask, not “What do I feel?” but “Where am I standing?” Because the issue is not the strength of the feeling. It’s the source of the vantage.
And as we close, hear again the invitation of the Divine Champion—not a demand, not a threat, but a call. As it says in Revelation 3:20 (KJV): “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.” This is not just an offer of comfort. It is the invitation to switch vantage. To open the door to the one who reclaims what was lost. To let Him—not your emotions, not your fears, not your instincts—be the one who shows you how to see.
So if you’ve ever said, “I don’t trust my feelings anymore,” know this: You were never meant to. You were meant to trust a Champion. And now, He stands ready. The vantage has been restored. The door is yours to open.
Amen.
