Text: Matthew 7:24-27, 1 Corinthians 3:11-15, Isaiah 40:31
I. Borrowed Gold and the Gravity Problem
There is something deliciously intoxicating about soaring.
You start small, of course—dreams tucked neatly into your pocket, ambition no bigger than a spark. But then it catches. It grows. It burns.
And before you know it, you’re flying.
The sky, once so far away, now bends to you. The world, once a cage, now lies at your feet. Look how high you’ve climbed! Look how bright you shine!
But—ah, yes—borrowed gold always comes with fine print.
Because what we fail to consider, what we never want to admit, is that the sky does not belong to us.
And gravity? Well, gravity has never lost a case.
II. The Wax and Sand Kingdoms We Build
Let’s talk about the great illusion we are all guilty of buying into.
The belief that we can build something permanent in a world designed to shift beneath our feet.
We construct empires—names on office doors, bank accounts fattened with the sweat of our striving, accolades framed and hung like talismans against irrelevance. We chase power, position, applause—whatever makes us feel immortal.
But the problem with illusions is that they don’t hold up to heat.
And oh, the heat is coming.
Because, you see, kingdoms built on wax and hands—they melt.
Jesus spoke of this in Matthew 7. Two men, two houses, two very different outcomes. One built on rock. The other? Sand. Both looked fine—until the storm came.
And the storm always comes.
Fire tests foundations. Wind reveals what was never as sturdy as we claimed.
The real question is—do you even know what you’re standing on?
III. When the Sun Finds Your Wings
The fall is inevitable, isn’t it?
Oh, we don’t like to think about it. We prefer to live in denial, to convince ourselves that we—unlike all those tragic figures before us—are the exception.
We hear the whispers of warning, but we ignore them.
We see the cracks forming, but we pretend they’re not there.
We tell ourselves, I can handle it. I can hold it together.
Until we can’t.
Until the sun finds our wings, until the heat melts the carefully constructed façade, until the great dream we built collapses in spectacular fashion—leaving us gasping, grasping, falling.
And in that moment, when the ground rushes up to meet you—what then?
Do you cry out? Do you curse the sky? Do you wonder why the wind, once so friendly, has suddenly turned against you?
Or—do you reach?
IV. The Hand That Catches
Peter knew something about falling.
One moment, he was walking on water—defying gravity, moving toward the impossible.
The next? Sinking like a stone.
Because doubt has mass. Fear has weight. And the moment you take your eyes off the One who holds the waves in check—down you go.
But here’s the thing: Peter reached.
And Jesus caught him.
Because that’s the other half of the story, isn’t it? We talk about the fall. We talk about the failure. But we forget that grace is already in motion before we even hit the ground.
The hand is already extended.
We just have to take it.
V. The Fire, the Wind, and the Rise
Now, here is where most stories would end.
You fell. You learned your lesson. Maybe you scrape yourself off the ground, carry the scars, try to rebuild with whatever’s left.
But what if—what if—the fire and the wind weren’t just meant to break you?
What if they were meant to carry you?
Isaiah 40:31 speaks of those who wait on the Lord—how they will renew their strength, how they will soar on wings like eagles.
Which sounds wonderful—until you realize what that actually entails.
See, the eagle doesn’t flap its way to great heights. It doesn’t fight against the wind.
It rides it.
The very thing that should have been its undoing—it uses.
So here’s the choice:
You can keep trying to fight the storm, outwit the fire, deny the gravity.
Or—you can step in.
You can let go of the wax, the sand, the fragile things you once thought could save you.
You can trust the fire and wind to lift you, rather than consume you.
Because this is what redemption looks like.
Not escaping the collapse. But rising from it.
VI. Finding the Icarian Dream
You thought the dream was to touch the heavens.
But maybe—just maybe—it's to belong to them.
To move, not on your own strength, but in the power of the One who calls you higher.
To trade borrowed gold for real glory.
To let the fall become the thing that frees you.
Because you don’t have to be afraid anymore.
No more giving in.
No more flapping your wings in futility, trying to hold up an empire that was never meant to last.
No more striving for a throne made of wax and sand.
You were made for more.
And if you run fast enough—if you step into the fire, trust the wind—
You just might find that you’re flying again.
But this time—this time, you won’t fall.
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