Coffee & Common Grounds

Some days, I catch myself replaying old scenes in my mind like a movie I didn’t even like the first time. You know the ones—those moments where we said the wrong thing, trusted the wrong person, reacted out of fear, or made a choice that still makes us wince. The “what was I thinking” moments. The “Lord, please don’t let anyone remember that” moments. The ones we label stupid, even though that’s not the name God ever gave us.

It’s funny how the past can feel louder than the present. One embarrassing memory can drown out a whole day of peace. One old regret can sit in the front row of our minds, waving its hands like a child desperate for attention. And before we know it, yesterday is bossing today around.

But here’s the truth I’m learning—slowly, stubbornly, and with a lot of grace:

The past is a place we can visit for wisdom, but it’s a terrible place to live.

When we stay tangled in old mistakes, we miss the life happening right in front of us. We miss the conversations, the laughter, the small mercies, the quiet nudges of the Spirit. We miss the chance to grow because we’re too busy rehearsing who we used to be.

And honestly? Most of the “stupid actions” we beat ourselves up over were made by a version of us who didn’t know what we know now. That person was doing the best they could with the tools they had. And if God isn’t dragging those moments into the present, why do we keep doing it?

I’ve started asking myself a simple question when an old memory tries to hijack my day:

“Is this helping me become who I’m becoming, or is it chaining me to who I was?”

If it’s a chain, I let it drop.

If it’s wisdom, I carry it gently.

If it’s shame, I hand it back to Jesus—He’s much better at dealing with it than I am.

Living in the present doesn’t mean pretending the past never happened. It means refusing to let it define the only moment we actually get to live: this one.

So if you’re like me—someone who occasionally trips over yesterday on your way into today—take a deep breath. Look around. Notice something good. Something true. Something right now.

You’re not who you were.

You’re not stuck.

You’re not disqualified by your worst moment.

You’re being shaped, softened, strengthened, and made new.

And today—this ordinary, imperfect, beautiful day—is still wide open.