There was once a man locked inside a prison cell.
He had been there so long that he no longer remembered the reason he was imprisoned. Each day, he watched through the small window as people passed by, seemingly enjoying every moment of their lives. From where he sat, freedom looked effortless—something meant for others, never for him.

One night, he dreamed that he was a successful businessman. In the dream, he moved freely through the world, spreading good fortune to everyone he encountered. The dream filled him with a joy he had not felt in a very long time. He walked through this dream world fully alive, experiencing the pleasures of life as if they were always meant to be his.

As he continued forward, he came upon a familiar building.
It was a prison.

Drawn toward it, he looked inside the cell—and there he saw himself, sitting alone. In that moment, memory returned. He remembered the choices he had made, the wrongs he had committed, and the circumstances that had cost him his freedom. He remembered that he had placed himself in the prison as an act of atonement, believing punishment was the only way to make things right.

Then another truth surfaced—one far heavier than the first.

He had been there so long that he had completely forgotten about his family, who were waiting for him beyond the walls. And with that realization came the most painful truth of all: at any point, he could have left. The key to the cell had been around his neck the entire time.

But he also remembered something else.

Long ago, afraid of what freedom would require of him, he had bent the key. Not enough to destroy it—only enough so that it would no longer turn easily. He told himself it was broken. It was easier that way.

The weight of this understanding crushed him. Pain gave way to sorrow, and sorrow gave way to shame. He did not want to carry it. He did not want to face what he had done. So he focused all his strength on forgetting. He wanted the dream to end. He wanted to wake up.

And so he did.

He awoke back inside the prison cell—just a man sitting alone. Once again, he had no memory of how he got there, only the quiet belief that he deserved to be there. He sat in silence, watching the world pass by from behind the bars, unaware that the key still rested against his chest—waiting to be straightened.

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The first step to greatness in our lives is choosing the path of righteousness.
Too often we convince ourselves that our missteps are simply part of who we are. As mentioned in previous posts, this way of thinking is not neutral—it is influenced by an unseen power that attempts to work through us rather than with us. Scripture reminds us that “we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities… against spiritual wickedness in high places” (Ephesians 6:12).

When we practice acceptance—not resignation, but surrender—we begin to uncover the gifts that were hidden beneath our resistance. Surrender does not mean handing control over to something else. It means releasing the chains that have held us for so long.
“Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17).

It is in the enemy’s best interest to keep us distracted by looking outward for the cause of everything in our lives. We’ve been inside our prisons for so long that we observe freedom from behind bars and mistake that view for truth. From that position, we judge ourselves as incapable or unworthy of freedom—and then accept that image as who we are.

But the enemy does not want us to look from inside the prison.
Because if we did, we would see that the key we needed was with us all along.
“I have set before you life and death… therefore choose life” (Deuteronomy 30:19).

There is a widespread belief that following God’s will is about earning rewards for good behavior. While this sounds innocent, it subtly removes sincerity. Scripture tells us we are not workers earning wages—we are heirs.
“If children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17).

Seeing it this way dismantles ritualistic thinking. It reminds us that we were never lacking. The dreams placed inside us were not temptations; they were reminders. A glimpse of something already prepared for us.
“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5).

In a strange way, our dream world feels truer than what we wake up to—not because the world itself is false, but because our perspective has been shaped by fear, limitation, and distortion. As Scripture says, “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7).
Once that perspective shifts, surrender stops feeling like loss and begins to feel like alignment.

When we stop depending solely on our own abilities, we open ourselves to the inheritance God has already given. Even though we see ourselves as flawed, we were not designed to be defective. We were designed to be whole.
“God created mankind in His own image” (Genesis 1:27).

We do live in a finite world and we do have limitations—but those limitations are only final when we insist on operating outside His order. The only time we break logical structure is when we are acting within His will, not our own.
This was one of the clearest messages Christ gave us. Again and again He said He came not to do His own will, but the Father’s (John 5:30). Prophet, King, and Judge—yet perfectly submitted.

As we close this week, remember this:
We are called to think beyond the self while turning inward for truth. If we rely only on ourselves, we cannot find salvation. When we chase balance instead of truth, we wander into the wilderness.

And if we’re honest, some of us try to put the chains back on.

We convince ourselves we were more comfortable before awakening and attempt to return—but the chains no longer fit. Instead, we get stuck in between. No longer asleep, but not yet fully surrendered. This is where isolation creeps in. This is the trap.

The enemy wants us to believe we have no home.
But Scripture tells us otherwise: “I go to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2).

You cannot bring your old self into the promise. The inheritance was never meant for who you were in captivity. Once truth is revealed, accept the gifts that come with it.

So ask yourself honestly:
What dream have you been denying—not because it’s impossible, but because it requires you to let go of who you used to be?