I still remember the day it happened. It was the day I earned a label that stuck with me for years—the “fire bug.” You see, my grandpa had this old camper shell. It wasn’t actually on his truck at the time, but it was meant for it. It sat up on some cinder blocks in the backyard, and us kids loved playing underneath it. To us, it was like a fort. We’d crawl in and out, pretending it was our secret clubhouse. Grandpa stored a few things under there, like tools and, of course, a gas can for his lawnmower. Seemed harmless enough at the time. I mean, what could go wrong?

One day, though, things got out of hand. There were some neighborhood kids hanging around with us, and we were all looking for something new to do. That’s when we found the matches. They were in a tin can, tucked away next to that gas can. The moment we saw those matches, everything changed. The boys dared me to pour out some gasoline and light it. I was only eight years old, still too young to understand just how dangerous this game was, but I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to seem brave.

So, like an eight-year-old who thinks he knows everything, I poured a trail of gasoline on the ground, making sure to stand back. I told everyone else to do the same, thinking I was being “responsible.” I struck the match, threw it on the trail, and—well, let’s just say things escalated real fast. Flames shot up like a rocket, blowing out the windows of the camper shell, and blackened everything underneath it. Grandpa’s lawnmower gas? Gone. The shell itself? Charred beyond recognition. In seconds, our little game of dares turned into a full-blown disaster. I watched the fire explode with a deafening blast, and in an instant, the windows shattered, glass spraying everywhere. The fire roared to life, engulfing everything beneath the camper shell.

And that’s when the neighborhood kids scattered. They didn’t wait around to see what would happen or help me clean up the mess. They ran—ran as fast as they could, disappearing into their houses, leaving me standing there with flames, smoke, and broken glass all around. By the time my grandpa and the adults came out to see what had happened, the only one left standing there was me. No one else. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t the only one there when it all started; I was the one left with the blame. Fire bug. That’s what they called me. From that day on, whenever anything even remotely related to fire happened, I was blamed.

My cousin’s bedroom caught fire once because he left a cigarette burning in an ashtray, and even though I wasn’t anywhere near it, they all looked at me. “Fire bug,” they called me. And every time I walked into a room, I could count on someone saying, “Hide the matches, hide the lighters, Josh is coming!” It was like a cruel joke that never ended. It didn’t matter that I was just a kid who made one stupid mistake. That’s what they saw in me.

I felt terrible every time. It was a long time before I was able to live that one down. The worst part is, just when I thought the label was finally about to fall off, someone would reapply it, almost like they were putting new adhesive on it just to make sure it stuck. People have this way of doing that, don’t they? They make sure you never forget the mistake, even when it’s almost behind you. It’s like they’re determined to keep you in the box of your worst moment, dragging it up every chance they get.

And honestly, that made me wonder—what if God treated us like that? What if He called us by our mistakes the way people do? What if He went around saying, “Hey, stupid!” or “Hey, fire bug! Started any fires lately?” Or “Hey, Pinocchio! Lied to anyone today?” What if He labeled us the way the world does—like “druggie,” “failure,” “liar”—and kept reapplying those labels, reaffirming them, and making sure they stuck even more?

It’s terrifying to think about, isn’t it? If God were like that, none of us would stand a chance. We’d be stuck in our worst moments forever, constantly defined by that one mistake that everyone remembers. What if He never let us forget the times we messed up? What if He kept bringing up our failures instead of seeing the good in us? It’s sad how one bad choice can outweigh a thousand good things we’ve done. The world often operates that way. But thank God He doesn’t.

The Weight of Labels: David, Peter, and Thomas

It’s easy to remember people for their worst moments, isn’t it? Look at the Bible. When we think of King David, what comes to mind first? His victory over Goliath? Maybe. But for many of us, it’s his sin with Bathsheba. One moment of weakness, and it almost feels like that’s the headline for David’s life.

And Peter? Sure, we think of him as a great disciple. But how often do we think of him as the guy who denied Jesus three times? When we hear the name “Thomas,” the word “doubting” immediately pops into our heads.

But here’s the thing about all these people: their stories don’t end with their failures. David wasn’t defined by his sin. Peter wasn’t remembered only for his denial. And Thomas wasn’t doomed to be “Doubting Thomas” forever. God didn’t look at them and define them by those moments. He saw so much more.

Peter’s Moment of Faith: Stepping Out of the Boat

Think about Peter for a minute. Everyone loves to point out the time he denied Jesus, but how often do we talk about the fact that Peter was the only one who had the faith to get out of the boat and walk on water? I mean, yes, he saw the waves and he began to sink, but he’s the only disciple who even tried.

In Matthew 14:29-31, we see this incredible moment where Peter steps out in faith. He says, “Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.” And Jesus says, “Come.” Peter steps out of the boat and walks on water toward Jesus. Even when he faltered, Jesus didn’t let him drown. He immediately reached out His hand and caught him. Jesus didn’t scold Peter for sinking; instead, He encouraged him to have greater faith.

So why do we so often focus on Peter’s fear, instead of his boldness? Peter took a leap of faith that none of the other disciples dared to take. He wasn’t defined by his failure—he was shaped by his courage. Just like God shaped him through the process of restoration after he denied Christ, He continues to shape us even when we stumble.

God Calls Us by Our Potential, Not Our Past

The same thing happens with us. God doesn’t define us by our worst mistakes. We may feel like we’re stuck with the labels people put on us—“fire bug,” “liar,” “troublemaker,” “failure”—but God sees something different. He sees the potential He’s placed inside us, even if we’ve messed up along the way.

In Isaiah 43:18-19, the Lord says, “Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing.” God isn’t interested in keeping a record of our past mistakes. He’s interested in doing something new in us—something that reflects His grace, not our failures.

It’s like how God continued to see David as a man after His own heart, even after David’s sin with Bathsheba. Or how He saw Peter as a rock upon which the church would be built, even after his denial. And Thomas—Jesus didn’t hold Thomas’ doubt against him. Instead, He gave Thomas what he needed to believe.

In the same way, God sees us not for who we’ve been, but for who He’s called us to be. In 2 Corinthians 5:17, it says, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” When we come to Jesus, the labels the world places on us—those words that define us by our mistakes—are wiped away. We’re made new. We’re called by grace, not by failure.

Shaking Off the Labels

I know what it’s like to carry labels that aren’t true. I know what it’s like to feel defined by a moment of stupidity when I was too young to know any better. But I also know that God doesn’t see me that way. He sees me as His child, loved, forgiven, and redeemed.

Maybe you’ve been labeled too. Maybe you’ve been called things that still sting when you think about them. But the truth is, those labels don’t define you. God does. And He calls you by a new name—a name that speaks to your potential, not your past.

Isaiah 62:2 says, “And thou shalt be called by a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall name.” We may have been given names that reflect our mistakes, but God gives us a new name—a name that reflects His purpose for our lives.

So, the next time you hear those old labels echoing in your mind, remember that God sees more in you. Just like Peter, who was more than his denial, and Thomas, who was more than his doubt, you are more than your worst moment. You are loved, redeemed, and called by grace.

God’s Love is Greater Than Our Mistakes

At the end of the day, God’s love and grace are bigger than anything we’ve done. Our mistakes don’t have the final word. The people who hold onto our past don’t get to define us. God’s grace does. And He’s not done with us yet. Just like David, Peter, and Thomas, He continues to work in us, shaping us into the people He’s always known we could be.

So let go of the labels. You are not the “fire bug.” You are not the “liar.” You are not the “failure.” You are a beloved child of God, called by grace, not by failure. And that’s the only name that truly matters.