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Part 4 of 16
The Burden of Awareness
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When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." This text teaches us a powerful lesson: when stuff run out, God don't.
Every now and again, stuff runs out. Life has a way of just running out. Money runs out. Strength runs out. Patience runs out. Peace runs out. Options run out. Ideas run out. Many of us don't fall apart because of tragedy—we fall apart because of depletion.
We find ourselves in John chapter 2 at a wedding celebration that has turned into a crisis, not because something bad happened, but because something ran out. In that culture, running out of wine was more embarrassing than anything else. Wine was cleaner than water and consumed regularly. To have a party without wine was a social disaster.
Bibically, weddings lasted almost a week. The celebration was supposed to continue, but the supply was gone. The question becomes: Have you ever been in a place where you still have responsibilities, but your strength is gone? Where you still have expectations, but your energy is gone?
The burden of awareness is when you know something is wrong that everyone else hasn't noticed yet. It's when you notice something that everyone else hasn't noticed yet. This is why three people are frustrated with you now. This is why they don't talk to you about their problems anymore. This is why they don't let you come around.
Everybody is busy having a party, but you're the only one who realized the wine ran out. They're so busy being happy they finally got somebody, and you're looking at them saying, "I can see that what it takes for you to keep them happy is going to eventually drain you." You try to show them what you see, but they think something is wrong with you. You can't help that God shows you stuff that you don't even want to see.
It's a lonely place. You know they're a snake. You know this isn't God. But what do you do when you see what other people don't see? When you try to show them what you see, they look at you like you're crazy because they can't see what you see.
The party is jumping. Everybody is dancing and having a good time. The bride is dancing with the groom. But it's one person who is heavy. You can't celebrate like they can because all you see is that there's a problem.
The loneliness of awareness is when everybody was celebrating, but somebody was carrying weight. Sometimes leadership means knowing something is wrong before everyone else realizes it. Oh, it's lonely.
Somebody is carrying the weight of the wine being gone, and it's not even their wedding. They are stressing over this problem, and it's not their responsibility. This is why you have to be selective about who you call friend. You are not built to see people struggle and not be at home trying to figure out how you can help them come out.
It's lonely praying for people who don't have the strength to pray for themselves. It's lonely when you sit on the phone and listen to all their problems knowing they won't listen to anything you say back. It's lonely when everybody thinks you have way more money than you actually have, but because you say yes to everybody, they don't realize you're just as broke as them. So they start saying, "That's why you're my friend because you got it." But you don't have the strength to say, "I don't have it."
Mary doesn't over-spiritualize her issue. She doesn't say the devil is busy. She simply acknowledges the facts: "The wine ran out." Mary doesn't play around—she states reality plainly.
The wine ran out for one or two reasons: either the servers were irresponsible, or the bride and groom had low expectations. Either the servers were heavy-handed with their portions, or they only expected 100 people and 400 showed up.
There's a problem with both scenarios. Some of you have people who give too much of your stuff away. You have to be selective about who has access to your life. Stop allowing people who don't communicate that they want to be part of your life to come and go as they please. The season of people coming and going as they please is over in your life. Guard your heart.
The miracle didn't start until somebody acknowledged the problem.
Denial is refusing to acknowledge what is actually happening. Deliverance begins the moment truth is confronted. Stop denying it.
I had to acknowledge a fact with my own son: I might lose his honor. I wasn't going to play the game of pretending he was fine or blaming the devil. I said, "No, I might be losing his honor because what I think is correction may be disrespect to him."
You want to know what people do now when they ask if you're okay? You say, "I'm good." But I've started being honest. I tell them: I'm exhausted. I'm tired. These kids have got stuff going on. I'm waking up at 4:30. Driving all the way over here. Not going to sleep till late. I had to do four features. Songs for this person and that person. Then people call back wanting more. On top of everything else, I still got to do church.
When you deny the problem, you postpone the solution. You cannot heal what you will not admit. You cannot fix what you will not face. You cannot be delivered from what you keep pretending is not there.
Throughout scripture, breakthrough starts with acknowledgement. In Psalms chapter 32, David says that when he kept silent about his sin, his strength dried up. But the moment he acknowledged it to God, forgiveness and restoration followed.
Many people cannot experience transformation because they refuse to admit depletion. Many of us will never experience transformation because we refuse to admit that we're depleted in certain areas. So we deny that we're exhausted. We deny that we're tired. We deny that we're broke. We deny that we're lonely because we believe, "I got to fake it till I make it." But you don't have to fake it before God. You have to be honest.
When Mary says, "They have no wine," she's translating: We don't have enough. At one point you did have it, and now that you need it, you ain't got it. Isn't it crazy? You didn't need it, so you had it. Now that you need it, you don't have it.
Maturity is the moment you stop pretending you have it together and start admitting you need help.
When someone says "I don't have enough," it hits differently for those who have lived long enough to remember having it. The frustration isn't simply about lacking something—it's about having had it before. You didn't need it then, so you had it. Now that you need it, you don't have it.
This is why many of us replay our decisions: "I shouldn't have gone on that stupid cruise three months ago buying clothes trying to keep up with Keisha. I could have had the down payment on the apartment." We're haunted by what we spent when we thought we had enough.
Maturity is the moment you stop pretending you have it together and start admitting you need help. This isn't weakness—it's wisdom. Pride tells us we must handle everything alone, but maturity recognizes that some decisions are too big to make in isolation.
Self-sufficiency is an illusion. It's the belief that you can sustain yourself without help from God or others. The illusion makes you believe you appear in control while depending on things you cannot ultimately control.
Consider a father preparing his sons for college. He can pray. He can warn them about alcohol, drugs, and poor choices. But he cannot control whether they will listen. He cannot control if they attend class, do their work, or avoid the wrong influences. All he can do is give it to God, because the control of that situation is not up to him.
This is what God is saying to us: "I never called you to be your source." Eventually, something in life will run out. God allows it to run out to remind you that you were never designed to be your own source.
We search for our source in all the wrong places:
God will make that whole bank shut down—not to punish you, but to remind you: "All you got is me." God never meant for you to replace him with other sources.
Consider the portable charger that seemed like the perfect solution. It has multiple plugs for every device. You can charge everyone's phone anywhere. But here's what nobody tells you: the portable charger itself has to be charged. No matter how much you mimic being God, you are not God. Eventually, you will run out.
The resource can never have the same power as the source.
In the wedding narrative, Mary didn't try to fix the problem herself. She redirected it. She took the issue to Jesus. This teaches us a critical principle: Where you take your problem determines how your problem turns out.
Some people take their problems to friends. Some take them straight to social media. Some medicate with alcohol. Some retreat into isolation. Others spiral into overthinking, trying to figure it all out like a CIA agent. But Mary models something different—she demonstrates spiritual wisdom. She took the problem to the only one who could transform it.
There are different kinds of smart:
Experience is not the best teacher—it's the hardest teacher. When someone who spent 30 years learning something can teach you the lesson in 30 minutes, you gain speed. You get the lesson without the pain.
Notice something crucial: the text never tells us why Mary cared that they ran out of wine. Was it her side hustle? Was her girlfriend one of the ones getting married? The scripture doesn't say. But Mary stepped in and tried to figure it out. God, send us one Mary who will step into our business and try to help without stressing us out in the process.
When Jesus calls her "Woman," it sounds abrupt on the surface, but it's not. It's a term of endearment—polite and respectful. Jesus was making something clear: he was no longer under her supervision. From now on, he would be doing the work of his Father.
Here's what's remarkable: Mary never told Jesus what to do. The scripture doesn't say, "They ran out of wine, we need you to fill it." She didn't prescribe the solution. Why? Because I can't tell Jesus what to do because my ways are not his ways. My thoughts are not his thoughts.
If you tell Jesus what to do, you may limit what he wanted to do. You're so busy asking Jesus to pay the bill that you don't know he wanted to pay it off.
For the rest of 2026, I will not be praying particulars. I will just take my problem to Jesus and say, "Lord, do something." That's it. Not "do this specific thing," but "do something."
Cast your burdens on the Lord and he will sustain you. Give your burdens to the Lord and he will take care of you. Pile your troubles on God's shoulders and he will carry the load. Stop tripping. Leave it to God. He can handle what you can't.
When Jesus says to Mary, "Woman, my hour has not yet come," he's not being dismissive. He's being theological. Here's why this matters: the moment I perform my first miracle, the clock starts. The moment he fixes the wine, it's the countdown to crucifixion.
Be careful when people love what you do, but don't know what you do costs you. Some of us have people praying for them, but they don't realize we be tormented some nights because we've been praying for so many people that the devil decided if he can't get them, he'll get us.
This costs something. It costs your life. It costs your moments. It costs your savings. It costs pain. It costs betrayal. Be careful when people want your anointing without your attack. When they want your favor without fights. When they want your blessings without your burdens. I didn't get here because I was just cool. I got here because I survived what other people would have walked away from.
Miracles are not random. They are responsive to obedience. Faith is proven through participation.
This is what we call participatory deliverance—the principle that God performs the miracle, but people participate in the process. God provides the power; you provide the obedience. God is saying, "I got the power. Do you have the obedience?"
Throughout the Bible, we see this principle:
The deliverance belongs to God, but the participation belongs to us.
So here's the question: Are you waiting on a miracle or are you ignoring an instruction? You say, "I need God to come through," but you don't pray. "I need overflow," but you don't tithe. "I'm tired of nobody looking out for me," but you're mean to people. God says, "I'mma do my part, but when are you going to do your part?"
Jesus turns to the servants and says, "Fill the water pots with water." They filled them up to the brim. This is critical. Here's what nobody tells you: Mary told Jesus she needed wine. Jesus told the servants to get water. Obedience is not about understanding. It's about trust. This doesn't make sense, but the servants obeyed.
Mary needed wine. Jesus told them to get water. The servants didn't question it. They didn't say, "Jesus, that don't make sense. We need wine, not water." They just obeyed. Why? Because they trusted.
Here's something that will mess you up: Nowhere does Jesus tell Mary he's going to do something. Some of you are stressed out because God hasn't responded to your prayer. What you don't realize is this: God ain't got time to talk to you. He's talking to your solution.
You're praying for a new job but you haven't heard back from God. God doesn't have to respond to you. He's talking to an employer, saying, "I'mma give y'all some more money. I need y'all to expand and create this position. But I need you to hold it because I got to go back and bring them to it." God is orchestrating the circumstances around your prayer.
Obedience is not about understanding. It's about trust. Many of us can't be obedient to God because in your mind you think obedience and understanding go together. Obedience and understanding are opposites. Obedience and trust go together. If God say move, you move. You don't have to understand why.
I want my kids to trust me—not just respect me, but trust me. In six months, he may not ask me anything. If he wants to go out, he goes out. I want to get to the point where he can say, "Hey Dad, I'm thinking about doing so and so," and I can respond with guidance, and he'll just trust my direction. That's the kind of relationship I want with my children, and that's the kind of relationship God wants with us.
The servants filled the pots to the brim and took some to the head host. He tasted it and said, "Where y'all get this from?" This is important: the miracle was in public, but the obedience was in private. The servants obeyed without knowing what would happen.
Why would God allow Jesus' first miracle to be changing water into wine? Because Jesus specializes in transformation. He turns weakness into strength. He takes ashes and turns it into beauty.
Many of you don't understand how powerful this story is because you think Jesus just turned jars into wine. These were not kitchen jars. These were wooden pots—massive ceremonial washing pots that carried 20 to 30 gallons each. They were so heavy.
These pots were not for storing wine. They were for ceremonial washing. When people came in to eat, they would put their hands in these pots and wash their hands with the water inside. This was dirty water used for washing.
Jesus said, "Bring me that dirty water." He could use what used to be used. What was considered unclean, worthless for anything else—Jesus could transform it. He told them to fill the pots up to the brim. They filled them up. He said, "Now, take that to them."
Somewhere between the dip and the sip, the water shifted. I once heard someone say something I'll never forget: "Somewhere between the dip and the sip, the water shifted."
If you ask ten people when the transformation happened, you might get ten different answers. "I think it changed colors when we put the water in." "I don't know, but when I walked it over there, I was looking in the cup and it started changing." "Well, it was water in the cup, then when he tasted it, it was wine. I don't know when it happened."
I wish I had five people who could say, "I don't know when I shifted. All I can tell you is somewhere in the last couple of years, something transformed in my life."
Why would God use those pots that were already there? God often performs new miracles with what is already present.
Jesus did not give them a wine glass. He produced a winery. Whatever you give God, he will do exceeding and abundantly above all you could ever ask, think, dream, or imagine. In 2026, if it ain't to the brim, don't do it. If you aren't going to go all out, don't go at all. If you're not going to go hard, don't go. God honors commitment and full obedience.
