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Mateo thought of all his past efforts. He had been rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship. He wanted God to help him be a better version of his angry, impatient, controlling self. But Berg argued—chapter by chapter, with Scripture woven like steel cables—that God’s plan was not renovation. It was resurrection.
Weeks became months. The book’s principles worked into his life like rain into cracked soil. Berg’s teaching on the “heart battlefield” (every thought taken captive to obey Christ) gave Mateo a new weapon: not gritted teeth, but whispered prayer. When the urge to control or explode arose, he learned to pause and say, “Señor, no puedo. Pero Tú puedes.” (Lord, I cannot. But You can.)
Mateo closed his mouth. He breathed. Then he said, quietly, “That’s tough, son. I’ve had days like that. Want to talk about it?” Mateo thought of all his past efforts
Mateo’s hands were shaking again. He set down the chipped coffee mug—the one with the faded baseball logo—and stared at his reflection in the dark kitchen window. He saw a forty-three-year-old man who had stopped believing in transformation a long time ago.
He nodded. “I’m being remade.”
Fin
The first change was not heroic. It was silent. But Berg argued—chapter by chapter, with Scripture woven
Elena noticed first. She found him washing the dishes without being asked. She heard him laugh with Daniel over a video game. One evening, she touched his arm—a simple gesture she had stopped making years ago—and said, “You’re different. Not perfect. But… present.”
RABBITHOLEPROJECTS | 33 Washington Street, Brooklyn, New York 11201 | Tel. +1 718 852 1500 | www.rabbitholeprojects.com | all rights reserved