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.
The first change was not heroic. It was silent.
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.” Mateo thought of all his past efforts
In the quiet, he thanks God—not for the transformation he can see, but for the process he can’t. The old mug still sits on the counter, still chipped. But when Mateo catches his reflection in the kitchen window now, he doesn’t see a broken pot. He sees a vessel still in the Potter’s hands.
But the words from Transformados En Su Imagen whispered in his mind: “La transformación comienza donde termina tu fuerza.” (Transformation begins where your strength ends.) But Berg argued—chapter by chapter, with Scripture woven
He opened to the first chapter. Berg’s words were not soft. They did not promise happiness in three easy steps. Instead, they asked a question that lodged itself in Mateo’s chest like a splinter: Are you trying to reform your old self, or are you allowing God to create a new one?
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?” It was silent
He thought of the final chapter of Berg’s book: “La gloria de Dios no es que usted sea feliz, sino que usted sea santo. Y la santidad es simplemente amor hecho hábito.” (The glory of God is not that you be happy, but that you be holy. And holiness is simply love made habitual.)