We all know those moments.

Sometimes they come in the wake of another person’s suffering. A crisis, family emergency, or relationship fallout leads you rushing in with open arms, healing silence, and comforting words of hope that lightens the weight of your own trials, even if just for a moment.

In other, more joyous times, it’s the wispy blush pink and soft orange hues weaving through a summer sunset, music radiating nostalgia through the open car doors, or the enriching conversations with friends that pulls us outside of the moody caverns that unanswered questions and the weariness of life can hold us in.

And then, there are the times when you sense the divine coursing through your veins in an unexplainable yet richly tangible way. Of singing the promises of Scripture back to yourself alongside your broken yet redeemed brothers and sisters doing the same. Of absorbing yourself in a book that transports you to the mountaintop where you gaze upon the attributes of your God. Of the tears that come from agreeing with Psalm 139 of how precious to me are your thoughts, O God! Of the praying, the sharing, the fellowshipping, the meditating.

Suddenly, we see our trials in a new light. They don’t become less real, less potent in the pain felt or the reality of their need for our attention. But we step outside of ourselves for a moment, basking in the rays of a God who hears our cries and redeems His people, just as He always has.

This is the type of self-forgetfulness I discovered in Psalm 77.

The Honest Psalmist

I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, and he will hear me (v.1).

Asaph is speaking the language many believers have found themselves in: trusting yet broken. We haven’t forgotten Him, but still the wounds run deep. Every part of our being seems to thwart the healing we crave.

In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted (v.2).

And then the unthinkable happens. The God we love so deeply turns sour in our thoughts and remembrance. Our suffering, our heart wrestlings, in all their darkness, confusion, and mercilessness, start to envelop our perception of God.

When I remember God, I moan; when I meditate, my spirit faints. Selah (v.3).

I love Psalm 77 because it is brutally honest. It is not asking the reader to gird themselves into a place of put-togetherness before coming to God. It’s raw, uncomfortable, and unfinished, so much of what I try to resist.

You hold my eyelids open; I am so troubled that I cannot speak (v.4).

The first-person narrative gives us a glimpse into the darkened reality of Asaph’s body and soul. This is the reality of many believers. I’ve known moments like this, and I’m sure you have, too.

But he’s not finished.

The Diligent Search

Then my spirit made a diligent search (v.6).

The search isn’t for meaning within himself, a physical cure, or even for his perceived suffering to be removed. It is first and foremost a search to get right his view about God. Nothing else takes greater priority.

“Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?

Has his steadfast love forever ceased?

Are his promises at an end for all time?

Has God forgotten to be gracious?

Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Selah (vv.7-9)

Thus the journey begins as he mines his heart to unearth the lies he’s treasured. This is the first step to self-forgetfulness: a refusal to take his fallible thoughts as they are without examining them under the light of truth. As his questions grow less and less believable, it’s as though Asaph is talking himself out of the lies that God would be anything but loving and compassionate towards him.

Here is where the shift begins. Decisions are being made, and spiritual mountains are being moved. It’s the awakening of a sleeping spirit that twice affirms its proclamation to its own soul that we are not going to stay this way.

I will remember the deeds of the Lord;

yes, I will remember your wonders of old (v.11).

God isn’t just gracious and compassionate in some academic musing sense. This is a tangible reality evident in the actions of a personable God, who has been here the whole time, waiting for Asaph to speak to Him, directly.

The Self-Forgetting

When the waters saw you, O God,

when the waters saw you, they were afraid;

indeed, the deep trembled. (v.16)

Every Old Testament reader would have known exactly what Asaph was referring to, for it was the moment God also recalled to the minds of the Israelites as He gave them the Ten Commandments. He is the Lord their God, who brought them out of Egypt. God didn’t just lead them peaceably to the promised land, no. He orchestrated a mighty battle and glorious display of His intertwined omnipotence and fierce love for His people in parting the Red Sea.

The clouds poured out water; the skies gave forth thunder;

your arrows flashed on every side.

The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind;

your lightnings lighted up the world; the earth trembled and shook.

Your way was through the sea,

your path through the great waters;

yet your footprints were unseen (vv.17-19)

And then the psalm finishes, as though mid-thought.

You led your people like a flock

by the hand of Moses and Aaron (v.20).

As I began to memorize this psalm, I first took notice of this gradual shift from Asaph talking about himself (vv.1-6), about God (vv.7-10), and then to God (vv.11-20). There’s no returning to deal with the man whose soul refused to be comforted, eyes weary from lack of sleep, and whose spirit fainted at the remembrance of God.

Asaph’s troubles, though still present, are no longer as prevalent in his heart and mind. Even without their explicit mention, we somehow get the sense that in this poetic meditation, they have been addressed.

This self-forgetfulness is not some hyper-spiritual “let go and let God,” but an active anchoring, a fixing of one’s gaze upon the One who is too wondrous to capture all His splendor in a single thought, hour, poem, or praise. What Asaph promised to do in verses 10-12 of appealing, remembering, pondering, and meditating, he was doing in verses 11-20.

An unfinished story, unmet longings, and unanswered questions find their rest in God.

Had I not memorized this psalm, I’m not sure I would have come to these conclusions. Memorization carves well-worn trails in our minds using markers we otherwise wouldn’t have needed as passersby.

Such trails are the homework for life that months, years, and decades from now, I’ll be grateful I took the time to slow down and create now.

I am a novice in the art of learning to be human. I have not mastered the skill of knowing you’re not the master of your fate. I have not conquered the territory of Recognizing Your Physical Limitations. Nor have I finished reading the book Learning to Fail While Trying.

But there is a particular badge of honor that equally allures and intimidates me. It’s earned not by sheer will or merit; in fact, quite the opposite. It’s worn on the arms of sons and daughters seasoned by suffering and humbled before the face of their God. The circumstances are always different: chronic illness, unrequited love, relational strife, or even just the daily humdrum of serving and being. But the badge is worn all the same: Embracing Weakness.

There are pitfalls in the playing fields of weakness and sin. On the one hand, we can easily write off a sinful tendency or habit as part of our personality or genetic makeup, thus becoming complacent about our sin. But on the other hand, we can view any sense of dependence and uncertainty as a sign we’re not sanctified enough to unchain ourselves from these seeming burdens.

The former compounds sin with further suffering; the latter compounds suffering while trying to root out things that were never sins.

I discovered just how much I live in the second camp when I felt myself heave a sigh of relief after a wise friend of mine reminded me, “Your weakness is not a sin.”

Before calling this friend, I had been seriously asking myself what I had imagined success over my sin looked like. I posed this question as my heart was wrestling with what I was reading in God’s Word regarding a particular struggle. Wasn’t I told that I’m dead to sin (Romans 6:2)? Haven’t I been given a spirit of love and self-control, not one of fear (2 Timothy 1:7)? Is victory supposed to feel, well, deflating?

I was struggling, uncertain, and fearful. But her words reminded me just how much I thought victory over sin meant victory over my weakness as a fallible human. I wanted the victory that didn’t just destroy the curse of sin, but also my inherent makeup before the fall as someone made to be wholeheartedly dependent upon the Lord.

Yes, I wanted the prayer, the Bible reading, and the fellowship, but I wanted something more: a transcendence from my fallible self to become self-sufficient using the divine tools of God’s means of grace.

It is the paradoxical reality that as believers, we are both weak and strong. I remember as an unbeliever reading 2 Corinthians 12:101 and not understanding this seeming contradiction. I still don’t fully comprehend it now. But this I know: there is a definitive difference between relying on my weak self and relying on God’s strength. One verse in particular has solidified that for me the most:

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord.”

Jeremiah 17:7

The man is blessed not just because he trusts in the Lord, as though he could boast in his act of trusting. No, it’s because his trust is the Lord. It is not the process of depending upon the Lord in my weakness that makes me strong; it is only, and ever will be, the Person of Christ who is the wellspring of my strength.

The intellectual reality of my realization of God as my strength is not my strength. My thoughts and feelings waver, and how terrifying would it be if God portioned out His strength based on how much I recognized my need for it?

If I really treated all my weaknesses as sin, then I wouldn’t have the peace and comfort of knowing my Heavenly Father is my ultimate Provider. I would be riddled with frustration, despair and a guilt that would eat away at my assurance of salvation, for I’d be trying to put off what never could be put off. I’d resent God for making me this way (weak) and start to see Him as cold, distant, and unforgiving.

Over the past year, I’ve been reading a book with a dear friend who now lives across the country from me since I moved nearly two years ago. It’s been a sweet way to stay connected, and even sweeter to dive deeper into these topics of our inherent weakness and God’s inherent strength. In The Good Gift of Weakness by Eric Schumacher, he points out that in the beginning, when everything was created perfectly sinless, Adam’s need for a helper was the first time something was “not good.” And yet, as Schumacher states:

“Weakness itself is not what the Lord declares not good. It’s not wrong that the man needs help. If that were the case, the Lord would have altered him so he could fulfill his calling alone…“It is not good for the man to be alone” isn’t an assessment limited to the creation of the first man. It’s an ongoing, by-design, good reality that continues today.”2

Indeed, I am dead to sin and have been given a spirit of love and self-control over fear, but all the victories over sin and deep joys in pursuing Christlikeness come within the weakness, so that God’s strength can be more gloriously displayed.

Weakness displayed in prayer.

Weakness displayed in rehearsing the Gospel to myself.

Weakness displayed in trusting in the finished work on the cross for my forgiveness.

Weakness displayed in regularly meditating on memorized verses.

Weakness displayed in recognizing my need for fellowship with the church body.

And the list goes on.

I am still learning to be human, to embrace my weakness in all the forms it takes. But with the rudder of Scripture guiding my path, and the wind of the Holy Spirit in my sails, I know God will give me the grace to relinquish to Him what only He can do.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The mountains were at their heightened sense of lushness that mid-June afternoon. Hands proudly placed on my hips, I surveyed my conquered landscape, which I had earned from a measly 0.9-mile uphill trek. I knew it was coming (well, I had a strong suspicion after seeing the ring box bulge from his front backpack pocket). But in the meantime, in those few breaths as I heard the pocket unzip, I breathed in the greenery, the shadows of the mountains’ layers, and let my ears take in the hum of wildlife atop our private, rocky overlook.

It was one month ago that the coveted question was asked atop a short hike in Shenandoah National Park, and I said the best yes of my life. The best yes to my high school sweetheart, favorite phone call to see on my screen, prayer buddy, and best friend. It was a yes that brought all the bubbles of excitement and newness, as well as the seeds of event planning as ideas, vision boards, budgets, color palettes, and more began to grow like wildflowers in my mind.

I recently attended a wedding at my church, where the groom’s father gave the sermon and cited the infamous verse of Romans 8:28. He pointed out something I hadn’t considered previously. So often, it seems this verse holds exclusive jurisdiction over comforting the suffering who are grasping for hope that God still is at work for their good. Yet, as the father of the groom stated, if it is, in fact, true that all things work together for good, then we mustn’t overshadow the fact that God uses the most deeply joyous, most peaceably lighthearted moments of our lives for the same purpose: to grow us in Christlikeness.

So often in my Christian life, I have used moments of ease and happiness to forget about God. I have taken the comforting path and let myself gain confidence in my own capabilities, until my heavenly Father presents a pebble in my path and I come running back to Him in dependence.

Instinctively, I started to build a warped view of these more generous seasons, where laughter, peace, and pleasant memories are abundant. They were seen less as gifts from the Father of lights and more as distractions to my “real” sanctification that is refined only in the fire of trials.

But this is not how God operates.

“Behold, what I have seen to be good and fitting is to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of his life that God has given him, for this is his lot. Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil—this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.”

Ecclesiastes 5:18-20

To find enjoyment in one’s lot carries significant implications:

First, it’s a command. Regardless of whether we lean more melancholy or bubbly, we have been given these orders straight from the Master’s office.

Second, because it’s a command, it implies that finding enjoyment doesn’t come naturally. Living in a sin-cursed world may have birthed the licentious pleasures of secular society, but God-given enjoyment is a spiritual discipline. Surely love, joy, and goodness are just some of the fruits that accompany this enjoyment, fruits that only the Holy Spirit can produce.

Third, it’s a command from God. You can learn a lot about someone’s character just by what they ask of you. A mother who consistently trains her kids to share, speak politely, and love their siblings reveals not just what her kids need, but what is important to her. God wants us to find enjoyment in this life, in the life He’s created for us. To savor the laughter of friends over the dinner table, treasure the embrace of a loved one, bask in the sunlight of a summer afternoon, and cultivate hobbies that bring more pleasure than utility.

Godly enjoyment is not a distraction from, but is explicitly part of, my sanctification. Listening to my pastor expound upon this passage shortly after getting engaged felt acutely providential. Our God who created the entire heavens and earth as good in the beginning has not ceased to provide good gifts for His children to enjoy. And because my good God has commanded this enjoyment over me, I know He will enable me to obey what once came so naturally before the fall, and will again in eternity.

“Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your vain life that he has given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life and in your toil at which you toil under the sun.”

Ecclesiastes 9:9

In roughly 10 months, I will be a wife. Though I haven’t ever experienced time move more slowly in my adult life, I know this season will one day dissipate. Life is a mist, a breath that comes and goes. Yes, it is hard and toilsome, and even the good gifts take effort and intentionality to properly steward. But this is my portion until God calls me home. Will I not seize it fully for all the enjoyment it holds?

“No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.”

1 Corinthians 10:13

I’m so grateful God wrote this verse the way He did. It could have easily omitted those four words completely, instead reading, “No temptation has overtaken you that is not able to be conquered by God.”

And yet, God chose to give us this extra level of comfort.

Not common to man is a balm for my soul, for the isolationist in me that thinks I’m the only one facing this particular sin struggle. Before mass publications of books, before podcast interviews, conferences, and coffee chats, this truth reigned supreme. When you are the only one in your family wrestling with these questions, when it seems that no one else at your church has struggled with that particular fear. When you’ve felt unique (and not the kind that is desirable), God is here reminding you that you are not alone.

He is our great Physician who knows how to heal the sick. When we, in our pride, are surprised at the depths of sin that even our renewed hearts can touch, He is not nervous, unsure of how to help us. Our God knows the cure, for it is, in fact, Himself.

“No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful...“

It’s not my faithfulness that saves me. What a terrifying thought that is! How often would I crash against the rocks of doubt and despair were it not for Christ, my anchor. How often do I let myself be tossed to and fro in the storm when I look inward, rather than upward.1

Yet how quick is my God ready to answer my prayers in the moment of affliction. A prayer so simple as “help!” drew my Savior to reach for Peter immediately as he was sinking in the stormy sea.

Immediately.2

The Bible is not my self-help book, though I have so often treated it that way. I have hoped to graduate from dependency on the Lord, from desperate prayers and tear-filled admissions that I just can’t do this on my own.

Yet this verse displays anything but a self-sufficient call to arms. It’s a promise in the confusion, in the crowd when everyone else seems to have it all together, in the solace evenings that seem peaceful on the outside while the spiritual war rages within.

Not common to man means I am united with the body of Christ in my struggles, even when I know nobody else who is fighting the particular battle I am fighting.

Not common to man means the Bible is my ancestry recount of how my brothers and sisters battled and overcame deep trials and temptations through our same heavenly Father.3

Not common to man tells me that I am a sinner who can be prescribed the known, tried, and tested treatment of Scripture, prayer, fellowship, and the enabling power of the Holy Spirit. I am not so unique in my struggles that I have outgrown what the infallible Word of God says about my heart, my needs, and His supplies of grace.

So when in my pride I crave to build my lone tower of self-pity and depart from your Word, I pray, Father, that you will remind me of the hope in recognizing the ordinary in me, and the extraordinary faithfulness in You.

The search for novelty is embedded in our culture. We are benefactors of the works of authors, artists, architects and more who made something about out of a blank page, canvas, or plot of land. However, novelty has a darker, more insidious side. It takes form in greedy hands and envious hearts, eyes that are not satisfied with seeing or ears with hearing (Ecclesiastes 1:8).

Novelty can threaten the pillars of stability and truth when old customs, theories, and practices are thrown away as archaic. It can deceive in claiming that the next best thing is right upon us as we run to the next hobby, job, church, or romantic partner while unshackling ourselves from the burden of generational wisdom and unchanging truth.

As Christians, this particular side of novelty threatens our relationship with God. It’s made evident when we listen to a sermon on a passage whose trails we’ve already worn down, resigning to “check out” for the hour. It arises when we hear about the next book for Bible study group and inwardly groan when we think, “again?”

Or, it takes the subtle form of a dull and dry view of God and His means of grace in His Word, prayer, and fellowship with the fellow saints.

When the itch of dullness is scratched, discontent festers, and soon, the question arises of there’s got to more than this.

More than the Bible.

More than the same truths rehearsed every Sunday.

More than what I’ve been studying for the past months, years, or decades.

God’s character, commands, and promises don’t change over time. And while there is a deep sense of peace in the immutability or unchangeableness of God, we can often bristle against a return to the ordinary, the tried-and-true, the seemingly mundane that’s necessary to grow in Christlikeness.

For me, I can’t think of any other part of the Christian faith that is more susceptible to being dismissed in the hunt for novelty than the Gospel.

The Assignment

In continuing my Homework for Life series (read my initial post for the full backstory), I gave myself a simple assignment: write out the Gospel every night before bed for seven days.

My entire life is based on this glorious news, yet it’s not the thread weaving through my days as it should be. I am slow to run to the comfort of the cross after confessing and repenting of a particular sin, and more eager to believe I can earn God’s love through my works when Jesus shows me that was never the case (hence the reason I recently memorized Galatians 3:11).1

Throughout the Bible, the Gospel is told in some form or another since Genesis chapter three. It’s the structural foundation that grounds believers when the winds of doubt or the slithering roots of pride threaten to shake it loose.

It’s the same Gospel that doesn’t just save, but renews weary hearts, corrects faulty transactional views of a relationship with God, and points us to the hope that the sins that cling so closely can be peeled off our skin like an old rag because we’ve been given the unblemished robe of righteousness in Christ.

I didn’t give myself a word count, but I ended up averaging two paragraphs each day. In doing so, I came away with two observations from this assignment that I’m sharing below.

Observation #1: Resurrection Footnote

Around day four or five, I began to notice how much of my summaries of the Gospel focused on the beginning: God created us in His image, we sinned against Him, sin entered the world, Jesus came to take the wrath of God we deserve upon Himself.

These are profound truths and incredible anchors for the soul. And yet, there’s more to the story, one that I often omitted entirely or included almost as a footnote in my Gospel summaries.

“And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.”

1 Corinthians 15:17-19

Without the resurrection, there is no hope. When I consider how my sinful self is easily prone to unhealthy moral introspection, I saw plain as day through this homework assignment how a lack of focus on the resurrection can create such habits.

Without the resurrection, I am still stuck in my sins and God’s commands are a burden.2

Without the resurrection, Jesus would have been defeated by death, not living and active in my life as He is now.

There is no peace, no lasting joy, no hope in this life and the life to come without this critical part of the Gospel that I was giving minimal reference to.

Observation #2: Novelty in Unchanging Truths

Paul knew how to meet people where they were at. To the Jews he became a Jew, to those outside the law, outside the law. In recognizing the pious nature of the Athenian philosophers in their temple to the unknown god, Paul shared with them the God who is uncreated, unbound by temples, and yet incredibly near, even to have us as His offspring (Acts 17:22-31). He knew how to turn the beautiful gem of the Gospel in such a way that it refracted a unique angle in the light that was tailored for his given audience, though the jewel remained the same.

This is what I discovered during these seven days: the beauty of the Gospel through the various lenses that Scripture provides to view it from. Consider the natural Gospel themes or lenses that arise out of the sets of verses below:

• Isaiah 53:7 “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth.”

• John 1:29 “The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him, and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”’

• 1 Corinthians 5:7 “Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new lump, as you really are unleavened. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed.”

• Nehemiah 9:17 “They refused to obey and were not mindful of the wonders that you performed among them, but they stiffened their neck and appointed a leader to return to their slavery in Egypt. But you are a God ready to forgive, gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and did not forsake them.”

• John 8:34-36 “Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who practices sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not remain in the house forever; the son remains forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

• Galatians 5:1 “For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.”

It’s not about creating novelty through our own means, but trusting in the all-creative God who wrote the all-sufficient Word to unfurl the glorious truths in ways we may not have considered before.

Theologian and reformer, John Calvin, once said that the gospel is Christ “clothed with his gospel.” Man’s hunt for novelty may tempt him to stray from the Gospel’s immutable truths, as though it were a stagnant painting they’ve already admired and enjoyed, but has since grown too familiar to hold value or interest. But I’ve learned that rehearsing and meditating upon the Gospel is never stagnant, but a communion with the living and active God.

Though I’ve only been a Christian for a little over four years, I’m amazed at how God manages to kindle the flame of love and praise for the same truths that saved me a little over fours years ago.

And I know when dry seasons come, the hunt for novelty outside of God’s Word will never satiate, for I am designed to worship an immutable, awe-inspiring, infinitely holy God.

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The words illuminated from the hymnal book as the chorus of voices joined mine. I’ve treasured the richness of its words over the years, but today, they carried new life in light of how I’d spent the past 24 hours.

When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees.
When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur
And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze.

I was immediately transported back to the quaint farm I had visited with a friend, enveloped by the comforting hush of leaves waving in the wind, admiring how the trees painted pillars of shadows onto evening dirt roads, and listening to the stream’s rush of water that glistened in the sunlight peaking through the full branches.

It was a place of quiet that filled my soul, and I was acutely reminded of just how much our God points us to His creation in counseling our hearts.

Consider the meaning that would have been lost in Psalm 23 without this intertwined relationship. In this psalm, God uses sheep to illustrate our neediness, invoking the implications of a shepherd’s role to magnify His protective, gentle, and sacrificial care for His people. The number of books written, hymns created, and pillows etched with its words of comfort and promise from this psalm alone displays just how much its creation metaphor has resonated with believers throughout the ages.

But we don’t need a sheep farm to recognize God’s counsel in creation.

The baby birds chirping in a nearby nest provide us with a picture of our Father’s providential care for His children and of how we are not to worry over our lives.1

The refreshing aroma of rain reminds us that God sends rain on the just and the unjust, pointing us to how we are to pour our love onto friends and enemies alike.2

The steadiness of the same mountain range admired over the years grounds us in the reality that our God is even more unchanging. No matter what feelings or circumstances may arise, He is our sure refuge.3

The magnitude of speckled stars sheds light on God’s promise to Abraham, of which we are a fulfillment. Our God is a promise-keeper; His Word can be trusted.4

Living in the city, studying as a part-time grad student, and collecting hobbies of reading and writing have often led me to spend the majority of my days on my computer or indoors. But when I take the intentional time to unplug, to let my to-do list sit on my desk unfinished, I find the riches of Scripture unfolding before me. It’s not about finding meaning where there isn’t one. Our Wonderful Counselor is also our Creator, and He combines both facets of His character in the Bible.

Through studying His Word and enjoying His creation, I join the many saints in echoing the words of Carl Boberg:

Then sings my soul,
My Savior God, to Thee;
How great Thou art5

Maybe you’re like me.

When I face a spiritual trial or an upset, I focus on what I need to do to resolve it. It’s part of the reason why I decided to pursue a master’s degree in biblical counseling. But in many respects, I traded my self-help books for ones on Christian living, developing a collection I remember considering more valuable to me than my Bible at one point. I was relying less on the Lord and more on my ability to stockpile verses, profound quotes, and sermons to preserve my comfort and happiness.

I see it as the equivalent of hiring someone to paint a portrait of you. You may acquire the highest quality of paints and brushes, a canvas and an easel, but without the painter, you can’t go anywhere. You’re left sitting on your stool in an empty garage, waiting.

Though I was compiling all the right tools, I was missing the dependence on God.

“I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”

John 15:5

A detached branch may have all the same sun and water, but without the lifeline of the vine, there is no fruit. Without Christ as the root of our mortification of sin and “vivification” of our faith,1 our efforts accomplish nothing.

You can memorize the whole Bible, listen to expository preaching continuously, and pray without ceasing, but you cannot stockpile grace. You weren’t meant to.

If the desperation to find solutions for your sin or suffering has led you to supersede God’s sanctifying work in your life, you are not alone. In fact, this has been happening way back into the Old Testament.

As Much as You Can Eat

Put yourself in the shoes of one of these followers. You have just witnessed the miraculous feat of God defeating your oppressive ruler, the Egyptians, and are now in the middle of nowhere, traveling to your promised land…and you’re hungry. Yet God hears your cries (and complaining) and appoints for bread from heaven to appear every morning to provide sustenance for your journey.

But there were rules.

“This is what the Lord has commanded: ‘Gather of it, each one of you, as much as he can eat. You shall each take an omer, according to the number of the persons that each of you has in his tent.’ ”

Exodus 16:16

Let’s pause and think about the phrase “as much as you can eat.” Sounds promising, doesn’t it? But what about tomorrow? The Israelites were not to worry about that. Their vulnerability was a testament to trust in the almighty God who would provide for them. This is not over-spiritualizing the manna. God intended for this provision not just to be for the Israelites’ survival but to draw them closer to Him:

“And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.”

Deuteronomy 8:3

To stockpile their manna was, in a way, saying, “I do not believe that You will provide for me then as You have now.” It doubts the God who is unchanging in His grace, as though God oscillates His love on the same measure as we do our faith and feelings.

Exodus 16:19-20 informs us that the Israelites who stored manna from the day before would find it the next day stinking and filled with worms. Their fretful attempts to ensure their survival did not reap the desires they wanted; they came from a heart that wasn’t trusting in God.

I Will Rejoice in Doing Them Good

This message is for the overachievers, the eldest daughters, the teachers’ pets, the go-getters who act like the weight of their sanctification lies on their shoulders, even if their lips proclaim otherwise. It all comes back to a critical question of who, ultimately, is in charge of our spiritual growth: us or God. And this requires us to go back to the foundation of the new covenant.

“I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me. I will rejoice in doing them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.”

Jeremiah 32:39-41

Did you catch all that God is doing for us and the finality of His statements?

• “I will give them one heart”

• “I will make with them an everlasting covenant”

• “I will not turn away from doing good to them”

• “that they may not turn from me”

• “I will rejoice in doing them good”

• “with all my heart and all my soul”

If you are one of God’s children, bought and redeemed by the blood of His Son, Jesus, then you do not have to worry about God’s provision for your sanctification between now and entering eternity. My first mentor once shared that one of her favorite verses was Philippians 1:6, “And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.”

Beware of using God’s gracious gifts to fill the hoarder’s house in your heart to avoid depending upon Him as you fight sin and endure suffering. Indeed, dwell richly in the word of God and pray without ceasing. But trust that the God who provides such graces is the ultimate Provider and Redeemer.

I am actively learning this alongside you. God has been graciously humbling me to see how little I depend upon Him. But His revealing of my sinful heart’s desire for control is opening my hands to stop gathering and start being content with His daily manna.

I am so far from this being my regular heart posture, but my Bread of Life will keep growing me in that direction. And He will always provide exactly what I need.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

Psalm 73:26

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Have you ever asked yourself why the victim mentality is so popular today?

In American culture, it goes against everything we stand for: independence, strength, resilience, the sense that you get to choose your own identity. Instead, the victim mentality inherently implies weakness and passivity. You are a subject, a pawn, a receiver of something you seemingly or entirely had no control over.

Rodney Andersen with The Master’s Seminary defines the victim mentality on three pillars:

First, the bad things in your life are not your fault, but exclusively because of what other people have done to you. This mindset maintains that you are not responsible for your own actions and attitudes.

Second, a victim mentality also includes getting stuck in negative thought patterns. If you play the victim, you may be characterized by a “woe is me” kind of self-pity.

Third, the victim mentality sees the world through the lens of your own struggles. All the events of your life are orchestrated against you. Whatever happens in the world or in your circumstances, the victim mentality sees those circumstances as directed against yourself.1

I’ve checked the box of all three. There have been times where I didn’t want to hear that the very suffering and sins that were plaguing me could be erased. When I let anxiety bring me to the point of refusing to eat, I convinced myself I had contracted a virus.

The victim mentality provided a source of comfort for me, allowing me to come as I am without expecting me to change.

Hope was too daunting; it asked too much of me.

I felt like a wimpy P.E. student standing before God, the domineering coach, who wanted me to change my ways. It seemed that hope was driving my discontent, as the possibility of changing my circumstances left me with a restlessness in my sinful habits and the suffering that it caused. Looking at the life that I could have versus the life I did only grow my sadness.

I just wanted to rest.

Christ-less Hope

One of the essential pillars of biblical counseling is providing hope, but this can be challenging. Biblical hope doesn’t always cause a leaping for joy. In my experience, my self-centered lens and refusal to humble myself to my self-destructive reality soured the sweetness of God’s hope. The victim mentality is always looking inward, but the hope that God provides inherently forces us to look outside ourselves.

When God was speaking to Moses through the burning bush, commanding him to go before the Pharaoh and set the Israelites free, Moses was looking inward as his own feeble tongue. We read in Exodus 4:10-12 that God’s hope for Moses’ inadequacies was looking outside himself and to God’s abilities, not his own. Rather than giving him a pep-talk to surge up the confidence in himself, God says, “I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.”

The questions and statements Moses posed were all about himself.

But the answers God gave were all about Himself.

This theme of God’s presence being enough when faced with challenging tasks is woven throughout the entire Bible. Consider the hope of Isaiah 41:10 to “fear not” because God “is with you.” Or look at Jesus’s promise to the disciples in the upper room discourse. We are told to “take heart” amidst the tribulations to come, not because we can handle it on our own, but because it is Jesus who has “overcome the world” (John 16:33). We live out our Christian faith with the reality that “it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13).

Clearly, there is a direct connection between having hope because of who God is.

In my lowest points, I didn’t want to admit that I was wrong. I didn’t want to humble myself that the suffering I was facing what because of my own sin. I wanted the pity, the sympathy, the excuses, the inaction. God’s hope, in all its promises of peace and joy and intimacy with Him, demanded something of me.

It demanded that I deny myself, take up my cross and follow up Him.

To trust that His Word is, in fact, true.

To walk in faith and keep on the path of righteousness.

And I didn’t want to do any of that.

But at a much deeper level, I didn’t see how I could do that.

Until I meditated on this verse.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”

Romans 15:13

Pay attention to the nature of this title, “God of hope.” It is not one that God earned through hard work and determination, and in so doing, could lose once the energy and motivation waned.

Nor was He judged by a more skilled laborer in this field, thus being granted the title, “God of hope.” He was not waiting for the crown to be placed upon Him; a cosmic event or a point in history to initiate His coronation.

To associate any attribute or virtue to God means that He has always been this way perfectly, for He does not improve over time and effort. Thus, to call God the God of hope means that God is hope, from before the creation of the universe in the mysterious “in the beginning” of Genesis 1:1, to well into eternity when all His adopted children will partake in joyous fellowship with Him forever.

Let the reality of God’s immutability sink the truth of this glorious title into your weary and heavy-laden hearts. The God of hope has always been and always will be. His title is not of a separate attachment, but rather His very essence.

The implications of this very title alone could swell the heart of the despair-riddled believer with such overwhelming joy and peace to pierce their fears and grievances with His glorious rays of light.

Indeed, this God of hope is not a fact to be observed apathetically, for it underscores the way that He acts toward His redeemed.

He as Hope is the Creator behind your finite, failing body, remembering that Your frame is but dust, yet sustaining you day by day (Psalm 103:14).

He as Hope is the rightful Ruler able to establish His kingdom, your inheritance, that will never be shaken or destroyed (Revelation 21:1-4).

He as Hope is your everlasting Father with whom there is therefore now no condemnation (Romans 8:1).

The God of hope gives strength to the faint (Isaiah 40:29) and rest to the heavy-laden (Matthew 11:28). He provides the Scriptures for us to partake in His hope (Rom 15:4) which will never be revoked or changed (Isaiah 40:8).

This God of hope fills us with joy and peace.

He fills us. Not you, not in the works of your hard-earned efforts. Your part in this relationship is that of receiving. It is the same receiving in which you received the Gospel upon salvation. You believed, and in your believing you did not think to yourself, “because I did the believing, I now share a part of my earning with God.”

So Paul calls us to the same Gospel heart posture: the fruits of hope, joy and peace, are yours in believing, just as the righteousness of Christ, the adoption into the Father’s family, the inheritance of sinless eternity, is yours in believing.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing.”

And yet, our God does not leave us alone even in this. For just as our salvation, our belief, our faith, was wrought by our Savior, so, too, is this belief that renders us to receive His hope.

“so that by the power of the Holy Spirit…”

We are never alone, never separated from God, never left to obey, to believe, to trust through our raw strength.

And our God of hope is generous to give. We “abound in hope.” It is not a trickle, but a flood. We are not merely survivors, we are “more than conquerors through him who loved us” (Romans 8:37).

We abound in hope because that’s what God wanted. We sit as His table and receive the bounty that He planted and harvested. Our God of hope is the one who cried to weary Israel, “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price” (Isaiah 55:1).

We draw from a well of hope that is everlasting, because our God is everlasting, and it is He who is both the Supply and Supplier of our blessed hope.

For the One Stuck in the Victim Mentality

The victim mentality traps believers in the lie that you are entirely alone. It provides a false comfort that you are a product of your circumstances, therefore you are a passive, complacent recipient of all they give you. Circumstances and your response are then molded into one, whereby your heart is hardened to the desire to change your response to glorify God.

The danger of the victim mentality that I fell into was slothfulness and pride. I didn’t want to work to change myself.

But pull back another layer and you would see fear. I was afraid that my entire sanctification was dependent upon me. Afraid that I could not bear the weight of hoping, of believing, of trusting, of obeying when my flesh waged war within me.

When plagued by the victim mentality running circles around itself, focusing on my suffering, my circumstances, my struggles with sin, God plucked me from the pits and placed me on a mountaintop, where I gazed at the wondrous works of Him who is my Wonderful Counselor; ever-present, ever-active in working for my good.

Yes, I needed to repent. And in that repentance, I needed to turn to my God of hope and believe I wasn’t alone.

God doesn’t want us to be passive recipients of our circumstances.

He wants us to be active recipients of His hope.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”

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In the years that followed 1970, his book started a revolution.

And the verse he chose was more than a proof text.

It was the cornerstone of a movement that had previously abdicated its throne to the swaying decisions of fallible man verses resting on the infallible Word.

Some thought he was too harsh, while others were invigorated by the truths they already held dear, now seeing the spark was lighting a flame under the feet of churches across the country, and eventually, the world.

As a pastor and part-time teacher at Westminster Theological Seminary, Dr. Jay E. Adams was assigned to teach a course that involved a subject he had no experience in: pastoral counseling.

Through inherited notes of Freudian and Rogerian dogma, Adams was confronted with reality posed by former president of the American Psychological Association, O. Hobart Mowrer,

“Has evangelical Christianity sold its birthright for a mess of psychological pottage?”1

This forsaken birthright was the message behind Competent to Counsel, the book that lit the flame of the biblical counseling movement as we know it today. The Scriptures provided everything that the Christian needed for life and godliness. It is central, sufficient, and surprisingly relevant in its richness for tackling complex issues and living through the messiness and monotony of everyday life.

Calling all in the body of Christ, hear the words of Romans 15:14,

“I am convinced about you, my brothers, that you yourselves are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, and competent to counsel one another.”

It was time the church took back its place in the counseling arena. And Adams wielded the sword of the Word to show why. This was our calling. It was not optional, and not to be pursued in a lukewarm fashion.

If the church is competent to counsel, sans degrees and academic decorum, then as part of the church, so are you.

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You Have a Counseling Room

You have phones calls, coffee chats, post-church pew and foyer check-ins, dinner table conversations and late-night pondering.

You have questions, complaints, confusions, frustrations, fretting, and more put before you by others.

I know it’s not true, but it feels like God has given up on me.

Why does marriage feel so hard?

If he didn’t respond like that, I wouldn’t have gotten so angry.

I wish life would just get easier.

And you have aisles upon aisles of options on how to respond.

There are options saturated with self-esteem, rooted in removing toxic people, based in brain-chemistry, and heaping with helpful tips from influencer authors.

This is where Adams found himself, inheriting the pastoral counseling notes of a former professor that were overwhelmingly absent of theological substance.

So he turned to the tried and true, the infallible and inerrant, the holy and healing.

As I’ve been counseled by men and women in the body of Christ, and have since counseled other ladies, I’ve witnessed the power of God’s Word take action on the frontlines. And when it comes to the spontaneous conversations where many of these pivotal moments come about, I’ve realized so much of this counseling necessitated Scripture memory.

I once had a professor, who was also a pastor, tell our class that pastors have it lucky; they prepare before every Sunday and know exactly what to say, and generally, the sermon goes as planned.

But a counselor doesn’t know how or even when they’ll need to spring into action. Their level of preparedness, of knowing their Bible, as my professor argued, should exceed their pastor.

This sounded intimidating to me, at first, and maybe it does to you, too. But have you ever found Scripture weave itself naturally into your conversations, without reciting in spelling bee-like manner a precise verse?

When I first read Romans 7 about Paul’s frustrations with the dueling nature of the old and new man in fighting sin, I was led there by a pastor’s wife who heard my similar frustrations and shortcomings as a new believer.

The words illuminated from the page. It was a defining moment in my early Christian walk. The Bible was not just for other people in other circumstances. I felt that the Bible, and consequently, my God, saw me.

As a seasoned Bible professor pointed out in an online interview, we can memorize summaries of chapters (which he did for the whole Bible),2 equipping us with the broader truth or message to wield carefully and lovingly in our informal counseling of our brothers and sisters.

If you are wondering where to start with any form of Scripture memory, here are some of my tried and recommended resources:

• Music: The Corner Room sings Scripture word-for-word, making it easier to memorize. Many other groups also do the same, like Shane & Shane.

• Structured (Paid) App: Fighter Verses is a paid app that offers memory-verse quizzes, scheduled reviews, and an app-wide guided memory verse plan if you don’t know where to start. I’ve been using this app for three years now, and it’s worth the buy-in.

• Free Technique Platform: Bible Memory Goal shares different techniques and interviews with other believers passionate about Scripture memory to instruct and inspire. This is where I learned about memorizing summaries of Bible chapters, and have begun my own journey through the Gospel of Matthew.

• Body of Christ: Find an accountability buddy. Not only can another person provide greater motivation and structure in memorization, but you’ll also be edifying one another in dwelling in the Word. If this idea seems uncomfortable, let me encourage you to take that first step. I’ve benefited greatly from friends who have stirred me up in memorizing Scripture when I otherwise wouldn’t have reached out to them. Now I’m in the process of setting up my own accountability “buddy system,” as I’m calling it, with another friend.

This is the calling God has placed upon us to “let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom” (Colossians 3:16).

Though ordinary people in the sight of man, we can do extraordinary work for the glory of God when we take hold of the very words wrought by our Wonderful Counselor.

Biblical counselors are expected to assign homework, and likewise, counselees are expected to complete it. But where in the Bible do we find a command to assign homework for counselees, and go as far as assigning it to ourselves?

To start, we must first consider the purpose of homework. The counselor, after dialoguing, data-gathering, encouraging, and instructing, inevitably must conclude the session. The two part ways, and the counselee returns to her home, workplace, friend circles, etc., where the truth discussed in that one meeting is now to be applied.

But how?

Problems are complex, and no one piece of homework can claim superiority as the secret ingredient for a given issue. However, a homework assignment can begin to facilitate the kind of change needed to grow the counselee, to weave the thread of God’s truth into the fabric of her life.

Consider the following homework assignments from real-life counseling cases:

• On the left side of a piece of paper, write all your fears and rules. On the right side, write all the ways those fears and rules failed to trust God or bring glory to Him. For each item listed, find as many Scripture passages that point out the consequences of failing to trust the Lord.1

• Memorize 1 Corinthians 10:13 so that you are prepared the next time you face fear and the corresponding temptation that you feel you cannot escape it.2

• Recognize what you are thinking and evaluate your thoughts based on Philippians 4:8. Then renew your thoughts according to the truth from the Bible.3

• Pray for your spouse every day. Release offenses and ask God to soften your heart. Remember His mercies are new each morning and that He promises us that the path to eternal peace is found in releasing our role as judge and resting in His grace (Lamentations 3:22-23; James 4:11-12).4

So, back to the original question, where do we find reasoning for this counseling practice in Scripture?

First, we must grasp the reality that God’s commands have universal jurisdiction.

I recently attended in an event in D.C. where participating embassies opened their doors to the public, inviting them to experience their country’s rich history and culture through food, music, dancing, art, and even trying on traditional clothing. What I discovered leading up to this event is that embassies are mini-countries; when within its building and borders, you are under that country’s law. However, set foot on the public steps of D.C. again, and you’re back in the U.S.

God’s Word, in all its commands, exhortations, and promises, are not an embassy. There is no limited jurisdiction, or a place where His laws and truth do not apply. I believe this is what Deuteronomy 6:7-9 is honing in on when explaining just how the command to love God with all our heart, mind, and strength was to be practiced:

“You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.”

This is the goal of biblical homework: to weave loving God and loving others into everyday fabric of the counselee’s life. Such is the natural response when we consider that no area of our life is available for us to stake our claim over. We cannot build an embassy around our friendships, finances, physical bodies, or entertainment habits, and kick God out of the doors while we establish our own rules and laws. For unto God is “whatever is under the whole heaven” (Job 41:11).

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Students of Grace, Not Works

None of this talk about homework and our part in our sanctification should ever overshadow the beauty of the Gospel. No matter how much or how little we do, God will never love us more or less. The righteous don’t live by constant striving and fretting over their works, but by faith (Galatians 3:11).

That is why this series is titled Homework for Life.

The message is two-fold. First, Homework for Life means we will not graduate from this sanctification journey after X amount of years or training. We are in this for life. Because of this, we can release any expectation of ourselves to completed, perfectly sanctified works by the end of a completed assignment.

Our goal isn’t necessarily about being sinless, but becoming more like Christ. You may wonder, shouldn’t those two things coincide?

In theory, yes.

But we live in a world of tension.

In the same letter, John writes that no Christian can claim to have no sin (1 John 1:8), while two chapters later, arguing that no Christian makes a practice of sinning (1 John 3:9). This is the reality we live in. We are not striving for some unattainable perfection in this life that forsakes the saving grace of Christ and inevitably, denies the reality that we are weak and easily give into sin. Rather, biblical homework should stir us up to be practitioners of righteousness, recognizing that while sin remains, it no longer reigns over our lives.5

Second, Homework for Life describes the outcome of this series. We are not assigning ourselves mini-projects to boost our sense of worth. Nor or we giving ourselves lofty or unrealistic goals that produce self-pity or hopelessness. Rather, this homework is meant to keep us on the path of life, where all the bountiful fruit of the Spirit, including joy, peace, and gentleness, are found.

So, here are the logistics. I will commit to completing a biblical counseling homework assignment for one-week, matching the general timeframe between each session. Afterward, I’ll post here, sharing any findings, ditches, reflections, and next steps.

Now, here’s your commitment (yes, you’re part of this now, too). You are my accountability buddy, holding me to the promise to continue this ongoing series as I grow in becoming God’s kind of counselee. Do you have ideas for homework assignments to try, or any that have been impactful in your life? I’d love to hear about them in the comments.

My goal and my prayer is that this series would invigorate us to walk this path toward Christlikeness with zeal and intention, knowing that every bit of our growth is a gift from God (Philippians 2:13).

So here it is. My first entry.

Assignment #1: Praying Aloud for Twenty Minutes a Day

Background

Prayer is a common homework assignment for counselees, and I know I need it more in my life, specifically in the evenings. Most of my prayers are petitions, then praise, and regrettably, even fewer confessions of sins. However, what’s even more scarce is me just talking to God.

In John 15:15, Jesus says to the disciples, “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.”

We share a level of intimacy with God. We are not only unified with Him in His death, and through the abiding of the Holy Spirit, but also through friendship. God genuinely wants a relationship with us, and it’s not just one of petitions, confessions, and praises, though all incredibly important. God wants us.

Assignment

With this in mind, I decided to commit to praying aloud for twenty minutes a day with the goal of just talking to God. No outline, no agenda. Praying aloud, specifically, was important for me to facilitate the feel of a conversation. It also gave me the freedom to talk with God using tone and pauses that I lose when writing my prayers. Setting a timer also released me from frantically checking the clock to focus solely on praying.

Reflections

Where it got difficult to pray for this length was the time of day. The rule was it had to be in the evening, meaning, sometime between dinner and going to sleep. However, one night while praying in bed, I slowly began to lie down, switching to praying inside my head, and then before I knew it, the timer went off, and I don’t remember when my mind went blank.

Forcing myself to sit up in bed or pray earlier was key. Even so, there were times where it was late in the night, with the 20-minutes still un-prayed, and I wanted to just go to sleep. But then, I thought about how I’d easily stay up late to talk with my boyfriend if he had decided to call then. How much more should I be eager to give God these twenty minutes? I returned to this rationale a few other evenings when the tiredness of the day tempted me to skip praying.

I’ll admit, after at certain point, I ran out of things to say. During those times, I grabbed my copy of Valley of Vision, a collection of Puritan prayers, to guide me in my remaining time. They are short, about one page each, but packed with rich theology and poetic language. To prevent myself from going through the motions, I’d recite one of the prayers slowly, pausing to ensure I knew what I was saying to God, inserting my own comments, and being surprised when the timer eventually went off.

My prayers invited me to commune with God in a personal relationship, recognizing that He is the only One who loves me perfectly, knows me completely, and listens attentively all the time. Our topics ran the gambit, including:

• reality of suffering

• sharing what I learned from verses I read at book club

• thanking God for an opportunity to talk about church with an unbeliever

• high calling of marriage

• repenting of tying my identity to trying to know everything

• jazz music

• reflecting on the Gospel

• finitude of life and preparing to die while touring Arlington National Cemetery

• processing conversations with loved ones

• how much I love line-dancing

• the reality of God being so beyond my comprehension

• being excited for Heaven

God genuinely wants me to talk to Him. Seizing this truth for all it holds takes faith. I needed to believe that God was not just available but interested in my life, willing to let me come to Him with weighty and light-hearted topics alike. This boldness was purchased by Christ, so that I could get to a point during the week where I’d think, I can’t wait to talk about this with God tonight.

Next Steps

Since that week has ended, I’ve missed praying to God. So after a few days, I’ve started keeping a ten-minute timer for nightly prayer on a fairly consistent basis. This rhythm may just be for a season, but for now, it’s been reminding me of the sweet truth that Jesus is my perfect Friend, my loving Father, and the wonderful Counselor whom is answering, day by day, my prayer to make me His kind of counselee.

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Nestled in the secluded side street of my apartment are planted a handful of trees. Some of the tops of their branches are eye-level with me from my windows on the sixth floor, while others stand a little taller. Over the last few months, I’ve watched their skeletal frame shake in the cold Virginia wind as we faced one of our harshest winters (so I’m told). Their nakedness exposed the building’s frame behind it. No longer the lush colors of life to gaze upon from my window.

Only sticks in an urban jungle.

My past two winters here have stirred within me a deep yearning for spring. Though I grew up in a ski town, I’m not used to the unforgiving winds and lack of mountainous, snow-covered landscapes that enliven these colder months. Instead, I’ve been holding out for the promise of light jackets and cherry blossoms, one that seemed so far-fetched when the buds, blooms, and leaves were nowhere in sight.

On my journey toward our heavenly home, I’m learning there’s a difference between being put together and being faithful. The put together Claire is confident in her ability to assess the situation, understand her part and God’s, and respond accordingly as Scripture has directed.

But the faithful Claire is often unsure of how to interpret her circumstances. She is needy; hungering for guidance, solutions and comfort. Indeed, she sits under the authority of Scripture, but still she sits, rather uncomfortably, in the tension that is woven through the rhythms of life as a fallible woman in a fallen world.

And to be frank, I don’t feel beautiful in these moments.

Not when I’m needy.

Not when I’m confused.

Not when my thoughts are unspooled and stacked as knotted clumps of thread at my feet.

It comes through prayers while brushing my teeth to give up trying to interpret that hard conversation when there’s nothing left to say or reflect upon. It comes through unexpected sins of selfishness that are ignored, and later, repented of. It’s a late night pondering of future sufferings and then a redirecting to trust the Lord with whatever He gives me.

One day, on my walk home from work, an afternoon storm unearthed an unlikely beauty among the array of trees still bare from the winter chill. Dewdrops like pearls adorned their arms, glistening in the sunlight that no camera could capture as elegant as through the human eye.

I would have never expected this glimmer of God’s handiwork. But as I’ve started to see the beauty in barren trees, I’m now able to admire their steadiness, relying on the same sun, same soil, same sustainment from the Lord as they did in their fuller, more vibrant seasons.

It can be easy to chat about an impactful book and get vulnerable in one prayer request. Or to share after the fact how God has grown you in your blossomed, blushed pink faith. However, it can be far more humbling, more exposed, to apply your “takeaway” with dedication and missteps.

To have others check in on your prayer requests that sit as fresh wounds still healing on your soul.

To trust God is at work when your positive thinking has run dry.

To be faithful in the barren, grittier seasons.

I am slowly learning that there is beauty in dependency. A beauty others mock in its neediness. A neediness that our self-sufficient, American culture runs against in favor of the strong, independent woman. But it’s precisely my weakness that enables me to be adorned with the pearls of wisdom from my Savior.

While commuting via metro to work, the past two-ish months I’ve been reading a Proverb corresponding to that day of the month. After finishing the infamous portrayal of the classic Proverbs 31 woman, I realized I’ve gotten her entire life wrong.

Since I’ve been a Christian, I’ve hungered for her glamour, for her influencer-status life that exudes self-sufficiency. But now, in reflecting on all that it takes to be this kind of woman, I see a common thread woven into her rhythms of life:

A wife who takes care of her husband through daily dependance on the Lord, blossoming into steadfast loyalty. “She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life” (v.12).

A homemaker who trusts in the Lord’s provision of energy to serve others. “She rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household and portions for her maidens” (v.15).

A businesswoman who relies on wisdom and discernment from the Lord to steward her resources well. “She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard” (v.16).

A woman like this, who is truly beautiful, is dependent on the Lord.

Dependency inherently implies we have run against the end of our strength, wisdom, or experiential knowledge to move forward. It’s a level of exposure I am still learning to grow comfortable in. But what I find in the barren seasons of growth is that I’m cultivating a deeper, inner beauty that my put-together Claire could not compute. A beauty of barren trees, trusting in the daily sustenance of the Lord, and waiting patiently on Him to reap inside me a “peaceable fruit of righteousness” as Hebrews 12:11 says.

It may not be easily marveled by passerby, sell books, or be featured on podcasts, but it’s a beauty nonetheless.

As I write this, the trees outside my apartment are sprouting light tufts of green, and its sight overwhelms me with joy. It’s a promise that winter almost sucked out of me, that new life is forming, that God is faithful to once more provide seasons, as He said He would (Genesis 8:22).

So here I sit, still needy in minute prayers throughout the day, still surprised when I sin again, still depending on His Word, still embracing sweet fellowship and accountability.

And if I feel less cool, less put-together when I’m needy, so be it. God has promised that beautiful fruit will appear only when I abide in Him (John 15:5).

By the time he was a captain in the army, Charles Young was forced into medical retirement. Sporting a long and distinguished career, including becoming the first military attaché to Haiti and the Dominican Republic on the island of Hispaniola, Young was promoted to colonel upon retirement in recognition of his outstanding, loyal service.

However, Young had a different plan.

At 54, he was not content to retire. So much so, that he decided to prove to the army he was physically equipped to handle the rigors of military life by embarking on a horseback ride.

What made this horseback ride so special?

It was 500 miles long. From Wilberforce, Ohio, to Washington, D.C.

Oh, and did I mention this was 1917? The average life expectancy was 50 years.

His story compels any listener to ponder what would drive a man to take on such a journey. Whatever the myriad of reasons that enabled him to endure the harsh conditions, along with the physical and mental fatigue, the thread woven through it all was love.

It had to be love, I’m convinced.

Love for the army, his country, his fellow Americans.

Love is what enabled Jesus to embark on His earthly journey, determined to succeed in His mission of proclaiming the kingdom of God by offering Himself as the perfect, sinless sacrifice to save us, sinners.

And throughout this journey, there were mileposts. Mileposts who lived and breathed and sinned and encountered Jesus as the Wonderful Counselor.

When we slow down enough to savor how Jesus works in these moments in the Gospels, we draw deeper into the individual love He holds for us. He is undistracted, understanding, and knows precisely what we need. Not only that, He has the power to provide it. Unlike any other man to walk the earth, Jesus’s love always accomplishes His purposes.

No matter the circumstances, no matter the person’s faults, no matter the sin.

Here are the stories of two of those people.

“Feed My Sheep”

Maybe you’ve once found yourself in the position of Peter. You and God are close, so close that you’re confident in your ability to not only live, but die for Him. And yet, the highs of heavenly unity come crashing down when the sin you once warded off has now sunk you deep into a dark chasm of despair.

When Peter let His deflated faith turn him back to his former life as a fisherman, I wonder if the words Jesus spoke of him circled over in his mind,

“And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” (Matthew 16:18)

I wonder if he thought that surely Jesus’s divine calling for him could not outweigh his prophesied rejection.

A good counselor doesn’t waver from the truth. Jesus knew who Peter was. Yet He also knew the truth about whom He had planned Peter to become, of the love displayed in His praying for Peter’s faith to not fail (Luke 22:31-32). Jesus drew Peter to Him as a fisher of men, and there was still work to be done.

God’s plan for Peter to build His church would not fail even when Peter did. His words in John 21 reflect that in his command to “feed my sheep.” But Jesus didn’t begin with this command. In counselor fashion, He asked a question first. The same question, actually, is asked three times over.

“Simon, son of John, do you love me?” (John 21:16)

Questions have a powerful way of drawing out the purpose of a man’s heart (Proverbs 20:5). Moreover, by calling Peter by his old name, Jesus’s question acknowledges the truth of Peter’s rejection. They must establish the foundation of their relationship again.1

The three times of assurance echo the three times he denied Jesus. But Jesus doesn’t turn him away; the questions draw out of Peter’s heart a humble love for the Lord.

The great Counselor knows our sins intimately, and yet has promised to renew us and use us for His glory. His counsel will inevitably point us toward doing something for the kingdom.

This is hope for the anxious heart that needs a higher calling beyond looking into themselves.

This is meaning for the despairing soul who wonders what the point of living in a toilsome, mundane world is.

This is comfort for the weary and faithful servant who needs assurance that God will continue the good work He started.

“Go, Call Your Husband”

Someone in far different circumstances also met with the Wonderful Counselor. A Samaritan woman, riddled with the sin of sexual immorality, and socially ostracized by the fact that she was drawing water during the hottest time of the day, when no one else would be around.

No one except Him.

A good counselor isn’t just adept at asking and answering questions, but choosing which ones to answer. Not all questions are weighed equally, even when they involve weighty issues. This is because a counselor has a goal in mind and carefully guides the conversation toward achieving that.

Jesus’s goal was different than the Samaritan woman’s. She wanted to talk politics, or at least, the religious and social politics dividing the Jews and Samaritans (John 4:9, 20), but Jesus wanted to present her with the God who is seeking true worshippers (vv. 23-24).2

Jesus was on a mission, guiding the conversation to lead her to salvation.

Biblical counselors are trained to get to the heart of the matter, and that’s what Jesus did. Her need was for physical sustainment, but Jesus saw her spiritual depravation that needed the living waters of His grace. Nor was He willing to ignore her sin. “Go, call your husband, and come here,” He said in John 4:16.

Jesus knew the depths of her sin, of her multiple husbands, and likely other affairs. And He knows the depths of mine, and yours. Imagine having a counselor who is waiting for you to mess up again, waiting to rub it in your face and say, “I told you so.”

But God will never use the knowledge of our sin against us. Have you thought about how this woman didn’t run away ashamed, but joyful in describing the Messiah as someone “who told me all I ever did” (v.29)?

As one of my favorite podcasts, Living Waters, put it on their episode about the woman at the well, “Your sin is no match for the grace and mercy of Christ.”3

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A favorite song from my childhood was The Proclaimers’ “500 Miles.” A man proclaims (pun intended) his love for a woman in how he will be there for her in every situation, even if it takes walking 500 miles to reach her. The main message of the song can be described in the chorus:

“And I would walk five hundred more

Just to be the man who walked a thousand

Miles to fall down at your door.”

Love fuels many a mans’ journeys, and it fuels our God who first sought us out and continues to pursue us in giving us a renewed purpose and everything we need for life and godliness.

There are so many other cases I could describe here, and maybe over time, I’ll return to writing on the Wonderful Counselor at work. But here’s my invitation for you: pray that God would enable you to view the Scriptures in this way. Not in the sense of overriding the contextual meaning of the passage, but for Him to draw out how His title as the Wonderful Counselor is at work in ways we can often miss.

Pray that God would show you the great lengths He’ll go to redeem and continuously renew you, however long your journey is on this earth.

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Our vocations inevitably influence what virtues we cultivate, how we view life, and the gifts we bless others with.

Engineer, farmer, surgeon.

Athlete, writer, architect.

Musician, mother, student.

The list of possibilities is endless.

But do you know what list isn’t?

The vocations God has chosen to describe Himself.

Father (Matthew 6:9)

Shepherd (John 10:11)

Teacher (Luke 22:11)

King (Revelation 19:16)

Counselor (Isaiah 9:6)

Each title was selectively chosen to convey the nature of God and His relationship with His people.

As our Father, God provides a filial, loyal, and unmerited love to us, His children.

As our Shepherd, He is protective of His sheep and provides for their wellbeing.

As our Teacher, He is our source of wisdom as we learn from His ways and words.

As our King, He governs us with benevolent authority, and we His loyal subjects.

As our Counselor...

How would you finish that sentence?

Now more than ever, we are saturated with secular worldviews vying to wage ultimate influence over us. I know this world intimately. In college, I was searching for my “self-help savior,” reading books from renowned authors, speakers, and influencers that I craved would give me meaning, truth, and hope.

Ultimately, no man under the sun could satisfy these eternal longings.

Though these books have since been replaced by Christian authors, apologists, and counselors, I find increasingly the biggest influencer I’m contending with is the one in the mirror. I want to decide what’s best for me, what my problems are, how to solve them, and what gives me purpose.

This tug-of-war between my sinful flesh and my reality as a new creation in Christ will not cease in this life. But who continuously wins can.

In my first series, we’ll be walking down paths, either new or familiar, of how the biblical story is woven with this divine title of God as our Wonderful Counselor. Who is He, really? What does His counseling look like in practice? And why should this title matter to you and me?

Let’s begin by traveling to the Old Testament, all the way to the garden of Eden.

Confronting the Sinner

“If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is contrary to you, but you must rule over it.”

Genesis 4:7

In response to his fallen “countenance” due to his rejected sacrifice, Cain is warned by God to not let his anger and depression lead him into further sin. God saw the sinful turmoil of Cain’s heart, and promised him that doing the right thing would lift his spirits. Obedience would lead to joy.[1]

But Cain did not listen, sinning against the Lord by murdering his brother, Abel. As humanity grows and sin runs rampant, God’s counsel doesn’t change, and the two choices remain the same: choose life and blessings through obedience, or choose death through disobedience.

Part of being a counselor involves provision: of resources, of input, of solutions. And God does just that. Throughout Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy, God provides very specific instructions on how His people, Israel, should stay on this path of life and obedience.

That’s why Moses can say to Israel in Deuteronomy 30:19 that “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse,” because in the previous chapters, he did. As the mouthpiece for God, Moses specifically set before Israel the nature and consequences of these two choices. Now it was up to Israel to decide which to choose.

This is what we’d expect from a God who cares: specific, intentional, complete guidance on the path to righteousness and life. It’s why the psalmist in Psalm 16 can say, “I bless the LORD who gives me counsel” (v.7), because it is our God, and our God alone, who makes “known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (v.11).

Once there was an incredibly trying time where I knew I needed to obey the Lord in an area where I physically felt like I could not. I read over a notecard with 1 John 5:3-5 written on it, most notably focusing on verse three:

“For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome.”

I read this over ten times one morning. I knew it was what I needed to hear, though it wasn’t what I wanted. In the end, God enabled me to obey Him, and the seemingly burdensome nature which I thought was embedded in His commandments was really the pain of me dying to my sinful flesh, leading to life.

Comforting the Sufferer

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.”

1 Kings 19:9

Elijah was on the run for his life and ready to die. Having just defeated the prophets of Baal, the once zealous man of God was now on a solo journey through the wilderness to flee the murderous Jezebel.

God meets him right in his exacerbated defeat, giving him food and rest through an angel (1 Kings 19:5-8). And then, through a powerful display of ferocious winds, an earthquake, and fire, God chose to meet him in a low whisper and a simple question, “what are you doing here, Elijah?”

A good counselor is welcoming, and here, we read that God was anything but unapproachable. The very physical sustainment of Elijah, despite his desire to die, proved so.

But beyond physical sustainment, God lit a match in the darkened cave of Elijah’s despair to see the grander narrative He was building. Israel was not forgotten. Elijah’s faithfulness was not a waste. God was at work, and Elijah still had a part to play. Through specific commands to anoint leaders and his proceeding prophet, Elijah is called by God to turn his focus outwards.

God took a lone prophet, zealous for the Lord in acting out his faithfulness, and gave him what he thought was lacking: purpose and people. He met Elijah right where he was at in his physical needs, loneliness, and despair.

Prophets to come would proclaim the same message of promising hope that God had not forgotten His people. Isaiah was called to “speak tenderly to Jerusalem” of the promised restoration while they lived in exile (Isaiah 40:2). Hosea displayed this redemptive relationship between God and Israel through his own life in remaining faithful to his adulterous wife (Hosea 3:1).

God doesn’t counsel in a vacuum. He uses His people to provide hope.

One of my favorite “hype” worship songs is “Help Is On The Way” by TobyMac, specifically the following lines:

Well I've seen my share of troubles
But the Lord ain't failed me yet
So I'm holding on to the promise y'all
That He's rolling up His sleeves again

Our God has chosen His vocation. He is our Counselor: active, intentional, brimming with redeeming power and ironclad hope. He’s been working in the hearts of His sons and daughters for thousands of years, and He isn’t about to quit now.

[1] Street, John D.; Street, Janie. The Biblical Counseling Guide for Women (pp. 126-127). Harvest House Publishers. Kindle Edition.

On this Good Friday, I’ve been reflecting on the reality of this day serving as more than an acknowledgement of Jesus’s death to pay the price for my sins.

Of the reason why we have terms like penal substitutionary atonement (though important).

Of a mere acceptance of a doctrinal statement.

It’s about a Jesus who loves with a personal love.

While sitting in the pews of evening service, listening to Luke 23 on the recounts of the Jewish and Roman trials, I was struck by the reality that I’m listening to the final hours of my Jesus.

The same Jesus whom I’ve been praying to in the still mornings.

The Jesus who bottles my tears and brings me wisdom for the minute moments of my day.

The Jesus who answers specific prayers and rejoices in my successes.

The Creator of the universe, the Word made flesh, bore the cross for me.

And not in some general, check-the-box sense, but in an intentional, fully-known and fully-loved depth that kindles the flame of devotion for my God.

He loves His daughters with a personal love.

This is the love that brought about this poem.

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.”

Isaiah 49:15

crammed neath the weighty, sentenced sin

plucked from the fiery depths

He cradles in His calloused hands

a newborn washed, clothed, and kept

He gazes in her evergreens

hints of chestnut in her eyes

invites curled fingers to wrap on His

holds her closer to His side

as golden waves coat evening shores

so sings the rhythm of their breaths

when with the sinking rays of light

she lulls to sleep upon His chest

shall two hearts ever preserve alike

a kindred love as this

though her fretful mind may wander far

He remembers who are His

“I thought being a Christian would make my life easier.”

No sooner had the words left my lips than she boomed with laughter while I sat silent and confused.

In a moment of vulnerability, I had reached out to her for guidance and encouragement. But now, I felt the distance grow between us as my months-old faith could not compute how such a statement plucked from my heart’s caverns morphed into a joke.

After living in confusion and restlessness all through college, my newfound faith was my ticket out. So why was I still wrestling with anxiety, feeling completely lost, and scared of trusting in God?

A few weeks later, I was talking with a husband and wife after Bible study. Our discussion on the Holy Spirit that evening led to their sharing on the importance of daily dependence on the Lord.

Their humility was a sign of unfavorable weakness in my eyes.

Rather discouraged, I remarked at how it seems like the Christian life never gets easier. The sense of arrival I craved as a new believer wasn’t something even the mature brother and sisters I knew had yet grasped.

What’s Behind the Impatience

Four years later, I still occasionally bristle against the reins of God’s timing for my gradual sanctification. I want everything to be complete. I want to be done fighting my sinful flesh.

But this godly desire has been absorbed by my idol of comfort, of not wanting to work heartily for the Lord, as Colossians 3:23 commands us. Instead, I’ve turned to anxiety, anger, discontentment, and hopelessness when the same sin I fought six months ago and got a handle on has suddenly resurfaced again.

Then my heart ponders, if this is how I feel just four years into my walk with the Lord, what does this mean for the rest of my life?

A little over a year after getting saved, I was plugged into a loving, biblical church and beginning my master’s in biblical counseling. Through the exhilarating overflow of theological principles, homework assignments, and pithy quotes, I let the idea of trusting God with my sanctification take a back burner.

Indeed, the Lord was deepening my relationship with Him through the inundation of Scripture and rich fellowship, but I was relying less on Him to renew my heart and more on my growing collection of books and podcast episodes.

Growing on God’s Timing

Through a post-grad volunteer service term, I helped run Gonzaga University’s campus garden. During the dry summer heat of May and June, I’d pop in a podcast episode in one earbud and water the growing plants, enjoying the rich smell of dirt and vibrant splash of color from the raspberry bushes buzzing with life from all the bees.

However, this work often involved me watering on the weekends. I couldn’t overwater on Friday and expect the snap peas to be impervious to the scorching sun as they were barely making their debut on the trellis.

We, too, need daily sustenance, not just food and water, but from God’s Word, from fellowship with Him and other believers. We grow slowly, not because there’s a defect in our system, but because that’s the nature of who we are.

I don’t argue with a seed when, after a week, it hasn’t produced fruit. The same goes for you and me.

It’s through the months, years, and decades where God reveals not only His patience, but His faithfulness to complete the work He started in us (Philippians 1:6).

We cannot let our dissatisfaction with the spiritual progress we’re seeing in our lives to lead us to reap bitterness, anxiety, or anger against God’s timing. Those weeds will only hinder the very growth we’re desiring.

One Degree of Glory

In 2 Corinthians 3:18, we read that we are being transformed into our Lord, Jesus, “from one degree of glory to another.” Not five, not ten, one degree.

This verse is anything but discouraging. If God has set the pace for my growth, then I can trust Him to mold me into Christ as I come to Him in prayer, fellowship, and Scripture.

And when I can’t see through a particular sin struggle or trial, when I hold my faith as a tiny seed before the Lord, Hebrews 12:2 restores my hope that it is Jesus who gave me that seed, and it is Jesus who will plant, water, prune, and tend it as “the founder and perfecter of our faith” (emphasis mine).

What’s the worst-case scenario for someone who thinks their sanctification is entirely upon their shoulders?

Learning the same lesson over and over and over again.

Fighting the same pesky sin ten times, and you haven’t even left the door for work.

Fearing what will happen the next time that anxious thought takes root, and your way out won’t “work” again.

Getting frustrated that you’re still battling bitterness and fear of man while talking with others after church.

Being forced to rest, to slow down enough to stop absorbing, stop accumulating resources, and start meditating, praying, and trusting.

Yes, I thought the Christian life would be easier. But what I didn’t consider is how my all-wise, all-loving God is at work in the slowness, in the cool summer evenings when the hose has been turned off, and the little saplings are soaking in their daily sustenance.

And over time, I will see fruit.

This morning, around 7:40 a.m., before work, I made my first sourdough loaf. As I unearthed it from its Dutch oven nest, the 450-degree Fahrenheit oven flooding my cheeks with heat, I marveled at its potato-like features and dark chestnut color. Certainly not the smooth, golden-brown loaf I had seen in homestead videos, but I didn’t care. It was mine, hand-kneaded with love and many Google searches while following my printed recipe from a church elder’s wife. And it tasted delicious.

Making my first loaf was a dream several years in the making. It wasn’t just my penchant for the nutritional benefits and savory taste of the bread that I yearned for, but the way of life with its threads of patience and humility woven into the lives of the women whom I knew who regularly baked bread. To be sure, their lives are busy, but it was a business absent the modern adrenaline rush of chaotic fretting.

The sourdough loaf represents a life of slowing down, being intentional, and serving others with the skills at my disposal. This is the life that God has been fervently fighting for me.

When I permanently moved to Virginia last summer, I was forced to slow down when my weekdays consisted of work and spending my evenings at a hotel or Airbnb before I had an apartment. During that time, God brought me through a seven-week guided Bible study through the seven “I AM” statements of Jesus.1

While having sat under rich theological teaching through church and my biblical counseling program, words escaped me to thoughtfully answer a question as simple as “what is Jesus like?” This study changed that for me dramatically. Its simplicity was anything but superficial, and I came to appreciate more the thoughtfulness Jesus put into his self-descriptors. One such descriptors being the Bread of Life.

While walking through this study one humid evening, I wrote some reflections from my hotel bed as I savored the implications of Jesus’s words. This is what I wrote.

John 6:35

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.

He who is our Bread of Life shall never grow weary from our daily intake of His grace and strength. There is no such thing as a daughter or son gluttonous on the riches of Christ. His bread does not lead to poverty, having been consumed in its entirety, leaving one once again wanting. He is eternally capable of enduring well beyond the waning hopes of weary Christians, who, in their futility of minds, question God’s enduring love when they cannot perceive of such an ongoing feat.

No, God is the Bread who sustains eternally and satisfies readily. We need not toil over good works or wallow in worldly sorrow, but run to be satisfied in Him. No other sustainment is necessary. Christ plus anything else is not an enhancement but an affront against the one who makes known to us the path of life, who is our portion (Psalm 16:11).

Just as He daily provided manna for the wayward, wandering Israelites, so, too, His daily bread is ready to be provided for us; we only need to ask (Lk 11:3). And we do so not in begging, as though desiring to sway the reluctant heart of the Giver, but to readily receive what He has already provided in advance, before our hearts have spoken such a prayer.

Our daily bread has been provided for, but it is just that: daily. We cannot expect to build a storehouse of His grace and never kneel before Him in dependence again. God desires our hearts to be continuously turned to Him in reliance. He is not a manipulator for commanding our inherent weaknesses to be displayed in such a way. For who else but the Creator knows what we truly need to not merely survive, but to live for eternity?

Indeed, our Bread of Life is boldly declared from the very mouth of the Bread Himself. We need not sink into the noetic effects of our sin in doubting this invitation and promise, for such a title our LORD has readily put upon Himself.

He who created daily, physical sustenance knows the implications of His Words. Your natural conclusions are not an accident but a deliberate choice from the Maker of language. He is our Bread, of whom we cannot live without and whose supply of grace will never run out.

For the past three years, one of my favorite biblical counseling podcasts has been Joyful Journey. Their intro has ended with a poignant statement that grounds me with every episode, as though I’m stepping inside someone’s kitchen and reading one of those “In this house, we…” type of signs. The line goes, “I don’t just need to feel better, I need the truth, and ultimately, that will make me better.”

We live in a world saturated with the desire to put feelings first. While as daughters of the King, we recognize God’s Word is the supreme authority over our lives, we may still be susceptible to weaving into Scripture the threads of feelings-centeredness.

Die to Self v. Self-Help

“The Bible is not a self help book. It’s a die to self book.”

Christian apologist Melissa Dougherty recently posted the above quote that made me pause and check my heart. When we treat the Bible as our self-help book, we feed our pit of discontent as we wonder why we don’t feel as happy as other Christians. We start to interrogate any feeling or thought that does not express joy or gratitude in living out our new life in Christ. We fear that our lack of pleasant feelings when we praise God at church means that we’re not doing it “right”.

Without a proper understanding of the Gospel, Dougherty’s quote will be ignored, mocked, or twisted into a Christian form of joyless asceticism. Rather, the Gospel reminds us that we have been raised to new life in Christ, where lasting joy is found in emulating His humility, obedience to God, and yes, dying to self. When we insert feeling-centered words into our Bibles, we make this obedience incredibly and unnecessarily difficult. But as 1 John 5:3 counteracts, “his commandments are not burdensome.”

The Feelings-Centered Bible Test

Are you reading the Feelings-Centered Bible (FCB)? Take a look at the following verses and notice my edits in the italics.

1 John 5:3 “For this is the love of God, that we feel happy always, at all times, without any difficulty in fighting sin to keep his commandments. And his commandments are not going to feel burdensome. “

Romans 13:14 “But consistently feel excited and happy to put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and always feel the desire to make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.”

Isaiah 41:10 “Fear not, for feel so joyfully that I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; feel the comforting reality instantly that I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Psalm 42:5 “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God which will make you instantly feel better and forget about your current troubles; for once I feel this way, I shall again praise him, my salvation.”

Biblical counselor, Andrea Lee, shares that feelings-oriented obedience is perfectionistic at heart, “I must have perfect emotions (I must be overflowing with gratitude, praise, trust, and worship) 100% of the time.”[1]

When I first read this quote, I didn’t realize I was so misguided. Part of this misinterpretation stemmed from good intentions. I read verses like Psalm 16:11 that expound on God providing “fullness of joy” and “pleasures forevermore,” and I wanted to fully seize that. I mistook passing unpleasant or not overly ecstatic feelings for ingratitude and discontent. I read about rejoicing always, living the abundant life, and John Piper’s Christian hedonism, and I didn’t want to miss out on God’s earthly blessings. However, this distorted my sanctification by placing my agreeable feelings as a prerequisite, or at least a vital component of, rightfully obeying the Lord.

The Right Way of Hypocritical Living

One of my professors through my biblical counseling master’s program addressed this very issue. What do you say to the counselee who argues obeying God and going against their feelings is hypocritical? He responded by sharing his routine when he’d travel to speak at various conferences. Most of his flights were early in the morning, which meant he was getting up in the middle of the night, out of his nice, warm bed to face the cold, busy reality of an airport. He’d feel like falling back asleep, but he’d get up anyhow. Is this hypocritical? Certainly, he doesn’t feel like going to speak at a conference at that very moment!

Loving Through Doing Over Feeling

When feelings fail us, promises made out of love bind us to do what is right. Love is what brought our Sovereign Lord down from Heaven, promised in the garden of Eden, as a descendant through the royal line of King David. He became a helpless babe as He promised (Isaiah 9:6). His love for God rebuked Satan’s temptations in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-11).

His love bore with sinful and weak disciples despite their rejection during His greatest times of need, because He promised to never reject them (John 18:9). This promised love enabled our Lord, Jesus to let nails drive into his hands and feet, a crown of thorns be placed on head, and then look upon the crowd who both shouted “hosanna” and “crucify Him,” to say, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34).

Jesus’s life was not easy. Living in a sinful world as a sinless man would make it so. Yet our Savior bore the cross, took our sins, and grants us new life in Him out of love. This love showed itself in actions, most fully displayed on the cross, “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us” (1 John 3:16, italics mine).

In John 14:15, Jesus rests our love for Him on an action: keep. And its focus is on His commandments, found only in the Bible. We display our love for God not when we align our feelings like constellations to provide a pleasurable experience of obedience, but when we put His Word first, allowing it to pull from behind our desires, thoughts, and feelings. In doing so, we can trust that what God’s Word says about rejoicing always and having the abundant life can be realities for us, no matter the variability of our feelings.

Because, as the Joyful Journey intro conludes, “when you choose truth, you choose joy.”

[1] https://www.biblicalcounselingcoalition.org/2025/01/27/scrupulosity-and-one-distortion-of-sanctification/

Four years ago, I joined the royal family.

The fragrant aroma of budding flowers was just beginning to waft through the air along the brick path leading toward the main quad. The promise of spring simmered through the bustling walkways as the drove of vitamin D-starved students dreamt of dusting off their hammocks, submitting their final paper, or throwing their graduation cap in the air. At 21 years old, eager to finish my undergrad in three years, I was in the last group. Well, almost.

If it weren’t for the nightly hives and sporadic eye-switching, I wouldn’t have told you I was stressed.

My anxiousness over my future was equally coupled with my three-year search for meaning beyond myself. I had recently begun to identify as a Christian as one identifies with a sorority or D1 sports team. I was a team player, working hard for the kingdom by volunteering regularly with my school’s mission and ministry department. The weekly Bible studies, quirky retreat traditions, and budding friendships were giving me a home. But nothing could shake the burning question God was slowly carving into my heart.

Why should I forgive you?

With every failure to cut out worldly habits and every return to the God I knew was all-loving, I felt as if He was inching further away from me. I was unclean, unable to give Him a reason to forgive me that didn’t go beyond a flimsy response of, “because You love me?” I was waiting for the last straw, waiting for when the almighty Father just gave me up. The gap between us kept growing larger, and I could no longer ignore the dark chasm between us as my anxiety and frustrations over fighting sin plagued me further.

Suddenly, one Sunday afternoon, God put the reality of Jesus into my heart. He is the bridge between the Father and me, stepping into the great chasm by stooping down from Heaven to live the life that I could never: the perfect one. And then He gifted it to me, not because I was worthy or because I was “just so close,” but out of His love. In turn, I exchanged my dirty rags of attempted obedience for the robe of Jesus’s complete righteousness. In that moment of salvation, God sent His Holy Spirit to indwell in me, and I joined His royal family as a citizen of Heaven, a daughter of the King.

Biblical Royalty

Perhaps this sounds too “girlie,” or even unbiblical. But Scripture is embedded with this royal theme. Heaven is referred to multiple times by Jesus as a “kingdom” (Matthew 4:17; Mark 1:15; Luke 6:20; John 3:5), and its subjects are referred to as a “royal priesthood” (1 Peter 2:9). This kingdom is ruled by the “King of Israel” (John 1:49) or “Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6), who descended from the royal line of David (Matthew 1:1). The gates to the kingdom open to those who have heard the call of the King to “repent and believe” (Matthew 4:17).

The King directs us inside His castle walls, opening the doors of His armory to prepare us for battle. We are not home yet; there is work to be done. We buckle the “belt of truth,” lace up the shoes of the “gospel of peace,” hold up the “shield of faith,” put on the “helmet of salvation,” and unsheathe the “sword of the Spirit” (Ephesians 6:14-17). As His children, He grants us our royal orders to proclaim the good news that the kingdom of God is here to all outside its walls (Matthew 4:17; 28:19-20).

Living as the King’s Daughter

The royal language is no mistake. God has been building His kingdom, and if you are one of His daughters, you are called to live in a certain way. Having been saved from the dregs of sin and desperation, we rise up higher, pursuing an eternal calling with every hug given, essay written, baby soothed, dinner made, and work day completed.

This royal life is messy in its call to holiness. We struggle to put off sin, put on righteousness, endure suffering, forgive, love, hope, and more. But we will persevere because our King has gone before us, abiding in us through the Holy Spirit, and promising to never leave or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5).

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Serving the King

In the fall of 2023, I became a student again, this time pursuing a degree I had not known existed eight months prior. God was just beginning to prune me as I faced my first trial as a Christian. While receiving counsel and teaching from my church, I was drawn to the hope and excitement found in biblical counseling. I always had a penchant for pondering the greater matters of life, half-jokingly crediting my philosophy minor in undergrad with that attempt.

But biblical counseling promised more than empty answers and academic musings. I had personally witnessed God’s power in using His Word to ground me in hope, turn me from my sin, and draw me deeper into His love and grace. The resounding message was clear: how could I not want to facilitate this change for others?

The Invitation from the Valley

As His daughter, I’ve been in the valley where hope and lasting change felt like fleeting whispers in the night. I’ve struggled with sins I thought were woven into my being rather than old rags to be peeled off. I’ve wanted desperately to just feel better, but watched as that desire burst into an idol that spiraled to discontentment, frustration, and despair.

I’ve envied other believers who seemed to have it so easy. I’ve longed to not need my Bible and prayer because I bought into the glamorous lie of self-sufficiency. I’ve believed that the pull of sin was stronger than the supreme hand of my resurrected Savior who purchased me out of that bondage.

But as His daughter, I’ve drunk deep from the refreshing well of truth in Psalms read through night’s inner turmoil. I’ve tasted the clarity of mind that comes from repentance. I’ve deepened my relationship with sisters in Christ who bear my burdens. I’ve resisted resting in the Lord, only to find the newness of His green pastures is what I’ve been craving all along. I’ve looked squarely at my physical and spiritual weakness and released a deep sigh from my soul as I fell back into my Savior’s arms, who has everything under control.

Through this valley, God in His mercy gave me a blank page and an invitation: type.

One day, when we breathe our last and stand before Him in Heaven, we may have the great joy of hearing Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” I pray I’ll hear those words. Until then, these are my mileposts on my journey home, the markers as I follow the good Shepherd, the Wonderful Counselor, the Prince of Peace.

May they aid you in yours, daughter of the King.