Lights & Truth

In order for us to have harmony in our own lives, we must learn to recognize that we are capable of making mistakes and accept it. Scripture calls us to be perfect, but that does not mean we are unworthy of goodness when we fall short. In fact, our condition includes shortcomings, yet that condition is not permanent. Paul reminds us of this when he says, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). The presence of failure does not negate grace.

One of the biggest weapons used against an individual is distraction—specifically keeping us focused on how we are performing instead of why we are performing the way we are. When we obsess over outcomes, we begin to internalize failure as identity rather than information. When we do not accept our flaws, we tend to shy away from adversity. We create narratives preemptively, before a situation even has a chance to unfold. This often results in inaction, and we remain stuck until we either face the situation head on or are forced to change course.

However, if we are able to look past our shortcomings and still give maximum effort, change becomes possible. Scripture tells us, “Though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again” (Proverbs 24:16). Falling is not the problem—staying down is.

There is no such thing as the perfect moment to act. While some circumstances are certainly more ideal than others, it is rare to find ourselves in a situation that is simply “easy.” Even when we achieve a flow state, it isn’t because the situation aligns to us, but because we align ourselves to it. That alignment comes from experience across different disciplines that eventually converge into a single moment. It requires submission. The moment we attempt to control it, we find ourselves just as quickly outside of it.

What this means is that even in moments of failure, greatness can still emerge. In fact, it is often more likely to emerge there. Paul writes, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). When things don’t go the way we planned, the only way forward is creativity—and in creativity we open ourselves up to potential we would never reach otherwise.

Planning still matters. Living life without direction is not freedom—it is drift. Having a plan is like building rails for a train. Your dreams need a path to move on. Without one, forward motion becomes impossible. But once movement begins, we must accept that things will not always go as planned. Life is unpredictable because free will exists—not just our own, but everyone else’s as well.

Our dreams do not always align in method, even when they align in purpose. Ego can cause conflict even when the desired outcome is the same. We were never meant to be the sole author and finisher of movement. Scripture reminds us that “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion” (Philippians 1:6). Power is given to us, but not every idea is given in full. Sometimes we are only given fragments, and God places others in our lives carrying the missing pieces so the whole can be completed. This is why we must accept that failure is not only possible, but instructive.

This is not a call to seek failure. We must always seek success. But when failure comes, we must practice honesty and integrity instead of denial. James tells us that testing produces maturity, not destruction: “The testing of your faith produces perseverance, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing” (James 1:3–4). This is where true success begins to take shape.

As you move through this week, think about the areas of your life that cause anxiety. Ask yourself why. Is it embarrassment? Is it the pressure to provide? Is it the fear of being seen as less capable than you believe you should be? When you identify the source of these thoughts, don’t rush past them. Sit with them. Face them head on today.

To reject transactional relationships does not mean to abandon discernment, nor does it mean allowing oneself to be used in ways that are not good. It means refusing to reduce life to exchange alone. The next step in practicing devotional obedience is not generosity without wisdom, but functionality with purpose.

When life is lived through the lens of calling, relationships begin to shift. People no longer exist as assets to be leveraged, but as reinforcements to obedience. They stop serving the preservation of the self and begin contributing to the work that is being formed. This is where true wealth resides. Not in accumulation, but in alignment. “Better is a little with righteousness than much gain with injustice” (Proverbs 16:8).

This does not suggest that material provision disappears. At times it increases. But what changes first is not income—it is importance. Once importance is reordered, the chase ends. Life no longer needs to be pursued; it begins to be experienced as it was intended. “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:33).

To find functionality in relationships, calling must be clarified. This requires looking past the self without dissolving it, and refusing to see life through envy. When attention is fixed on the lives of others, personal vocation is quietly neglected. It is not wrong to help build what others are creating, but without purpose this eventually turns into resentment. “Let each one examine his own work, and then he will have reason for boasting in himself alone, and not in his neighbor” (Galatians 6:4).

One sign that participation has been replaced by performance is constant outflow without renewal. This often appears financially, but it is not limited to money. Energy, time, and attention can all be spent transactionally. Life cannot be purchased. It must be grown into. “For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost?” (Luke 14:28).

When purpose is absent, desire becomes undefined. When desire is undefined, consumption fills the gap. This is how repetition masquerades as progress. The same life is lived again under the illusion of movement. Yet circumstance does not define identity. Perspective does. “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Romans 12:2).

Once calling becomes clear, attention naturally shifts toward alignment. This is where many stumble—not because the goal is wrong, but because the approach remains transactional. Relationships are sought based on need rather than function. But life was never meant to be assembled through strategy alone. It is meant to be responded to through obedience. “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps” (Proverbs 16:9).

The task is not to seek people, but to seek His will. When alignment becomes the focus, what is needed is drawn in rather than chased. “The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in His way” (Psalm 37:23). In this posture, life becomes receptive. The right people and circumstances appear not as rewards, but as confirmations.

When they arrive, the self must loosen its grip again. Participation in something greater requires devotion to the whole. “For as the body is one and has many members… so it is with Christ” (1 Corinthians 12:12).

It is easy to lose sight of what matters. Even after clarity is gained, endurance is tested. Spiritual warfare is rarely dramatic; it is slow and quiet. Attrition wears resolve down until survival replaces purpose. When this happens, life becomes mechanical. Motion continues, but meaning thins. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy” (John 10:10).

Yet the path is never closed. Even after deviation, return is always available. “Return to Me, and I will return to you” (Malachi 3:7). To realign, the heart must be reopened. Purpose must be sought again—not as ambition, but as orientation.

When this occurs, survival loosens its hold. Participation resumes. Life no longer feels like something to endure. It becomes something to inhabit.

Do not measure relationships by what they provide.
Measure them by what they form.

Examine where life has become transactional and ask whether function has been forgotten.
Return attention to alignment rather than acquisition.
Devote yourself again—not to survival, but to purpose.

Life is not something meant to be managed—it is something meant to be entered into.
The most faithful way to navigate through it is not by controlling outcomes, but by building a relationship with it.

When life is approached transactionally, even faith begins to resemble performance. Each day becomes a calculation. Each action is measured by what it produces. Over time, sincerity is replaced by instinct, and instinct by habit. We continue moving, but no longer with intention. What was once alive becomes rehearsed.

There is another way to live.

Scripture does not call us into efficiency, but into faithfulness. Not into constant decision-making, but into obedience that is rooted in trust. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).

This is the distinction between performative transaction and devotional obedience.

Performative transactions seek to preserve the current self. They operate from fear—fear of loss, fear of stagnation, fear of falling behind. Devotional obedience, by contrast, has faith in what cannot yet be seen. It is willing to loosen its grip on the present self in order to give birth to the one that is being formed. “For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will find it” (Matthew 16:25).

Once this distinction becomes clear, the path forward is no longer forced. It is revealed.

When a relationship becomes performative, love quietly disappears. Actions turn into means, not expressions. On the surface, this appears efficient—productive even—but it carries hidden weight. When circumstances align with preference, attention drifts away from process and toward outcome. When circumstances darken, the transactional posture retreats into autopilot. Time passes quickly. Meaning thins. Joy becomes conditional.

Ecclesiastes warned of this long ago: “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14).

Life, however, does not operate randomly. It moves within design. And when purpose is absent, suffering is not redeemed—it is merely endured. This is why devotion matters. When life is lived beyond the self, meaning is no longer dependent on circumstance. The lens changes. Even difficulty becomes formative rather than destructive. “We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him” (Romans 8:28).

Modern life has convinced us that endless labor is the path to fulfillment. When direction is unclear, dreams are borrowed. This is how consumption replaces calling. The individual is taught to fend for itself, yet creation itself reveals the opposite—we are formed for relationship. “It is not good for man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18).

Relationship always requires sacrifice, but not the loss of agency. True sacrifice removes what hinders rather than what forms. Scripture speaks plainly here: “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit?” (1 Corinthians 6:19). To be a temple is not to be owned—it is to be entrusted.

When devotion governs the inner life, striving loosens its hold. Desire itself is reordered. “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4). This does not mean desire is indulged—it means it is refined. Goals change. Wants soften. Freedom is no longer found in endless choice, but in right alignment.

This is the shift from performance to participation.

Devotional obedience does not ask, What can I extract from this moment?
It asks, What can I offer here?

This is stewardship.

From the beginning, humanity was not given ownership but responsibility. “The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it” (Genesis 2:15). Stewardship is not self-denial for its own sake—it is care born from relationship.

This posture extends into every domain. In marriage, love becomes service rather than expectation. “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ” (Ephesians 5:21). In parenthood, formation replaces projection. In provision, money becomes a tool rather than a master. “Whoever is faithful with very little will also be faithful with much” (Luke 16:10).

Life is diminished when it is reduced to transaction. It is restored when it is lived devotionally.

Do not spend existence only performing.
Devote yourself—and begin to participate.

An artist sat alone in her studio, wanting to create her next great masterpiece. With excitement, she picked up her brush and stared at a blank canvas. As she looked around at the paints and tools surrounding her, ideas began to form. Yet each time she mentally walked through the process, she realized she didn’t have the exact colors or instruments to achieve the image she was envisioning. Without ever placing the brush on the canvas, she started over.

She began to pace the room, studying the possibilities, becoming aware of just how many tools she had access to, yet unaware of how complete the moment already was. What began as excitement slowly turned into anxiety. She could use anything—but where should she start? The abundance of choice overwhelmed her. Hours passed, and eventually she gave up for the day, deciding she would try again tomorrow.

That night, preparing for bed, she opened her journal to release the thoughts lingering in her mind. As she began to write, a vision of an art piece appeared with clarity. Exhausted and unwilling to return to the studio, she sketched it into the journal so it wouldn’t be forgotten. With each stroke, a calm settled in. When the image was complete, she smiled—not because it was perfect, but because it existed.

Freedom and happiness are often treated as destinations. They are spoken of as things to be obtained, as though once reached, everything else will fall into place. The problem is neither can be properly defined. There is no measurable limit to freedom or happiness. They exist whole and untouched. When a person encounters even a fragment of true freedom, its weight can be unsettling. What sounds desirable quickly becomes disorienting.

Scripture reminds us that freedom, when untethered, is not neutral.

“‘I have the right to do anything,’ you say—but not everything is beneficial. ‘I have the right to do anything’—but not everything is constructive.” (1 Corinthians 10:23)

Infinite possibility removes direction. When everything is possible, nothing is chosen. When life is lived only in potential, action is endlessly postponed. For something to remain perfectly free, it must remain untouched by decision, form, or restraint. But untouched freedom cannot produce life. It cannot create.

This is why Scripture does not frame freedom as limitless expression, but as ordered submission:

“You were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh.” (Galatians 5:13)

Because we are natural beings, inaction does not leave us unchanged. Time continues regardless of participation. Even if perspective remains fixed, circumstances do not. When we refuse to move in the direction we are being called, we are still carried somewhere else. Drift is not neutral.

Scripture speaks directly to this reality:

“So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.” (James 4:17)

Conflict does not require intention to appear. It finds its way in when attention is left unguarded. Inactivity quietly hands focus to something else. This is why Scripture so often warns against spiritual passivity rather than overt rebellion:

“Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

Structure, then, is not the enemy of freedom. It is the condition that allows freedom to function. When boundaries are set, energy is no longer spent deciding whether to act, but how to act within them. This is where freedom becomes usable. This is where creativity begins.

The order of creation itself testifies to this:

“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

We are called to actively seek good, but we are also called into rest. Rest does not mean disengagement. When Scripture commands us to keep the Sabbath holy, it is not a call to emptiness. It is a call to seriousness—to weight and intention.

“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” (Exodus 20:8)

Holiness does not remove purpose; it concentrates it. A day set apart does not lose meaning—it gains it. Rest is not the absence of action but the removal of self-interest from action.

Even Christ clarified that rest was never meant to be passive abandonment:

“The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.” (Mark 2:27)

Consider silence. Silence is not the absence of sound—it is the space where meaning can be heard. Without silence, words lose their shape. Without rest, work loses its direction. Without restraint, freedom collapses into noise.

This is why Scripture ties peace not to freedom without limits, but to minds kept within order:

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you.” (Isaiah 26:3)

As this year begins, intention matters. Boundaries are not barriers; they are form. Within form, creation can occur. Within restraint, expression becomes meaningful. Within obedience, freedom finds its shape.

This is where freedom actually lives.