This past week, my wife and I had a deep conversation with our son, who has been struggling to see himself in a positive way. He is susceptible to the lies the enemy and his accomplices (today’s culture) tell him, the most devastating of which is, “you are not worthy.” Not worthy to be loved, not worthy of other people’s love and attention.
This got me pondering the notion of how we define ourselves. One conclusion I landed on was that whether we realize it or not, we are all constantly answering an important question:
Who am I?
And more often than we’d like to admit, we answer it based on what we do—or what we’ve done.
Our successes. Our failures. Our best moments. Our worst decisions.
We build identities out of accomplishments… or regrets.
But Scripture offers something radically different.
Thanks be to God for that.
Not Defined by What We’ve Done
The good news is this:
We are not defined by what we’ve done—even the things we’re most proud of.
This is good news, because through the lens of eternity, all of those things will eventually fade away.
And even better:
We are not defined by what we’ve done wrong—even the things we wish we could undo. Especially not those things.
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8–9 (NIV)
And that leads to something both beautiful… and difficult.
Loving When It’s Hard
God didn’t just love us when we were neutral toward Him.
He loved us when we were opposed to Him.
“When we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son…” Romans 5:10 (NIV)
That’s not just a comforting truth.
It’s a challenging one.
Because it reveals something about God’s character that we are invited—if not commanded—to reflect.
The Way We Usually Respond
If I’m honest, this is where things get uncomfortable.
When someone opposes me— when they challenge me, disagree with me, or stand in my way—
I don’t naturally think:
I should love them.
I think:
This is a problem to solve. This is someone to win against. This is an obstacle to overcome.
Opposition becomes personal.
It becomes something to fix, manage, or defeat.
Looking at the divisiveness in our culture, it’s clear I’m not alone in this.
The Way God Responds
But that’s not how God responds.
God sees opposition…
and moves toward it with love.
Not approval of everything. Not ignoring truth.
But choosing love anyway.
That’s what the cross shows us.
God didn’t wait for us to come around.
He moved toward us while we were still running the other way—fast and self-destructively.
This seems like a challenging way to view people who oppose us. Maybe an impossible way.
But this is the way of living and loving that Jesus modeled for us. So this is the way we are supposed to live.
God responds to opposition with love.
What If We Lived This Way?
It makes me wonder:
How different would our world be…
if we saw the people who oppose us not as enemies to defeat—
but as people to love?
People created in God’s image. People who, like us, are in need of grace. People who, like us, are invited into something better. People who, like us, Jesus chose to give His life for—whether or not that makes sense to us.
Instead of defining others by labels… or positions… or disagreements…
What if we defined them the way God defines both them and us?
As people worth loving.
A Glimpse of What’s Coming
Maybe that will be one of the glorious characteristics of heaven.
A place where no one is trying to prove themselves.
No one is clinging to identity through labels or status.
No one is competing, comparing, or dividing.
Just people…
fully alive in God’s presence, secure in His love, and finally free to love others the same way.
“Dear friends, now we are children of God… we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” 1 John 3:2 (NIV)
Living from a Different Identity
If we are defined by what God has done…
then we don’t have to spend our lives trying to prove who we are.
We don’t have to cling to achievements.
We don’t have to be crushed by failure or a long trail of defeats.
And we don’t have to treat others as threats.
Instead, we can live from a place of security.
Loved. Forgiven. Restored.
And free to love others—even when they make that difficult.
A Final Encouragement
If you’ve been carrying the weight of your past—
your mistakes, your regrets, your failures—
hear this:
That is not what defines you.
And if you’ve been defining others by their worst moments…
or their opposition to you…
maybe it’s time to see them differently.
The same way God sees them, and you.
Defined not by what we’ve done… but by what He has already done.
A Question to Sit With
Who—or what—have I been allowing to define me?
And how might my life change if I truly lived from the identity God has already given me?
Why We Don’t Have to Be Afraid in a World That Feels Overwhelming
Introduction: “How Are We Supposed to Do This?”
I’ve been thinking about what it must have felt like for the disciples in those final moments with Jesus.
He had just been crucified. Then raised. Then appeared to them—alive again.
And now…
He was leaving?
I can’t help but imagine the questions running through their minds:
How are we supposed to do this without Him? If they rejected Him… what chance do we have? If Jesus Himself faced that kind of opposition… what will happen to us?
It had to feel overwhelming.
And yet…
somehow they did it.
They carried the message of Jesus across the known world.
Which brings us back to a word we often use without thinking:
Somehow.
But “somehow” isn’t vague.
It’s very specific.
The Promise They Were Given
Before Jesus left, He didn’t just give them a mission.
The journey through Holy Week—the tension, the sorrow, the awe of the cross, and the joy of the resurrection—has reached its emotional peak.
The story that changed everything has once again been remembered, reflected on, and celebrated.
And now…
life goes on.
If I’m honest, this is where things have often slipped for me in the past.
The rhythms of Lent fade. The things I may have given up quietly return. The deeper reflections and commitments get packed away—like Easter decorations—until next year.
The intensity fades…
…and life returns to normal.
But this year, I’m asking a different question:
What if Easter isn’t the end of something… but the beginning?
More Than a Moment
It’s easy to treat Easter like an event—something we observe, celebrate, and then move past.
But the resurrection was never meant to be something we simply remember.
It was meant to be something we live into.
“We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead… we too may live a new life.” Romans 6:4 (NIV)
That phrase stops me every time:
“…so that we too may live a new life.”
Not someday. Not just spiritually in theory.
Now.
Easter isn’t just about what Jesus did.
It’s about what becomes possible because He did it.
The Pattern I Want to Break
For much of my journey, my pattern has looked something like this:
Lent creates space for reflection. Easter brings clarity and gratitude. And then… things slowly drift back.
Not overnight. Not intentionally. Just gradually.
Comfort creeps in. Old habits resurface. The urgency fades.
And while nothing seems obviously wrong…
something is lost.
Because the cross wasn’t meant to create a temporary shift in behavior.
It was meant to create a lasting transformation of life.
The Paradox I Can’t Ignore
The more I reflect on the cross, the more I’m struck by its paradox:
Life comes through death. Strength is revealed in weakness. Freedom is found in surrender.
None of that is intuitive.
Everything in me—and everything in the world around me—pushes in the opposite direction.
And yet…
this is the way of Jesus.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)
If that’s true, then following Jesus isn’t about becoming more self-sufficient.
It’s about becoming more dependent.
Not about elevating myself…
but about learning to lay things down.
So What Actually Changes?
That’s the real question, isn’t it?
If Easter is true—if Jesus really rose from the dead—what changes in my life on a random Tuesday morning?
Not everything changes all at once.
But something does.
1. I Stay Close
Instead of drifting after a spiritual high, I stay connected.
“Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.” Galatians 5:25 (NIV)
Step by step. Day by day.
3. I Remember Intentionally
Because forgetting is easy.
“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.” Psalm 103:2 (NIV)
I don’t want Easter to become something I revisit once a year.
I want it to shape how I live every day.
A Different Approach This Year
This year, I’m trying something different.
Instead of letting the momentum fade, I’m continuing it.
I’ve started new devotionals. I’m continuing a more intentional rhythm of Scripture. I’m making space to keep reflecting on what the cross really means—and what the resurrection makes possible.
Not because I have it figured out.
But because I don’t want to lose what God has been doing.
The Invitation
Maybe you feel this too.
Maybe you’ve experienced the same cycle— the same return to normal after something that felt anything but normal.
So here’s a simple invitation:
Don’t pack Easter away.
Carry something with you:
A practice you began A truth that stood out A question that still lingers
Let it stay.
Let it shape you.
Living Into What We Didn’t Deserve
At the center of all of this is something I can’t ignore:
I didn’t earn any of this.
The cross wasn’t deserved. The resurrection wasn’t owed. The invitation to new life wasn’t something I achieved.
It was given.
Freely. Fully. Completely.
That’s called grace.
And maybe that’s the place to begin.
Not with pressure to change everything…
But with a simple response:
To live differently because of what’s already been done. Out of gratitude for God’s grace.
Now What?
Easter’s over.
But the story isn’t.
And neither is the invitation.
The goal isn’t to have a powerful Easter moment.
It’s to live a transformed life because of it.
So this week—and the weeks ahead—I’m asking myself:
Where is God inviting me to live differently?
Not perfectly. Not dramatically.
Just faithfully.
One step at a time.
Because the resurrection didn’t just change eternity.
And for those of us who follow Jesus, it’s the best news we could ever hear.
But if we slow down for a moment…
…it’s also a very strange idea.
Because usually, when something dies—
it stays that way.
The Strangeness of Resurrection
On this side of history, with the benefit of Scripture, tradition, and centuries of reflection, I can make my way to believing that Jesus really died—
and that through the power of God, He really rose again.
It doesn’t fully make sense.
It pushes against everything we observe about the natural world.
But then again…
God created the natural order.
So it stands to reason that He is not bound by it.
“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” John 11:25 (NIV)
The resurrection doesn’t ask us to understand everything.
It asks us to trust Someone.
Standing in the In-Between
As I read the resurrection accounts this morning, I found myself going back again—
placing myself among the disciples.
After the crucifixion. On that quiet, confusing Saturday.
Just days earlier, hope had been soaring.
Palm branches. Crowds shouting Hosanna. Expectations of a conquering King.
And then—
the cross.
Brutal. Public. Final.
Final? But wait, what about…?
Hope didn’t just fade.
It died.
And yet…
Jesus had said something.
More than once.
“The Son of Man must be killed and after three days rise again.” Mark 8:31 (NIV)
He had spoken of seeds falling to the ground and dying—so that new life could come.
“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24 (NIV)
I can’t help but wonder—
would I have remembered those words?
Would I have held onto them?
Or would grief have drowned them out?
Because when you’re standing in front of death, with gruesome images of a brutal execution still replaying through your mind—
it’s hard to imagine anything beyond it.
And Then… There He Was
None of the Gospel accounts record the disciples saying:
“Oh—now we get it!”
No one seems to have been standing there, arms crossed, waiting for the third day.
Instead, we see something else:
Confusion. Disbelief. Fear.
Until suddenly—
there He was.
Alive.
Alive?? Wait, what?
“The angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid… He is not here; he has risen, just as he said.’” —Matthew 28:5–6 (NIV)
Or as it’s phrased in The Message:
“There is nothing to fear here.”
Nothing to fear.
Even in the face of death itself.
Because death, it turns out…
doesn’t always get the final word.
When Dead Things Don’t Stay Dead
Fast-forward to my life today.
I may not have stood outside the empty tomb.
But I have experienced something of its power.
There have been seasons when my hope felt dead.
Seasons when peace felt out of reach.
Moments when even my faith felt like it had slipped away.
And yet—
in the presence of Jesus…
dead things don’t always stay dead.
Hope returns.
Peace resurfaces.
Faith rises again.
Not because I figured it out.
Not because I forced it.
But because resurrection is what Jesus does.
He Didn’t Rise Alone
This is the part that still stops me.
Jesus didn’t just rise from the dead…
He pulled us into and through that resurrection with Him.
“God… made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions.” Ephesians 2:4–5 (NIV)
“We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that… we too may live a new life.” Romans 6:4 (NIV)
That means the resurrection isn’t just something that happened to Jesus.
It’s something that happens to us.
He didn’t leave us behind in death.
He dragged us into life.
A Living Hope
I don’t fully understand it.
I can’t explain it in a way that satisfies every question.
But I have lived it.
And that’s why I’m still here.
That’s why I’m writing this today.
To remind you—
if something in your life feels dead…
it’s probably not be the end of the story.
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” —1 Peter 1:3 (NIV)
A Final Encouragement
If you’re in a place where hope feels gone…
If peace feels buried…
If faith feels like it has slipped through your fingers…
Hear this:
There is nothing to fear here.
Because the same power that raised Jesus from the dead—
is still at work.
Still restoring. Still renewing. Still bringing life out of what looks finished.
Same God. Same power. Still making all things new.
There’s something in John 13 that struck me differently this time as I was going through a Holy Week devotional on YouVersion.
It’s a detail I’ve read many times before—but this time, it stopped me.
John tells us that Jesus knew exactly who He was.
He knew He had come from God. He knew He was returning to God. He knew that all authority had been placed in His hands.
“Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power… and that he had come from God and was returning to God.” John 13:3 (NIV)
Think about that for a moment.
Jesus had all power.
And how did He choose to use it?
Not to prove Himself. Not to demand loyalty. Not to overthrow Rome.
He picked up a towel.
“So he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist.” John 13:4 (NIV)
And then He did something almost unthinkable.
He washed His disciples’ feet.
Feet that were dirty from walking dusty roads. Feet that, in that culture, were cleaned by the lowest servant in the household.
And He washed all of their feet.
Why?
Jesus tells us plainly:
“I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.” John 13:15 (NIV)
This is how the Kingdom of God works.
This is how love triumphs over evil.
Not through force. Not through status. Not through power as the world defines it.
Through humility. Through service. Through putting others ahead of ourselves.
It’s simple.
But it’s not easy.
If I’m honest, this kind of life feels completely countercultural—and far outside my comfort zone. I don’t naturally reach for the towel. I reach for control, for efficiency, for outcomes.
But Jesus shows us a different way.
A better way.
A harder way.
And a way that actually changes the world.
He closes this moment with both a command and a promise:
“Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.” John 13:17 (NIV)
So today, my prayer is simple:
That I would notice opportunities to serve. That I would choose the lower place. That I would pick up the towel.
I can only imagine how much more impactful the Church would be in the world today if this is what it was known for—not for what it demands— but for how it serves…
the way Jesus meant for it to be.
Go Deeper
Why This Kind of Love Changes Everything
What Jesus did that night wasn’t just an act of kindness.
It was a redefinition of power.
In a world that equates power with control, visibility, and status, Jesus shows us that true power looks like something entirely different:
“Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant.” Matthew 20:26 (NIV)
This isn’t weakness.
It’s strength, willingly laid down for the sake of others.
And it’s not just something Jesus modeled—it’s something He commands:
“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” John 13:34 (NIV)
That’s the heart of Maundy Thursday.
The word Maundy comes from the Latin mandatum—meaning command.
Love like this.
Serve like this.
Live like this.
A Question to Sit With
Where might God be inviting me to pick up the towel this week?
Not in a grand, visible way.
But in a quiet, intentional act of service that puts someone else ahead of myself.
Peter, who boldly declared he would never leave Jesus, that he would follow Jesus even to death, denied even knowing Him. Three times.
The others scattered.
In Jesus’ darkest hour, the people who had walked most closely with Him… abandoned Him.
That’s what fickle faith looks like.
It’s not always loud rebellion. Sometimes it’s quiet retreat.
I’m not blaming the disciples. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m pretty sure I would have done the same thing.
What Makes Faith Fickle?
When I step back and look at it honestly, fickle faith often grows out of a few familiar places.
Sometimes it’s unmet expectations. The people cheering on Palm Sunday were expecting a king who would overthrow Rome. When Jesus didn’t fit that picture, their enthusiasm faded.
Sometimes it’s conditional commitment. I’ll follow God—as long as things make sense… as long as it’s comfortable… as long as it doesn’t cost too much.
And sometimes—often—it’s fear.
Not fear that God isn’t real— but fear of what it might mean to fully align my life with Him.
The disciples didn’t suddenly stop believing in Jesus.
They were just afraid to be associated with Him when it could have cost them their lives, when it mattered most.
A Different Kind of Faith
So what does non-fickle faith look like?
It’s not perfect faith. It’s not necessarily even fearless faith.
Non-fickle faith is faith that stays.
It stays when things are confusing. It stays when following Jesus is costly. It stays when emotions fade and clarity is hard to find.
And maybe most importantly—
It runs toward Jesus, not away from Him… even after failure. Especially after failure.
After denying Jesus, Peter could have disappeared. He could have hidden in shame. At first, he did. He went away, weeping bitterly, when he realized what he had done.
But instead of remaining trapped in his self-pity, when he encountered the risen Jesus… he came back.
And Jesus restored him—not with condemnation, but with love.
That’s the difference.
Fickle faith hides—hoping God didn’t notice. Faithful faith returns—trusting that He already knows… and still restores.
Not Ashamed
The apostle Paul puts it this way:
“For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes.” Romans 1:16 (NIV)
Non-fickle faith is unashamed faith.
Not loud. Not performative. But settled.
A faith that says:
My relationship with God matters more than my reputation. More than my comfort. More than my need to understand everything.
It’s a reordering of priorities— where Jesus is not just part of my life, but the center of it.
The Faithfulness That Holds Us
And here’s the part that gives me the most hope.
Our faith may be fickle at times.
But Jesus is not.
Even when the crowd turned… Even when the disciples ran… Even when Peter denied Him…
Jesus stayed.
He stayed on the path to the cross. He stayed faithful to His mission. He stayed committed to us.
The story of Holy Week isn’t just about the weakness of human faith.
It’s about the unshakable faithfulness of Christ.
What About Us?
So here’s the question I’m carrying into this week—and maybe you’ll carry it too:
Where am I tempted to drift away from Jesus… instead of toward Him?
Pay attention to the moments when your faith feels easy.
And also to the moments when it feels costly.
When you’re tempted to go quiet. To pull back. To hide.
And in those moments…
Pause.
And choose—even in a small way—to move toward Him instead of away.
A question to carry into this week: When I stumble, do I move away from Jesus… or toward Him?
Staying Instead of Drifting
The goal isn’t perfect faith.
It’s faithful direction.
Because the difference between fickle faith and faithful faith isn’t whether we stumble—
It’s which direction we go when we do.
Palm Sunday reminds us how quickly our hearts can shift.
Good Friday reminds us how far Jesus was willing to go for us anyway.
And somewhere in between, we’re invited to live with a different kind of faith.
Not louder. Not flashier. Just steadier.
A faith that stays.
Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s quiet. Even when it costs something.
Because He stayed for us.
And He’s still with us now, regardless of how many times we’ve denied Him.
Recognizing God’s Voice in the Quiet Moments of Life
Introduction: When Guidance Isn’t Obvious
Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about walking with God in quiet seasons—about slowing down, returning without shame, trusting unanswered prayers, and learning to live in the unforced rhythms of grace.
Last week, we explored what happens when we remain connected to Christ—that over time, fruit begins to grow naturally in our lives.
But that raises a very practical question.
If we’re walking closely with God… if we’re abiding… if we’re learning to trust Him…
How do we actually recognize His voice?
Not in dramatic, unmistakable moments.
But in the everyday decisions of life.
The Expectation We Bring
I think many of us expect God’s guidance to be clear, direct, and unmistakable.
A strong impression. A clear answer. A defined next step.
And sometimes, that happens.
But more often—at least in my experience—God’s guidance feels quieter than that.
Less like a command. More like a nudge.
Less like certainty. More like direction.
And that can be unsettling.
When I Couldn’t Hear Him
There have been several times throughout my career when I found myself in situations that weren’t where I wanted to be.
Sometimes it was excessive stress. Sometimes it was poor leadership. Sometimes it was a gap between what I expected and what the role actually became.
In those seasons, I would pray:
God, show me what You want me to do. Should I stay? Should I go? (At which point The Clash song starts playing in my head… I’ve mentioned before that life should have a soundtrack, right?)
And more often than not, I didn’t feel like I was getting a clear answer.
I wanted direction.
What I felt instead… was silence.
But then something interesting happened.
On at least two occasions I can think of, I didn’t leave those roles by choice.
I was laid off.
And in both cases, what followed was something better than what I would have chosen for myself.
Looking back now, I can’t help but wonder:
Was God already guiding me… and I just couldn’t hear Him?
Or maybe more honestly—
Was I hearing Him… but struggling to trust what He was doing next?
When Listening Is Complicated by Fear
Fast forward to today.
I’m in a role that I genuinely enjoy most days. There’s nothing obviously wrong with it.
But at the same time, I find myself standing at the edge of something new.
A possible transition into semi-retirement. More time to travel. More focus on physical, spiritual, and emotional health. More energy invested in the things that feel meaningful and life-giving.
And in my daily prayers, I’ve been asking:
God, when is the right time? Is it now? Is it later? Am I ready?
Some days, I sense something—almost like a whisper:
Trust Me. I have more for you.
Other days, I wonder:
Didn’t You lead me here for a reason? Have I fulfilled that yet?
And if I’m honest, there are moments when I simply don’t know.
Not because God isn’t present.
But because discernment isn’t always clear.
Listening Is Not Always Hearing Words
One of the things I’m beginning to understand is this:
Listening to God is not always about hearing something new.
Often, it’s about recognizing how He is already leading.
Through:
the desires He’s shaping in us
Bible verses we read or have read before that suddenly come to mind
the doors He opens and closes
the wisdom we gain over time
the peace (or lack of it) we experience
God’s guidance is not always loud.
But it is usually consistent.
And it never contradicts who He is.
Learning to Recognize His Voice
Jesus said:
“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” John 10:27 (NIV)
That verse doesn’t describe a technique.
It describes a relationship.
Sheep don’t analyze the shepherd’s voice.
They learn it over time.
Through proximity. Through familiarity. Through trust.
And I’m realizing that’s how listening works for us, too.
Not perfectly. Not instantly.
But gradually.
Where I Am Right Now
If I’m being honest, I’m still learning this.
I’ve grown. I trust God more today than I did years ago. I’ve seen His faithfulness.
But I’m not “there.”
I’m still asking questions. Still wrestling with timing. Still learning how to listen without forcing clarity.
And maybe that’s part of the point.
Listening to God is not about arriving at certainty.
It’s about walking closely enough to recognize His direction over time.
Following Even When It’s Not Clear
The more I walk with God, the more I see that He rarely gives us the full roadmap.
Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about quiet seasons—about hurry, shame, returning, unanswered prayers, and learning to trust God’s patience.
Last week we reflected on what Jesus called “the unforced rhythms of grace”—a way of living that stays close to Him without striving or spiritual exhaustion.
But that raises an honest question.
If faith grows quietly… If grace moves in rhythms… If we stop forcing spiritual progress…
How does real change actually happen?
If we’re not pushing ourselves constantly, will anything actually grow?
Jesus answered that question long before we started asking it.
And His answer was surprisingly simple.
The rhythms that keep us close to Christ are the same rhythms through which His life begins to grow within us.
Abiding Before Producing
Jesus once described the life of faith using a picture that would have been very familiar to His listeners:
In a world that measures success through effort and productivity, this can feel counterintuitive. I have to admit that I’ve struggled with this throughout my walk with Christ, since it flies in the face of my career growth, of success in general.
We often assume spiritual maturity comes from intensity.
But Jesus describes something different.
Growth in the life of faith often looks quiet and gradual.
Less anger where anger once lived.
More patience in situations that once triggered frustration.
A deeper steadiness when circumstances feel uncertain.
Over time, something inside us begins to change. Thankfully, due to God’s grace and patience with me, I have been experiencing this in recent years. Sadly, not all the time, since I always have to remind myself to stay out of God’s way as He works in me and through me.
But my growth trajectory remains, thanks be to God.
And Scripture calls that change, that growth, fruit.
Over the past several weeks, we’ve talked about quiet seasons—about hurry, shame, returning, unanswered prayers, and the patience of God.
In many ways, those reflections have been about learning to slow down enough to walk with God—not ahead or behind, not acting like Christians without much thought about Christ. (No judgment—most of us go through seasons like that.)
But this week I encountered a phrase during a Lent devotional reading that stopped me in my tracks.
It’s a phrase I’ve read many times before, but this time it landed differently.
Jesus’ invitation in Matthew 11 includes these words:
“Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” Matthew 11:29 (The Message)
The image Jesus used was a yoke—two animals walking side by side, moving in the same direction at the same pace. Life becomes lighter not because the load disappears, but because we are no longer carrying it alone.
Unforced rhythms of grace.
Something about that phrase felt especially personal this time.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking more intentionally about the future—about stepping away from my career soon and entering a new season of life. A season where I hope to travel more, focus on my health, and devote more time to my wife, family, friends, faith, and the passion projects that bring meaning to my life.
Whatever the reason, those words struck me with fresh clarity.
Faith that lasts isn’t forced.
It grows through rhythms—unforced rhythms.
Rhythms are what turn belief into relationship.
The Kind of Faith That Endures
If you’re anything like me, you began your faith journey with bursts of intensity.
Moments of conviction. Moments of clarity. Moments where God felt especially near.
But those moments, powerful as they are, are not the foundation of a lasting faith.
For me, being “on fire for the Lord” was great at the beginning of my journey. But as so often happens with anything fiery, it often doesn’t take much to put it out. A bucket of water—being betrayed by a Christian friend, seeing people calling themselves Christians behaving in ways that never instructed them to—can quickly turn you into smoldering ashes.
Fiery faith can be a beautiful beginning. But lasting faith usually grows through something quieter.
Through daily choices. Through small returns. Through ordinary moments of trust.
It grows through rhythms. A daily walk with God, who is often not in any particular hurry.
Just as physical health comes from consistent habits rather than occasional effort, spiritual health grows through repeated practices that keep us close to God.
Prayer. Scripture. Stillness. Gratitude. Trust. Fellowship with brothers and sisters in Christ.
None of these things are dramatic on their own.
But over time, they form something durable. Enduring.
Why Grace Moves in Rhythms
The phrase “unforced rhythms of grace” is striking because it describes something we often misunderstand.
Grace is not frantic.
Grace does not demand performance.
Grace invites participation.
God is not asking us to manufacture spiritual intensity. He is inviting us into a way of life that keeps us close to Him.
Walk with Me. Work with Me. Watch how I do it.
In other words:
Live life at My pace.
When we learn that pace, faith becomes less exhausting.
Not because life becomes easier—but because we stop trying to carry it alone.
The Slow Formation of a Steady Faith
Over time, something beautiful begins to happen.
Faith stops feeling like something we have to maintain.
Instead, it becomes something we live within.
The rhythms begin shaping us.
We become slower to panic.
Quicker to return.
More patient with others.
More trusting when outcomes remain unresolved.
What began as intentional practices gradually becomes a settled posture.
Not perfect faith.
But steady faith.
A Faith That Outlasts Circumstances
The truth is, life will always contain seasons of uncertainty.
Prayers will sometimes remain unanswered.
Plans will sometimes change.
Circumstances will sometimes resist our control.
But a faith rooted in the unforced rhythms of grace is not easily shaken.
Because it isn’t built on constant emotional highs.
It’s built on relationship.
On daily returning.
On quiet trust.
And over time, that kind of faith doesn’t just survive life’s storms.
It grows stronger through them, with Jesus in the boat beside us.
Go Deeper
Why Rhythms Matter More Than Moments
Many of us remember the moments when God felt especially close.
But Scripture suggests that lasting faith is formed less by dramatic moments and more by consistent rhythms.
Jesus Himself regularly withdrew to quiet places to pray.
“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” Luke 5:16 (NIV)
He observed rhythms of rest.
He moved deliberately rather than hurriedly.
Even the structure of creation reflects rhythm:
Day and night. Work and rest. Seasons of planting and harvest.
God designed life to grow through repetition.
Which means the quiet practices that sometimes feel small—prayer, Scripture, gratitude, reflection—are actually the soil where durable faith grows.
A question to sit with this week:
What rhythms in my life are helping me stay close to God… and which ones might be pulling me away?
Faith that grows and lasts is rarely dramatic.
But it is deeply rooted.
And roots, though invisible, are what allow a life to stand firm.
Closing Encouragement
If your faith feels quiet right now…
If your walk with God feels more ordinary than dramatic…
That may not be a problem.
It may simply mean you are learning the unforced rhythms of grace.
The kind of rhythms that slowly form a faith that grows.
Master's Canvas - Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter 