When Faith Gets Put on Trial

There is something I have been noticing. It tends to surface after the prayers have been prayed, faith has been exercised, people have contended—and the ending still isn’t the one everyone asked for.

Eventually, someone starts looking for the variable. Maybe there wasn’t enough faith. Maybe doubt got in the way. Maybe someone didn’t believe hard enough.

I have heard enough variations of that idea to think it is worth naming. Somewhere along the way, some corners of the Church created an equation Scripture itself never gave us:

Desired outcome = sufficient faith.
Undesired outcome = insufficient faith.

To be fair, the equation did not appear from nowhere. Jesus tells us to believe when we pray. James warns about asking while doubting. Hebrews tells us that without faith it is impossible to please God. The Gospels even contain moments when Jesus directly confronts unbelief. Those passages matter. Faith matters. Unbelief matters.

I believe God hears us when we pray. I believe He draws near. I believe He heals, restores, delivers and intervenes. I believe we should ask boldly, contend earnestly and invite God to expose unbelief wherever it has taken root in us. But Scripture does not permit us to turn those truths into a formula.

There is a garden just outside Jerusalem where that formula falls apart.

The Cup Didn’t Pass

Jesus entered Gethsemane in anguish and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me.”

Then He prayed again. And again. Luke tells us that His anguish intensified and that He prayed even more earnestly.

The cup did not pass.

Was the problem Jesus’ faith? Of course not. Jesus’ faith was perfect. And somehow, perfect faith looked like weakness that night. It looked like anguish, persistence, dependence and surrender:

“Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.”

The unanswered request was not evidence of deficient faith. His persistence was faith. His surrender was faith. His trust in the Father while standing inside unbearable anguish was faith. That distinction matters.

Sometimes we treat surrender as the fine print beneath believing prayer—as though “Your will be done” is what we say when we are afraid to expect too much. Gethsemane suggests something very different.

Surrender itself is an expression of faith.

Prayer is worship because prayer acknowledges something fundamental: God is God, and I am not. He invites our participation. He teaches us, encourages us and empowers us. He tells us to ask. But partnership is not parity. God did not surrender His sovereignty when He invited us to pray.

When Faith Becomes About Us

This is where an inflated theology of faith can subtly shift the center of gravity. Faith stops being trust in God and begins becoming confidence in our ability to produce an outcome: my faith, my declaration, my certainty, my ability to receive.

Eventually, God begins looking less like Father and more like a mechanism: apply sufficient belief and receive the requested result.

But faith is not currency. God is not a genie. Grace is not wages for believing correctly.

Paul learned this when he repeatedly asked God to remove his thorn. The thorn remained. Christ answered, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Apparently grace can be sufficient even when the thorn remains.

Romans 8 tells us something similar. The Spirit helps us in our weakness, even when we do not know how to pray as we ought. Notice where grace enters the story—not after we overcome helplessness, but inside it.

Even the desperate father who cried, “I believe; help my unbelief!” discovered that Jesus was willing to meet a man whose faith and doubt somehow occupied the same sentence. Helplessness is not a disqualification from grace.

That should make us extraordinarily careful about placing additional weight on people who are already suffering. There is enough vulnerability in asking God for something we cannot fix ourselves. When the answer does not resemble what was prayed for, the Church should be very cautious before adding an indictment to the grief.

Same Faith. Different Outcomes.

Hebrews 11 makes that caution unavoidable. Some people, through faith, conquered kingdoms, escaped the sword and received back their dead. Others, through faith, were imprisoned, tortured, afflicted and killed.

Scripture commends them all. Same faith. Different endings.

Faith was never intended to function as a mechanism through which we control God. It is trust in God.

That is why the words of the three Hebrew exiles in Daniel remain so powerful. They believed God was able to deliver them from the furnace. And then came the words that kept faith from becoming entitlement:

“But if not…”

God is able. But if not, He is still God.

That is not unbelief. Sometimes it is one of the bravest expressions of faith available to us.

Don’t Put Their Faith on Trial

So ask. Believe. Contend. Keep praying when the answer has not come. Ask God to expose unbelief and deepen your trust. Believe that He can intervene in ways only He can.

But when someone else’s cup does not pass, resist the temptation to put their faith on trial.

Sometimes grace removes the thorn. Sometimes grace becomes sufficient while it remains. Sometimes what God is doing becomes clearer years later. And some answers may require eternity.

Romans 8 does not promise that we will understand everything that happens to us. It promises something larger: that God is at work even while creation groans.

Our faith is ultimately in the Lord—not our ability to secure the outcome we prayed for.

God is able. And even if not, He is still God.

Gethsemane led to a cross. And for a little while, the cross looked like the end of the story.

It wasn’t.

Six Career Lessons I’ve Learned in 16 Years

Sixteen years into my career, I’ve learned enough to know how much I still don’t know. That may be one of the first lessons experience teaches us.

When I entered the workforce, I naturally thought about a career largely in terms of destinations: find the right opportunity, become good at what you do, earn more responsibility, advance and build something. There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of those ambitions. I still have plenty of them. But 16 years have given me a different appreciation for the journey.

I’ve succeeded and failed. I’ve led people and been led by others. I’ve been promoted, changed directions, started over and watched some professional ambitions turn out differently than I imagined. Through all of it, I’ve also learned that reflection is most useful when I keep my own hands on the plow. It would be easy to write about what someone else should have done differently along the way. There are lessons there, certainly, but these are lessons I am responsible for practicing myself.

Looking back, six stand out.

1. Your Career Will Make More Sense in Retrospect

We put tremendous pressure on ourselves to make every career move look like progress. Upward is good. Sideways is questionable. Backward must mean something went wrong. Real careers are rarely that tidy.

Sometimes a position gives you experience you won’t understand the value of until years later. Sometimes the job you thought was preparing you for one destination is actually preparing you for something completely different. My own career has moved through accounting, management, customer-facing work, compliance, administration and other responsibilities that don’t always form an obvious straight line on paper. In practice, those experiences overlap constantly.

I’ve learned to stop demanding that every season explain itself while I’m still living it. Learn what you can, develop transferable skills and pay attention to what a particular season is producing in you. Today’s detour may become tomorrow’s preparation.

2. Understand the Work—Don’t Just Complete It

Early in a career, completing the assigned task feels like competence. Eventually, I learned to ask more questions: Why are we doing this? What happens before it reaches me? Where does it go afterward? Who depends on it? What happens if it’s wrong?

There’s a significant difference between knowing a process and understanding a system. The person who understands the system can troubleshoot when the normal process breaks, recognize connections that aren’t immediately obvious and understand how seemingly small decisions affect people farther downstream.

That distinction will probably become even more important as artificial intelligence and automation handle more mechanical tasks. Knowing which button to push may become less valuable; understanding why the button exists will become more valuable. Don’t become indispensable because you’re the only person who knows how to perform a task. Become valuable because you understand what the organization is trying to accomplish and how your work contributes to it.

3. Become Really Good at Learning

I’ve spent portions of my career walking into situations where I didn’t know nearly as much as I wanted to know. That can be uncomfortable, particularly as you progress professionally and begin feeling as though your experience should mean you already have the answers.

But I’ve learned there is a massive difference between inexperience and incuriosity. You don’t have to enter every room knowing everything. You do need enough humility to ask questions and enough confidence to say, “I don’t understand this yet.” Investigate discrepancies instead of working around them. Receive correction without allowing embarrassment to stop the learning process. Be willing to discover that the way you’ve always done something may not be the best way to do it now.

Some of my greatest professional growth has happened when I stopped worrying about whether I should already know something and simply started learning it. You don’t have to know everything. Become someone who knows how to learn.

4. Don’t Ask Your Career to Tell You Who You Are

This one has taken me longer to learn. There’s nothing wrong with ambition. Work can be meaningful, accomplishment can be satisfying, and promotions and professional milestones are worth celebrating. I believe we should take our work seriously and pursue excellence in whatever has been entrusted to us.

But a career makes a terrible identity.

Jobs change. Companies change. Leaders change. Priorities change. Doors we expect to open sometimes don’t, while doors we thought would remain open sometimes close. And sometimes the professional future we imagined simply doesn’t happen.

If our identity is anchored to our career, those experiences become more than disappointments. They can begin to feel like verdicts about our worth. I want to care deeply about what I do without requiring my work to tell me who I am. I want to remain ambitious without making achievement responsible for answering questions it was never capable of answering.

Build an identity sturdy enough to survive professional disappointment.

5. If You Lead People, Know Them

I’ve become increasingly convinced that getting to know the people you lead isn’t an optional component of leadership. It’s part of the job.

Metrics matter. Performance matters. Professional development matters. Accountability matters. But none of those things completely describes a human being. Good leadership also notices behavior, confidence, collaboration, well-being and maturation. What motivates this person? What discourages them? How have they grown? How do they respond under pressure? What environment allows them to do their best work? Are you evaluating only what they produce, or are you paying attention to the person they are becoming?

Knowing people doesn’t eliminate accountability; it gives accountability context. There are still expectations to meet and difficult conversations to have. But the more a leader understands the person behind the performance, the better equipped that leader is to distinguish between a pattern that needs correction, a person who needs development and a human being who may simply be navigating a difficult season.

And responsibility runs both ways. If I’m being led, I have some responsibility to allow myself to be known—to communicate, receive feedback, explain how I work and not expect someone else to decipher me entirely on their own. Healthy organizations don’t merely develop better employees. They develop people.

6. How You Work With People Will Outlast Much of the Work

Sixteen years have introduced me to plenty of projects that once felt incredibly important. Deadlines felt enormous. Problems demanded immediate attention. There were assignments that consumed hours of thought and projects that seemed, at the time, as though they would define an entire season of my career.

Many of them barely cross my mind anymore. But I remember people.

I remember those who taught me something, encouraged me, showed patience and made room for me to grow. I also remember moments when I should have listened better, communicated better, extended more grace or handled something differently. Time has a way of shrinking the urgency of yesterday’s project while clarifying the significance of how we treated the people who worked on it with us.

Someday, the spreadsheet will be replaced. The project will end. The organizational chart will change. Someone else will sit in your chair. The work matters, but so does the effect we have on the people sharing that stretch of road with us.

Sixteen years in, perhaps that’s what has changed most about how I define a successful career. I still want to build something worthwhile. I want to become excellent at my craft, stay curious and keep growing. I hope I’m still doing all of those things 16 years from now.

But don’t become so focused on building a career that you forget you’re also building a life. And don’t become so good at the work that you forget the people doing it beside you.

Graphic creds: ChatGPT

Making Room for New Creation: Do We Still Believe Christ Changes People?

Lately I’ve found myself thinking about something I don’t hear discussed very often.

As a disclaimer, I’m genuinely grateful that the Church has become more willing to talk about healthy boundaries, emotional well-being, and protecting people from abusive or destructive situations. Those conversations matter, and Scripture certainly leaves room for wisdom when safety is at stake. There are circumstances where lasting distance is not only appropriate but necessary.

But I’ve also been asking myself another question: When genuine repentance is present and safety is no longer the issue, are we still making room for God’s ministry of reconciliation?

Sometimes I wonder if we’ve become so accustomed to protecting ourselves that we’ve quietly lost the expectation that Christ still transforms people. Either way, our responsibility remains an absolute as outlined in the Word.

In Acts 11:18, we see that God alone grants repentance—a gift of His grace that Paul echoes in 2 Timothy 2:25. This highlights an essential reality: The grace that forgives is also the grace that transforms.

Consider Jesus’ teaching in Matthew 18. While the passage is often remembered for confronting sin, His aim is ultimately restoration—winning back a brother or sister.

Paul paints the same picture in Corinth. He instructed the church to discipline a man living in open, unrepentant sin. But after that man repented, Paul’s instruction changed:

“You ought rather to forgive and comfort him… reaffirm your love for him.” (2 Corinthians 2:7–8)

Notice the progression: Accountability. Repentance. Restoration.

Repentance doesn’t erase consequences. It doesn’t instantly rebuild trust. It doesn’t obligate anyone to return to an unsafe relationship.

Reconciliation doesn’t always mean restoring a relationship to what it once was. Sometimes it simply means laying down bitterness, extending forgiveness, and remaining open to whatever measure of restoration wisdom permits.

Yet neither should we treat genuine repentance as though it changes nothing.

I’ve also found myself wondering whether our desire to protect our peace can slowly become something else. While boundaries can absolutely be an expression of wisdom, they can also become places where reconciliation quietly stops.

That’s worth examining—not to produce guilt, but to ensure our instinct is still moving toward the ministry Christ entrusted to us whenever wisdom allows.

Every Sunday we proclaim that Jesus makes people new. We celebrate that He removes hearts of stone and gives hearts of flesh. If we truly believe Christ transforms lives, shouldn’t we expect to recognize His work when genuine repentance appears?

Paul writes: “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Romans 12:18)

I appreciate those opening words: “If possible.” Paul recognizes that reconciliation isn’t always achievable because it doesn’t depend on one person alone. Some wounds require lasting distance. Some relationships remain unsafe. We cannot control another person’s response.

But we can control our own.

As far as it depends on us, we’re called to pursue peace, own our failures, confess our sin, forgive as we’ve been forgiven, and remain open to the restoring work of Christ whenever wisdom allows.

I don’t write this to minimize the importance of boundaries. I write it because I don’t want to miss the work of Christ when He begins changing someone’s heart.

The ministry of reconciliation isn’t only about God reconciling us to Himself. Through Christ, He also entrusts His people with becoming ambassadors of that same reconciliation in a broken world (2 Corinthians 5:18–20).

Perhaps one of the greatest evidences that we truly believe the gospel isn’t simply that we rejoice over God’s power to change us—but that we remain humble enough to recognize His transforming work in someone else.

If we proclaim that Jesus makes all things new, may we never become so guarded that we fail to recognize His new creation standing right in front of us.

Cover graphic creds: ChatGPT

Space Dangers: How to Deal with Painful Orbiters

There is a quiet but intense pain that comes not from judgment, but from neglect. You confess, open up, step into the light…and for reasons unknown, the other side withdraws.

What does Scripture say about this scenario?

First, the Bible consistently honors confession. “Confess your sins [offenses, insecurities] to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16). Confession is not weakness; it is courageous obedience, an expression of virtue rooted in trust both in God and in the community of believers.

But what happens when that trust is not reciprocated?

While the Bible calls believers to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2), it also prepares us for a sobering reality – not everyone will respond with grace or remain engaged in it. Even within communities of faith, people can fail to reflect Christ’s compassion. Some withdraw out of discomfort. Others stay distant, bypassing love in the name of self-preservation, passive-aggressive retaliation, or simply making a point.

Yet, Scripture gently redirects our expectations: “It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man” (Psalm 118:8). This is not a call to isolation – but recalibration. While human relationships are imperfect vessels, God alone is absolute and constant.

Consider this: Your confession was never ultimately for them but before God. As hurtful as silence can be, a widening of detachment does not invalidate your obedience, minimize your need for wisdom and encouragement, or erase your healing.

In fact, Jesus Himself experienced relational abandonment in moments of deepest vulnerability. In Gethsemane, His closest friends slept. At the cross, many fled. Some even mocked. Yet, He remained anchored in the Father’s will, not human consistency.

So, what do you do with the ache?

You grieve it honestly. You resist the urge to harden your heart. And you keep pursuing authentic community – because while some may fail you, others will reflect the grace you hoped for.

Put another way…

Being neglected after confession does not mean you chose the wrong path; it just means you chose the narrow one.

My charge to you, my friends, is simple: Keep going, pray for the ghosting orbiters who have strayed, and stay true to God’s path knowing you’re never alone from where it matters most.

Selah.

Cover graphic creds: QuoteFancy

Commit, Then Trust: A Key to Life in 2026

Well, folks. A new year is upon us. Time to take inventory of the good, the bad, and yes, the awesome!

For some, 2025 was a rough year, easily worth leaving behind; for others, the year wasn’t so bad, perhaps the kind one can build from. Regardless of the narrative, there’s a way to find footing and advance with confidence into the new year. While the steps are unique depending on the person and situation, there exists a holy outline from which we can corporately adhere; hence, why I’m sparing no time (and expense) in publishing this post.

As always, let’s dive in…

Some of you may recall last year’s post, in which I challenged us to invite God into our midst and request a divine reset. This year, my thoughts are more centered on the notion presented to us in Psalm 37:5 and Proverbs 16:3.

  • “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act.” ~ Psalm 37:5
  • “Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” ~ Proverbs 16:3

Assessing these two passages¹, one quickly notes how these passages emphasize ‘commit’; specifically, we’re not called to trust God, then commit our ways, but to commit our ways and let God establish our steps as we trust. To me, this order is more than significant; it’s a complete game-changer. Often, when we perceive our faith as ‘half-mast’, we assume we must raise it to ‘full’ before we can ask God for anything, be it clarity, an intervention, or a modicum of peace. However, that’s not at all what the Psalmist is suggesting.

Rather, his imploration for us is to commit our ways to the Lord, regardless of how we feel, and marvel as He reveals and straightens our paths. Granted, this doesn’t mean the journey will be easy or lack detours and scenic routes. Certainly, there may be times when we struggle out of the gate, get off track, and/or wander into uncalled/unchartered territory; however, the beauty of committing our way unto the Lord is not only its simple starting point but in its liberating follow-through. If you ever wonder what you have to lose by clinging to Jesus, the answer is always a detriment to where you want to go and, more importantly, who you are designed to be. I’m looking at you, pride, ego, fear, jealousy, and anger, just to name a few.

I don’t know about you, but I desire to tap into holy curiosity more in 2026 than ever before. Sometimes, I succumb to partial surrender and stray from steadfast belief. It happens to the best of us. Yet, as long as I have breath, I long to praise the Lord from a heart that desires integrity and congruity in all things.

God save me from the places, even curses of old, that sought to discourage me past the point of fair application. Keep me steady on the straight and narrow, so I may be vertically anchored while pointing people to Jesus as the appropriate steps are taken. I may not fully grasp how the journey has evolved, I may not know where I’m going, and I may struggle with occasional distractions. But Christ in me, the hope of glory, I will not give up on the God who doesn’t give up on me. I may not understand the next move or where I’m at; however, I can still choose to reset and abide in you as I pour out my aims, goals, and hurts.

To those who felt 2025 was a ‘step back’ kind of year, I want to encourage you not to lose hope, to seek help and wisdom, and to abandon any internal space where hate and pride may be marinating. I say this as one who struggled last year, believing the lie that God abandoned him through the saints and past vocational misplacements.

Yet, as one who is back in counseling for the first time post-Jubilee, I employ you, my friends, not to grow weary. By all means, in prayer, and with God, don’t be overcome by evil or withhold love to your brother. Instead, confess hope, encourage each other, and press onward with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. From there, pause, be still, and watch what God will do. You got this, as hard as it may be to believe right now.

He will renew your strength, revive your bones, and reset your course. All you have to do is submit and surrender.

Cover graphic creds: AI iStock/Canva

Footnotes

  1. Also see Proverbs 16:9; Psalm 32:8