Balanced Living: A Response to June 29th

This is part of my year-long series exploring human-centered alternatives to the spiritual promises in Oswald Chambers’ classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest. Today’s entry, “The Direction of Discipline”, promises that spiritual rebirth leads to divine insight about what believers must “cut off” from their lives, claiming the Holy Spirit warns against things that “break concentration on God” and that temporary spiritual “maiming” leads to divine perfection.

Here’s what cutting off good things actually produced:


“God will show you legitimate activities you need to abandon,” his campus pastor explained earnestly. “Your life may seem maimed at first, but the Holy Spirit will guide you toward perfection. It’s better to be lovely in God’s sight than in the world’s eyes.”

David had experienced what felt like spiritual awakening during his senior year. Now he needed to demonstrate serious discipleship by cutting off anything that hindered his concentration on God—even good things that might be stumbling blocks to spiritual growth.

He quit the debate team because competitive arguing fed his pride. Stopped playing guitar because music distracted from prayer time. Ended his relationship with his girlfriend because romantic feelings interfered with spiritual concentration.

Each sacrifice felt like cutting off his “right hand,” but David believed this spiritual maiming would lead to divine perfection. When friends questioned these dramatic changes, he explained that God was calling him to higher standards they couldn’t understand.

But the promised spiritual perfection was a devastating lie.

Instead of becoming “lovely in God’s sight,” David became increasingly isolated, anxious, spiritually obsessive. His self-imposed restrictions created a narrow, joyless existence rather than the “full-orbed” life Jesus supposedly desired. The divine guidance he thought he was receiving felt more like religious scrupulosity than supernatural wisdom.

Meanwhile, his ex-girlfriend Sarah continued pursuing all the activities David had abandoned as spiritually dangerous. She remained on the debate team, played music regularly, started dating someone who appreciated her intellect and creativity.

Sarah’s life flourished while David’s withered. Her engagement with challenging ideas through debate sharpened her thinking. Musical expression brought joy to herself and others. Her relationship provided emotional support and personal growth.

The activities David had sacrificed as stumbling blocks proved enriching and beneficial for Sarah.

When David finally sought counseling for anxiety and depression, his therapist helped him recognize that his spiritual “cutting off” had been driven by fear and perfectionism, not divine guidance. The maimed life he’d created wasn’t leading to spiritual beauty but to psychological dysfunction.

David’s breakthrough came when he started reintegrating the activities he’d abandoned. Returning to music and meaningful relationships didn’t break his concentration on important things—it restored balance and joy to his life.

Where was the Holy Spirit’s guidance about what to eliminate? Where was the divine insight that was supposed to lead to spiritual perfection?

The “stumbling blocks” he’d cut off had actually been sources of growth and connection. The spiritual discipline that promised divine beauty had delivered human misery instead.

The silence where supernatural wisdom about spiritual discipline was supposed to flow revealed the truth: there was no Holy Spirit providing insight about what to cut off. Only human fear creating unnecessary restrictions that damaged rather than enhanced life.


Reflection Question: When has eliminating good activities in the name of spiritual discipline been more harmful than helpful to your wellbeing and growth?


This story is part of my upcoming book “The Undevoted: Daily Departures from Divine Dependence,” which offers 365 human-centered alternatives to the spiritual certainties in Chambers’ devotional. Each day explores how reason, community, and human resilience can address life’s challenges without requiring divine intervention.

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Author: Richard L. Fricks

Writer. Observer. Builder. I write from a life shaped by attention, simplicity, and living without a script—through reflective essays, long-form inquiry, and fiction rooted in ordinary lives. I live in rural Alabama, where writing, walking, and building small, intentional spaces are part of the same practice.

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