Undevoted – Page 6 – God or Delusion?

Practical Resources: A Response to June 26th

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, “Always Now”, promises that believers can access God’s “overflowing, endlessly renewing favor” in real-time during any difficulty, claiming that drawing upon divine grace “now” in moments of need will make them “a marvel to yourself and others.”

Here’s what happened when someone tried to access this promised grace:

“Don’t wait to pray about this later,” her Bible study leader advised urgently. “Draw on God’s grace right now. His favor is overflowing and endlessly renewing. You can count on there being enough for whatever you’re facing.”

Maria had just lost her job in brutal company layoffs. Panic about rent, groceries, health insurance crashed over her in waves. But instead of succumbing to anxiety, she would access divine grace in real-time. This supernatural resource would make her “a marvel to herself and others.”

When anxiety about finances overwhelmed her, Maria tried to draw on God’s grace in the moment rather than worry. When employers rejected her applications, she attempted to access divine favor instantly rather than dwelling on disappointment. The overflowing, endlessly renewing grace was supposed to be available now, not later.

But the promised grace was completely absent when she needed it most.

During job interviews, Maria’s anxiety was crushing despite desperate attempts to draw on divine favor. Facing eviction notices, God’s “endlessly renewing” grace provided zero practical relief from mounting financial pressure. The spiritual resource that was supposed to be accessible “now” felt like grasping at empty air during actual moments of crisis.

Meanwhile, her neighbor Carlos approached unemployment with zero expectation of divine assistance. Instead of waiting for supernatural grace, Carlos immediately filed for unemployment benefits, updated his resume, began networking with former colleagues. When job-search anxiety felt overwhelming, he used practical stress management and sought support from friends and family.

Carlos didn’t expect divine favor to sustain him through hardship. He created his own support systems, maintained professional relationships, took concrete steps to improve his employment prospects. His approach wasn’t about drawing on supernatural grace but about using available human resources and practical strategies.

When Maria’s financial situation became desperate, she finally abandoned the spiritual approach and followed Carlos’s example. Instead of continuing to seek God’s grace in moments of need, she applied for government assistance, reached out to her professional network, took a temporary retail job to cover expenses.

The breakthrough came not from accessing divine favor but from practical action and human support systems. Her job search succeeded when she stopped waiting for spiritual grace and started using career counseling services, interview preparation resources, networking opportunities.

Where was the overflowing, endlessly renewing favor when she was facing eviction? Where was the divine grace that was supposed to be always available in moments of hardship?

The “grace” that actually sustained Maria through unemployment wasn’t divine favor but community support, government assistance programs, and her own persistent effort. The marvel wasn’t supernatural transformation but human resilience and practical problem-solving.

The silence where God’s endlessly renewing favor was supposed to flow revealed the honest truth: there was no divine grace to draw upon. Only human resources and community support that actually worked when accessed consistently.

Reflection Question: When have practical resources and human support been more reliable than trying to access divine grace in moments of crisis?

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.

Healthy Grieving: A Response to June 25th

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, “Receiving Yourself in the Fires of Sorrow”, promises that believers who embrace suffering will “receive the self God created them to be,” claiming that sorrow burns up shallowness and transforms people into trustworthy individuals who become “nourishment for others.”

Here’s what embracing the fires of sorrow actually delivered:

“Don’t ask God to save you from this hour,” his pastor counseled gently. “Receive yourself in the fires of sorrow. God will use this pain to burn up your shallowness and transform you into someone others can trust and turn to.”

David’s wife had died after eighteen months of brutal cancer treatment. The grief felt like drowning in acid, but his pastor offered this spiritual framework as the path through suffering. Instead of seeking ways to minimize pain, David should lean into the sorrow and wait for it to reveal “the self God created him to be.”

David tried desperately to embrace this teaching. He accepted his grief without resistance, believing that surrendering to suffering would fulfill God’s transformative purpose for his life. Months of “receiving himself in the fires of sorrow,” waiting for divine alchemy to burn away shallowness.

But the promised transformation was a vicious lie.

The sorrow wasn’t burning up shallowness—it was consuming his capacity for joy, hope, relationship. Rather than becoming someone others could trust and turn to, David found himself increasingly unable to connect with anyone or offer meaningful support.

Friends stopped calling because conversations had become exercises in managing his overwhelming, unprocessed grief. Instead of becoming “nourishment for others,” his raw pain made him emotionally unavailable to everyone around him.

Meanwhile, his brother-in-law Tom faced similar devastation when his father died suddenly. But Tom didn’t try to receive himself in fires of sorrow or wait for suffering to transform him spiritually. Instead, Tom sought grief counseling, joined a bereavement support group, gradually developed healthy ways to process loss while maintaining human connections.

Tom didn’t embrace suffering as divine tool for character development. He treated grief as difficult human experience requiring practical support, time, and intentional healing strategies. When acute grief began to ease, Tom volunteered with hospice, using his experience to help others navigate similar losses.

The transformation Tom experienced wasn’t mystical result of receiving himself in fires of sorrow. It came through professional help, community support, and deliberate choices to channel experience into service. People did turn to Tom during crises—not because suffering had spiritually transformed him, but because he’d learned practical ways to support others through loss.

Where was David’s promised transformation through embracing sorrow? Where was the divine purpose that was supposed to emerge from accepting suffering?

David’s breakthrough came when he stopped waiting for sorrow to fulfill God’s plan and started seeking actual help for his depression. Therapy, medication, grief counseling provided tools to process loss constructively rather than simply enduring it as spiritual trial.

The healing that eventually made David helpful to others came not from receiving himself in fires of sorrow but from learning healthy ways to honor grief while rebuilding capacity for connection and service.

The silence where God’s transformative purpose was supposed to manifest revealed the truth: suffering doesn’t automatically create wisdom or compassion. It just creates more suffering until we address it with human tools and community support.

Reflection Question: When has seeking professional help and community support been more effective than trying to embrace suffering as spiritual transformation?

Building Trust: A Response to June 24th

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, “Reconciling Yourself to the Fact of Sin”, promises that accepting universal human wickedness prevents life’s disasters and provides safety in relationships, claiming that recognizing everyone’s capacity for sin allows instant danger recognition and protects against betrayal.

Here’s what constantly expecting sin actually produced:

“Always expect the worst from human nature,” the senior pastor warned his new leadership team. “People who don’t reconcile themselves to sin’s reality get blindsided by betrayal. Recognizing that everyone is capable of wickedness protects you from disaster.”

Mark absorbed this teaching completely, believing it would safeguard his relationships and ministry. He approached every interaction assuming people harbored sinful motives. When volunteers offered help, he wondered about hidden agendas. When staff made suggestions, he searched for self-serving angles.

This spiritual vigilance would protect him from the disasters that befell naive leaders.

But Mark’s constant suspicion became a relationship poison. His assumption of hidden wickedness created toxic atmosphere where people felt distrusted and demoralized. Volunteers stopped offering help when they sensed his skepticism. Staff became defensive and withdrawn when every suggestion met suspicious scrutiny.

Meanwhile, his colleague Pastor Jennifer approached leadership with what Chambers would call dangerous “innocence.” She assumed good intentions unless proven otherwise, trusted people’s stated motivations, gave volunteers and staff the benefit of the doubt.

According to Mark’s teaching, Jennifer was setting herself up for betrayal and disaster.

The opposite happened.

Jennifer’s trust fostered loyalty and openness. People felt valued and empowered in her ministry, creating remarkable creativity and dedication. When problems did arise, her trustful approach had built relationships strong enough to address conflicts honestly rather than defensively.

Mark’s “reconciliation to sin” created the very disasters it was supposed to prevent. His expectation of wickedness became self-fulfilling prophecy as people responded to suspicion with exactly the defensive behaviors he’d anticipated. Constant vigilance for hidden motives destroyed the trust necessary for effective collaboration.

The breaking point came when Mark’s best volunteer coordinator resigned, citing the toxic atmosphere. “I came here to serve,” she explained, “but you always act like I’m plotting something. It’s exhausting to be around someone who expects the worst from everyone.”

Where was the protection that recognizing sin was supposed to provide? Where was the safety that came from assuming universal wickedness?

Jennifer’s “naive” approach had created flourishing ministry while Mark’s “wise” recognition of sin had produced exactly the disasters he’d tried to avoid. Her trust in people’s better nature proved more practically effective than his theological realism about human depravity.

The breakthrough came when Mark realized that expecting sin everywhere created more problems than it solved. Healthy leadership required discernment and boundaries, not constant suspicion of everyone’s motives.

The wisdom that actually protected relationships wasn’t reconciling to universal wickedness but building trust while maintaining appropriate safeguards. The spiritual teaching that promised protection had delivered destruction instead.

The silence where divine wisdom was supposed to guide his leadership revealed the truth: assuming the worst about people creates the worst in people.

Reflection Question: When has assuming good intentions been more effective than constantly expecting sinful motives in relationships and leadership?

Natural Grief: A Response to June 23rd

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, “Acquaintance with Grief”, promises that believers can become “acquainted with grief” like Jesus by recognizing sin as the root cause of all sorrow, claiming that understanding this spiritual diagnosis allows God to eliminate sin and its associated suffering.

Here’s what happened when someone actually tried to grieve this way:

“Jesus was acquainted with grief because he understood that sin causes all sorrow,” her pastor explained gently. “Emma’s death, your pain—it all traces back to humanity’s rebellion against God. Once you recognize sin as the root cause, you can let God’s life kill the sin in you and find peace.”

Lisa’s sixteen-year-old daughter had been killed by a drunk driver three weeks earlier. The unbearable pain felt like drowning in molten lead, but her pastor offered this spiritual framework as the path through grief. If sin explained all sorrow, then understanding this truth would somehow transform her relationship with suffering.

She studied Scripture about sin’s effects. Prayed desperately for God to rule in her life and eliminate whatever spiritual rebellion had caused Emma’s death. Waited for the promised acquaintance with grief that would bring divine peace.

But this theological explanation felt like salt in an open wound. Emma hadn’t died because of sin—she’d died because someone chose to drive drunk and ran a red light. The grief consuming Lisa wasn’t mysterious spiritual consequence but natural human response to losing her child.

Where was the peace that was supposed to come from understanding sin’s role? Where was God’s life killing the supposed spiritual cause of her sorrow?

Her sister Janet, a grief counselor, watched Lisa’s struggle with growing alarm. Janet understood sorrow as complex human experience involving love, attachment, and devastating loss. She didn’t need spiritual explanations for why people suffer when those they love die.

“Grief is the price of love,” Janet told Lisa bluntly. “The intensity of your pain reflects the depth of your bond with Emma. This isn’t divine punishment requiring theological interpretation—it’s human experience requiring patience, support, and time.”

When Lisa finally joined a secular grief support group, she encountered people who understood her pain without needing to explain it through sin. Other parents who’d lost children didn’t discuss rebellion against God or spiritual mutiny. They shared practical strategies for surviving holidays, handling triggers, rebuilding meaning after unthinkable loss.

The “acquaintance with grief” that actually helped came through connecting with others who’d experienced similar devastation. Their wisdom wasn’t about sin causing sorrow but about grief as natural response to love interrupted by death.

Lisa’s healing began when she stopped trying to understand Emma’s death through spiritual frameworks and started honoring her grief as appropriate response to losing someone irreplaceable. Comfort came not from God ruling over sin but from human community that understood suffering without explaining it away.

The breakthrough was realizing that some losses don’t require theological interpretation. They require human compassion, time, and the gradual rebuilding of life around the permanent hole left by love.

The silence where divine explanation was supposed to provide meaning delivered the most honest truth: grief doesn’t need spiritual justification. It needs human understanding.

Reflection Question: When has understanding grief as natural human response to loss been more helpful than seeking spiritual explanations for suffering?

Ethical Oversight: A Response to June 22nd

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 Undeviating Test”, promises that God operates by an “eternal law” where “life serves you back in the coin you pay,” claiming judgmental people will face divine retribution while the truly righteous recognize their own capacity for evil through grace.

Here’s what this divine law actually delivered:

“Life serves you back in the coin you pay,” the accountability group leader warned. “If you judge others harshly, God will judge you the same way. The truly righteous person recognizes they’re capable of the same sins they criticize.”

Robert absorbed this teaching completely, believing it revealed how God’s justice operated in the world. He became paralyzingly careful about criticizing others, convinced that harsh judgments would boomerang back through divine law.

When colleagues cut corners at work or lied to customers, Robert stayed silent. When he witnessed financial irregularities, he looked the other way. Speaking up would trigger God’s retributive judgment against his own character flaws, wouldn’t it? The eternal law demanded spiritual humility, not moral oversight.

This divine caution created a sickening dynamic. Robert watched unethical behavior flourish while he remained passive, believing that calling out wrongdoing would invoke punishment for his own imperfections. The promised “eternal law” made him complicit in harm he could have prevented.

His coworker Sarah took a radically different approach. As a former prosecutor, she understood accountability practically, not spiritually. When Sarah witnessed fraud or negligence, she documented it and reported it through proper channels—not from moral superiority but because organizations require functional oversight.

Sarah didn’t worry about divine retribution for holding people accountable. She recognized that pointing out problems was often the most compassionate response for everyone involved, including those who needed intervention before facing serious consequences.

When federal auditors eventually exposed their company’s financial irregularities, Robert felt vindicated. Surely those who had been “shrewd in finding defects” would face divine retribution while his gracious silence would be rewarded by God’s eternal law.

The opposite happened.

Investigators commended Sarah for her detailed reports and ethical vigilance. Her willingness to document problems had limited damage and protected pension funds. Robert’s spiritual passivity had enabled harm to continue longer than necessary.

Where was the divine retribution for Sarah’s “judgmental” behavior? Where was God’s reward for Robert’s humble non-judgment? The eternal law that was supposed to punish those who held others accountable never materialized.

Sarah’s career flourished because she’d demonstrated integrity and professional competence. Robert faced uncomfortable questions about why he’d remained silent when he could have prevented harm.

The breakthrough came when Robert realized that calling out genuine problems wasn’t hypocritical judgment—it was ethical responsibility. Functional oversight served protection and accountability, not self-righteous condemnation.

The divine retribution system he’d feared was completely imaginary. Good outcomes came to those who addressed problems constructively, not to those who stayed passive out of spiritual terror.

The silence where God’s eternal law was supposed to operate revealed the truth: there was no cosmic justice system rewarding non-judgment or punishing accountability. Just human consequences for human choices.

Reflection Question: When has addressing problems directly been more effective than staying silent out of concern about being judgmental?

Professional Care: A Response to June 21st

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, “A Royal Priesthood”, promises that believers who accept the atonement become “a royal priesthood” with special divine access, claiming God will free them from “morbid self-focus” and transform them into effective intercessors who are “perfect in Christ Jesus.”

Here’s what royal priesthood actually offered:

“You’re chosen, set apart,” his campus pastor insisted. “Accept the atonement as absolute gift, stop the morbid self-focus, and launch into intercessory prayer. God will free you from thinking about yourself and transform you into his royal priest.”

Daniel was drowning in anxiety and depression during his sophomore year, but this spiritual identity felt like a lifeline. Instead of dwelling on his mental health struggles, he would focus on praying for others. This royal priestly calling would lift him above psychological problems and give his life supernatural purpose.

Hours each day interceding for roommates, classmates, professors, family members. Whenever anxiety or depressive thoughts surfaced, Daniel redirected to prayer for others, believing this demonstrated his right relationship with God and activated his priestly authority.

But the promised transformation was a cruel joke. Daniel’s anxiety escalated despite faithful intercession. His depression deepened even as he maintained his royal priestly identity. The self-centered concerns he was supposed to transcend became more persistent, more suffocating.

Finals week brought the breaking point—his first panic attack. Hyperventilating in his dorm room, royal priesthood felt completely meaningless. Where was the divine freedom from morbid self-focus? Where was the special relationship with God that was supposed to elevate him above ordinary human struggles?

The chosen, set-apart identity crumbled in the face of simple biochemistry.

His roommate Marcus took a radically different approach to mental health. No claims of royal priesthood or special divine access. When Marcus felt overwhelmed, he used campus counseling. Practiced mindfulness. Maintained regular exercise. Took prescribed medication when anxiety became unmanageable.

Marcus treated his mental health like any other aspect of wellbeing requiring professional attention and practical strategies. No supernatural identity needed.

When Daniel finally sought therapy after his panic attack, his counselor didn’t discuss spiritual identity or intercessory calling. She helped him understand anxiety as a treatable condition, not spiritual failure or inadequate faith.

The breakthrough came when Daniel stopped trying to pray his way out of mental health struggles and started using evidence-based treatments. Cognitive-behavioral therapy gave him practical tools for managing anxious thoughts. Regular counseling provided sustainable emotional regulation strategies.

His recovery had zero connection to royal priesthood or special relationship with God through atonement. It came through professional mental health care and evidence-based treatments that worked regardless of spiritual identity.

The “freedom from morbid self-focus” came not from divine transformation but from learning healthy ways to address legitimate psychological needs. The royal priestly authority proved completely powerless against actual mental health challenges.

The silence where God’s priestly transformation was supposed to manifest revealed the truth: there was no supernatural identity to claim, no divine authority to access, no special relationship to activate.

Just human struggles requiring human solutions.

Reflection Question: When has professional mental health care been more effective than spiritual identity and intercessory prayer in addressing psychological struggles?

Active Recovery: A Response to June 20th

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, “Have You Come to ‘After’ Yet?”, promises that believers who stop self-centered pleading and shift to intercessory prayer for others will experience Job-like restoration of their fortunes, with God responding to selfless intercession by restoring circumstances.

Here’s what happened when someone actually tried this:

“Stop the self-centered pleading,” her pastor insisted. “Job’s fortunes were restored after he prayed for his friends. That’s God’s pattern—when we stop trying to get right with him and start interceding for others, he restores our circumstances.”

Jennifer’s small business had collapsed during the pandemic. Foreclosure loomed. Her family was drowning financially. But instead of begging God for rescue, she would follow Job’s example and pray for everyone else.

She made lists. Neighbors, former employees, distant relatives, old college friends. Hours each day in intercessory prayer, believing this selfless shift would trigger the promised restoration. After all, the pattern was biblical—Job prayed for his friends, and God restored his fortunes.

Months crawled by. Jennifer faithfully interceded for others while her world crumbled. Foreclosure proceedings advanced. Her husband’s job search stalled. She kept waiting for the divine restoration that was supposed to follow her generous intercession.

Where was God’s response to her selfless prayers?

The house was lost. Her family squeezed into a cramped rental. Credit destroyed. The biblical pattern had apparently skipped her case entirely, despite months of faithful prayer for everyone except herself.

Her neighbor Carlos faced identical devastation when his restaurant failed. But Carlos didn’t wait for divine restoration after adjusting his prayer strategy. He immediately enrolled in a coding bootcamp, networked relentlessly in tech circles, applied for dozens of entry-level positions.

While Jennifer spent hours praying for other people’s breakthroughs, Carlos updated his LinkedIn profile. While she interceded for distant acquaintances, he reached out to former customers in different industries. While she waited for God to restore her fortunes, Carlos took a delivery job to cover expenses during retraining.

The “restoration” that came to Carlos wasn’t divine response to intercessory prayer. It was predictable result of aggressive networking and skill development. Eight months later: junior developer position with benefits and growth potential.

Jennifer watched this practical success with dawning clarity. She’d been waiting for heaven to reward her selfless prayers while Carlos had been creating opportunities through human effort and strategic planning.

Her breakthrough came when she stopped waiting for divine restoration and started copying Carlos. Digital marketing course. Business consulting based on her experience. Systematic professional networking. Persistent effort.

Her financial recovery had zero connection to accepting Christ’s atonement or shifting to intercessory prayer. It came through education, networking, determination—strategies that work regardless of prayer life or spiritual condition.

The silence where God’s restoration was supposed to be delivered the most valuable lesson: waiting for divine intervention while others solve problems through human agency is just another form of self-centered pleading.

The only pattern that actually worked was the one Carlos followed from day one: when life knocks you down, get up and build something new.

Reflection Question: When has taking practical action been more effective than waiting for divine restoration after changing your prayer focus?

Sustainable Ministry: A Response to June 19th

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 Service of Passionate Devotion”, promises that passionate personal devotion to Jesus provides supernatural endurance for service, preventing exhaustion and enabling disciples to transform landscapes through unobtrusive spiritual influence.

Here’s what passionate devotion actually delivered:

“Love Jesus personally and passionately,” his seminary professor had insisted, “and you’ll never burn out in ministry. That supernatural devotion will sustain you when human compassion falters.”

Pastor Michael planted his inner-city church believing this completely. Hours of worship and prayer each morning, cultivating what felt like intimate relationship with Jesus. This would be his secret weapon against the notorious burnout rate in urban ministry.

For two years, it seemed to work. Eighteen-hour days with homeless individuals, addicts, families in crisis—Michael felt carried by spiritual passion. When people screamed at him, stole from the church, relapsed after months of progress, he drew strength from his devotional connection to Christ.

Then the wheels came off.

The promised supernatural endurance evaporated. Michael hit the wall—severe depression, crushing cynicism, complete emotional exhaustion. His “passionate devotion” felt like talking to himself when faced with intractable poverty and untreated mental illness.

He begged Jesus for renewed spiritual fire. Prayed desperately for that sustaining presence to return.

Nothing. Absolute silence.

No divine renewal of passion. No supernatural love refreshing his compassion for increasingly difficult people. The very person he’d devoted his life to serving had apparently abandoned him when he needed that relationship most.

His friend Elena watched this spiritual collapse with familiar recognition. As a secular social worker in the same neighborhood, she’d seen plenty of religious burnout. But Elena had never expected supernatural sustenance from personal devotion to Jesus.

Instead, Elena worked within systems. She connected people to mental health services, housing assistance, job training. She maintained professional boundaries and took actual time off. When clients were hostile or relapsed, Elena didn’t interpret it as spiritual failure or relationship crisis with God.

Elena’s “transformation” wasn’t mystical kernels of wheat dying and sprouting. It was measurable: housing placements, completed treatment programs, successful job referrals. Her impact came through professional competence and sustainable practices, not passionate devotion to an invisible figure.

When Michael finally sought therapy for his depression, his counselor didn’t explore his relationship with Jesus. She helped him recognize burnout symptoms, establish healthy boundaries, develop realistic expectations for helping people with complex trauma.

The breakthrough came when Michael stopped waiting for divine renewal and started implementing actual self-care strategies. His effective ministry began not when he loved Jesus more deeply, but when he learned to work sustainably within human limitations.

The neighborhood transformation happened through policy advocacy, community organizing, evidence-based programs—not through unobtrusive devoted disciples mysteriously changing landscapes.

The passionate devotion that was supposed to sustain him? It had been devotion to silence all along.

Reflection Question: When has professional competence and sustainable practices been more effective than passionate devotion in serving others long-term?

Reliable Guidance: A Response to June 18th

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, “Don’t Think Now, Take the Road”, promises that believers can navigate impossible circumstances through “reckless” faith and “complete reliance” on Jesus, with God’s voice becoming clearer through abandoning yourself to divine guidance.

Here’s what reckless faith actually looks like:

“Be reckless,” her small group leader insisted. “The second you sense God’s voice, fling yourself out in faith.”

Rebecca was drowning. Her husband had vanished, leaving her with three kids under eight and debt that made her nauseous. Late nights found her on her knees, begging for divine direction. When she felt that gentle impression to quit her part-time job and trust God for provision—wasn’t that the Lord calling her to reckless abandonment?

She gave two weeks’ notice. After all, Peter had walked on water by keeping his eyes on Jesus instead of circumstances. Rebecca would do the same.

Weeks passed. No miraculous checks appeared. No unexpected job offers materialized. No financial gifts from mysterious strangers. Her small group assured her that doubt would sink her like Peter, so she smiled and claimed God’s faithfulness while her utilities got disconnected.

Where was the divine provision? The voice that had seemed so clear went silent exactly when she needed it most. Bills piled up. Her kids started asking why the refrigerator was empty. Eviction notices arrived.

Still, silence from heaven.

Her neighbor Kim had watched this spiritual train wreck with increasing alarm. Kim knew crisis intimately—she’d been abandoned by her ex with two children five years earlier. But Kim had never waited for God’s voice to guide her next move.

Instead, Kim worked two jobs. She maintained brutal budgets. She saved methodically for emergencies. When Rebecca’s car got repossessed, Kim finally spoke up.

“Stop waiting for God to fix this,” Kim said bluntly. “Start fixing it yourself.”

Kim helped Rebecca apply for emergency assistance, connected her with job placement services, shared the financial strategies that had actually worked. Her advice? Never make major decisions based on spiritual impressions.

The transformation began when Rebecca stopped listening for divine guidance that wasn’t coming. She enrolled in community college job training while working restaurant shifts at night. Instead of praying for career direction, she researched employment trends and developed actual skills.

Her circumstances improved through human effort and community support—not supernatural provision. The budget counselor at the nonprofit agency didn’t discuss faith. She taught Rebecca practical money management and credit repair.

The voice that finally guided Rebecca to stability wasn’t divine whispers calling for reckless faith. It was Kim’s blunt wisdom: trust verifiable advice from people who’ve survived what you’re facing.

The most reckless thing Rebecca ever did was abandoning her wait for God’s voice. The silence where divine guidance was supposed to be? That absence became her most reliable compass.

Reflection Question: When has trusting practical wisdom and community support been more reliable than waiting for divine guidance during crisis?

Constructive Criticism: A Response to June 17th

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 Uncritical Temper”, promises that believers can cultivate an “uncritical temper” through spiritual discipline, with the Holy Spirit uniquely able to correct “without causing pain,” and God providing “spiritual spring-cleaning” that eliminates pride and judgment.

Here’s what actually happened:

“The Holy Spirit alone can correct without wounding,” Pastor Thompson assured the leadership team. “Once God gives you spiritual spring-cleaning, you’ll lose all desire to judge others.”

David took this seriously. After all, Jesus had commanded “do not judge.” Surely spiritual maturity meant eliminating critical thoughts about other church members entirely. He prayed daily for the promised uncritical spirit, waiting for God to cleanse his judgmental tendencies.

Months passed. David still noticed the worship leader’s consistently flat notes. He couldn’t ignore the treasurer’s chaotic financial reports. He felt frustrated when the same members strolled in twenty minutes late every Sunday.

Where was the divine transformation? The guilt began crushing him. Every critical observation felt like spiritual failure. The harder he suppressed these thoughts, the louder they became. He begged God for the promised spring-cleaning that would finally make him the non-judgmental disciple Jesus demanded.

God’s response? Deafening silence.

His wife Sarah watched this internal war with growing concern. She’d taken a different path—studying communication and conflict resolution instead of praying for personality transformation. Sarah learned that critical observations often contained valuable information about real problems.

When the church’s financial audit revealed serious irregularities, David was paralyzed. His critical thoughts about the treasurer had been accurate, but wasn’t questioning her character exactly what Jesus forbade? He waited desperately for divine guidance about whether investigating constituted sinful judgment.

Again, silence.

Sarah saw the situation clearly: financial accountability wasn’t character assassination—it was organizational responsibility. She helped David understand that stewardship required critical thinking, not spiritual passivity.

“Maybe your critical thoughts aren’t sin,” Sarah suggested. “Maybe they’re your brain working properly.”

The breakthrough came when David realized he’d been waiting years for a divine personality transplant that was never coming. No Holy Spirit intervention was cleansing his capacity for judgment. No spiritual spring-cleaning was transforming his critical nature.

Sarah’s approach—treating criticism as information rather than spiritual failure—proved infinitely more practical. She could address problems directly without the paralyzing guilt that made David useless in actual conflicts.

The real spring-cleaning happened when David stopped expecting supernatural character transformation and started learning human skills for expressing concerns constructively. His critical thinking wasn’t a bug to be spiritually debugged—it was a feature to be properly calibrated.

The silence from heaven wasn’t divine disappointment in his judgmental nature. It was the absence of a deity who was never there to transform him in the first place.

Reflection Question: When has learning to express critical observations constructively been more helpful than trying to eliminate critical thinking entirely?