The God Question

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 Staggering Question”, claims that human transformation requires divine intervention—that sinners cannot become saints through human effort, that people are fundamentally corrupt apart from God’s grace, and that recognizing your own spiritual depravity is essential for helping others.

Here’s a different approach:

Maya had been a social worker for fifteen years when she met Devon, a teenager aging out of foster care with a long history of theft, violence, and self-harm. His case file read like a catalog of human damage—abuse, neglect, multiple failed placements, and a diagnosis of conduct disorder.

Her supervisor, a devout Christian, shook his head. “Some kids are just too broken, Maya. You can’t save everyone. Sometimes you have to trust that God has a plan.”

But Maya didn’t see a broken soul needing divine rescue. She saw trauma responses that made perfect sense given Devon’s history. His stealing was survival behavior learned in homes where food was scarce. His violence was self-protection in environments where adults had failed him. His self-harm was the only control he’d ever had over his own pain.

Maya connected Devon with Dr. Chen, a trauma therapist who specialized in attachment disorders. She helped him enroll in a program that taught practical skills—budgeting, job applications, conflict resolution. She introduced him to Marcus, a former foster kid who now ran a mentorship program.

The transformation wasn’t miraculous—it was methodical. Devon learned to recognize his triggers and develop healthier responses. He discovered he was good with his hands and enrolled in a welding program. Through consistent relationships with adults who didn’t give up on him, he began to trust that people could be reliable.

Two years later, Devon had his own apartment, a steady job, and was volunteering with younger foster kids. Maya knew his success wasn’t due to divine intervention but to a combination of evidence-based therapy, practical support, stable relationships, and Devon’s own hard work in healing.

When people asked about the “miracle” of Devon’s turnaround, Maya corrected them. It wasn’t supernatural—it was what happened when damaged people received the specific help they needed from trained professionals and caring communities. Human nature wasn’t fundamentally corrupt; it was remarkably resilient when given the right conditions to heal.

Reflection Question: When have you seen someone make positive changes through human support and practical help rather than spiritual transformation?

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.

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, “God First”, demands that believers prioritize God’s will over human needs and relationships, claiming that trusting people leads to bitterness and despair, and that responding to human needs without divine direction is disobedience.

Here’s a different approach:

Dr. Amara Okafor had always been driven by need. As an emergency physician, she’d built her career responding to whatever crisis walked through the hospital doors. But when the refugee crisis hit their city, she felt torn between competing demands.

Her hospital needed her for overtime shifts. The refugee clinic desperately needed volunteer doctors. Her own family needed her present for her daughter’s senior year. Her elderly parents needed more support as their health declined. Everyone seemed to have a legitimate claim on her time.

Her colleague Dr. Martinez suggested she pray about it, seek divine guidance about which need God wanted her to address. But Amara took a different approach. She sat down with her family and had honest conversations about everyone’s actual needs versus their wants.

Her daughter admitted she mostly needed emotional support during college applications, not physical presence at every event. Her parents needed help coordinating care, which her brother could share. The refugee clinic needed her surgical skills specifically on weekends. The hospital could manage her reduced overtime if she gave adequate notice.

Instead of choosing one need over others or waiting for divine direction, Amara created a system. She committed to weekend shifts at the refugee clinic, stepped back from hospital overtime, and established regular family check-ins. When new needs arose, she evaluated them against her existing commitments and her own capacity.

A year later, she’d helped establish a permanent medical program for refugees while maintaining her family relationships and her own well-being. She hadn’t put God first, or even herself first—she’d put careful assessment of real needs first, trusting her own judgment and the people around her to communicate honestly about what they actually required.

Her decisions weren’t guided by divine will but by human wisdom: the recognition that sustainable service comes from realistic commitments, not from trying to meet every need or surrendering decision-making to external authority.

Reflection Question: How do you balance competing demands on your time and energy without sacrificing your own well-being or important relationships?

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.

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, “Yes, But…!”, demands that believers abandon rational thinking and “common sense” when they perceive divine commands, claiming that what appears “insane” by logical standards becomes perfectly clear once you “leap” in blind faith.

Here’s a different approach:

Elena had always been cautious with money. Growing up poor, she’d learned to save every dollar, plan every purchase, and never take financial risks. So when her friend Jamie pitched the idea of quitting their corporate jobs to start a sustainable farming cooperative, Elena’s first instinct was “Yes, but…”

“But what about health insurance? But what about our retirement savings? But what if the business fails?” The questions felt endless.

Jamie, meanwhile, seemed ready to leap. “Sometimes you have to trust the vision,” she insisted. “Analysis paralysis will kill any dream.”

Elena spent weeks wrestling with the decision. Not through prayer or divine guidance, but through research. She studied agricultural business models, analyzed local market demand for organic produce, and interviewed other farmers about their experiences. She calculated startup costs, projected revenues, and mapped out worst-case scenarios.

The more she researched, the more her “yes, but” questions became “yes, and” possibilities. Yes, they’d need health insurance, and they could join the farmers’ cooperative plan. Yes, they’d need startup capital, and Elena’s savings plus a small business loan could cover it. Yes, there were risks, and they could mitigate them with diverse crops and multiple revenue streams.

Elena’s decision to join the cooperative wasn’t a leap of faith—it was an informed choice based on careful analysis. She didn’t abandon common sense; she used it to transform uncertainty into manageable risk.

Two years later, their farm was thriving. Elena had found her answer not by silencing her rational concerns, but by taking them seriously enough to find practical solutions. Her “yes, but” questions hadn’t been obstacles to overcome—they’d been wisdom protecting her from reckless decisions while guiding her toward sustainable ones.

The leap she eventually took was calculated, not blind. And it felt more solid because of it.

Reflection Question: When have your careful questions and concerns led you to better decisions rather than holding you back?

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.

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, “Undisturbed Relationship”, claims that through spiritual baptism and union with Christ, believers achieve an “undisturbed relationship” with God where they become “one with his sovereign will” and whatever they ask will be given because their nature has merged with Christ’s nature.

Here’s a different approach:

Marcus had always struggled with his relationship with his father. As a corporate lawyer, he’d built his career on winning arguments, but every conversation with Dad felt like a loss. His father, a retired mechanic, saw the world in practical terms—fix what’s broken, work with your hands, help your neighbors. Marcus lived in abstractions—contracts, strategies, billable hours.

The tension came to a head when Dad was diagnosed with early-stage Parkinson’s. Marcus immediately researched the best specialists, the most advanced treatments, the cutting-edge clinical trials. But when he presented his findings, Dad just shook his head. “I don’t need a team of doctors in white coats, son. I need to know you’ll still want to spend time with me when I can’t hold a wrench steady.”

That conversation shattered something in Marcus. Not through divine intervention, but through finally hearing what his father was actually saying.

Over the following months, Marcus started showing up differently. Instead of bringing research papers, he brought his hands. They worked together in Dad’s garage, fixing neighbors’ lawn mowers and bicycles. Marcus was terrible at it initially, but Dad was patient. They talked while they worked—about Mom’s death ten years earlier, about Marcus’s divorce, about fear and pride and love.

The undisturbed relationship Marcus found wasn’t mystical union but mutual understanding built through shared time and honest conversation. He learned to ask different questions—not “What do you need me to research?” but “What do you need from me?” Not “How can I fix this?” but “How can I be present with you?”

When Dad’s symptoms progressed, Marcus didn’t pray for miraculous intervention. Instead, he arranged his work schedule to visit twice a week. He learned to anticipate his father’s needs not through spiritual intuition but through careful attention. Their relationship became undisturbed not because it was perfect, but because it was finally authentic.

Reflection Question: When have you found deeper connection through listening and presence rather than trying to fix or control a relationship?

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.

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, “Unquestioned Revelation”, claims that through divine resurrection life, believers reach a state where they no longer need to ask questions or seek understanding through intellect, achieving perfect certainty about God’s purposes.

Here’s a different approach:

Dr. Sarah Chen had always been the type to need answers. As a research scientist studying climate patterns, she lived by data, hypotheses, and peer review. When her teenage daughter Maya was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune condition, Sarah’s world tilted into uncertainty.

The first months were agonizing—late nights researching treatments, questioning specialists, second-guessing every decision. The not-knowing felt unbearable. But gradually, something shifted. Not through divine revelation, but through community.

Maya’s support group connected Sarah with other parents who’d walked this path. Dr. Patel, Maya’s rheumatologist, spent hours explaining the disease’s mechanisms. Sarah’s research background helped her understand the treatment options, while her sister moved in to help with daily care.

The questions didn’t disappear—if anything, Sarah asked more of them. But they changed from desperate pleas for certainty to collaborative inquiries. “What does the latest research suggest?” “How are other families managing this?” “What accommodations does Maya need at school?”

A year later, Maya was thriving on a new treatment protocol. Sarah realized she’d found peace not by transcending her need to question, but by building a network of knowledge, support, and shared problem-solving. The mysteries remained—autoimmune diseases are complex—but they no longer isolated her. Instead, they connected her to a community of people working together toward understanding and healing.

Her questions had become bridges rather than barriers.

Reflection Question: When have your questions led you toward connection with others rather than away from it?

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.