Author: Pastor'sPonderings

Just a guy who asks questions, considers life and tries not to take any of it for granted

5 Truths for the Abandoned Leader: Finding Refuge in God’s Presence.

Hey Friends,

I’m going to go off-script today. I apologize in advance. This blog post is for all of my Pastor and Lay leader friends. I write these words to encourage you. So, as Jesus said, “he who has ears to hear…”

I know what it feels like to stand in the pulpit, to shepherd God’s people, and yet, at times, to feel utterly alone. The weight of ministry can press down on us like a heavy burden, leaving us feeling abandoned and isolated. You may feel like no one truly knows what you do. Some assume you just show up on Sundays and you kick back Monday through Saturday, but we both know that is far from the truth. No one knows about the phone calls and the texts and how sometimes you feel like you have to hold all of those tenuous relationship lines and if you don’t it will all come crashing down. People will get hurt and some will leave the church.

You may feel like no one else gets you.

But hear this: you are NOT alone.

In those moments of solitude, when it seems like no one understands the struggles you face, remember that Jesus himself experienced the depths of isolation. In his darkest hour, his closest friends slept while he prayed alone in Gethsemane. He understands the ache in your heart and the weariness of your soul.

I want to encourage you with these 5 truths today:

1. God Is Always Present Even when it feels like everyone else has left, God remains steadfast. He promises never to leave us nor forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:6). In your loneliness, draw near to him. Pour out your heart in prayer, knowing that he hears every word.

2. Find Strength in Community Reach out to fellow pastors and leaders who can empathize with your journey. Share your burdens with trusted friends who can pray for you and encourage you. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 reminds us that “two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.” We need each other. Take the time to connect with peers in your community. Establish healthy relationships. I don’t care if you’re an introvert or an extrovert, we all need the strength of the right kind of community behind us. When we have like-minded friends, we have people who will say, “I’ve got your back, I’m here for you!” Additionally, when we take the time to seek out these like-minded folks, we begin to build a new community of support and soon we discover that others are also searching for the same space of commonality and comradery.

3. Embrace Vulnerability It’s okay to admit when you’re struggling. Vulnerability is not a sign of weakness but of authenticity. James 5:16 encourages us to “confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” As I write this section, I also acknowledge that there are some leaders out there who will misinterpret “struggling” as “not capable” and I want to strongly discourage any leader from rushing to that conclusion. Vulnerability is hard, but there is great strength in letting go of the notion that pastors and leaders have to have it all worked out and you have to have some sort of spiritual perfection to lead. Get over it. Pastors and leaders are just as susceptible to sin and temptation as anyone else. Guard your hearts (Prov. 4:23), and also embrace the need for accountability and vulnerability in your ministry. You should not live in a bubble or an island. When we pop the bubble and join reality, we begin to discard some of the feelings of abandonment and loneliness. In some ways, it’s arrogant to think that no one else gets us, or knows what we are going through. So get serious about popping the bubble and establishing a spirit of vulnerability and surround yourself with trustworthy people (refer back to step 2).

4. Rest in God’s Sovereignty Remember that God is in control, even when circumstances seem overwhelming. Romans 8:28 assures us that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” It sounds trite. It’s almost a catchphrase or something you see printed on a cup or an inspirational poster. But, I hope that the words Paul writes in Romans 8:28 strike your heart and are not just utterings for a momentary fix of encouragement. God isn’t sovereign some of the time. He’s not a God of inconsistency. He is constant, and his authority illuminates the darkest corners of our world.

5. Focus on Eternal Impact Ultimately, our labor in the Lord is not in vain (1 Corinthians 15:58). Keep your eyes fixed on the eternal impact of your ministry. Every soul touched, every life transformed, is a testament to God’s faithfulness through you. The problem is we want to see the impact of our ministry. We desire to see transformed lives and for them to line our pews on Sundays. But I think we get it backward sometimes. Jesus didn’t fill pews in a church, He went to people. He gave them value. It wasn’t about some statistical report. He loved people, showed compassion, and impressed upon them to live a better way.

Perhaps some of our feelings of abandonment stem from living in a world where we worship numbers and not God. Our world is so focused on numerical success and achieving bigger and better things, but Jesus gave us an example that is countercultural to all of that human need for notoriety, and chasing statistical perfection. The true impact of your consistent heart of servant leadership may never be seen by the world but it will be celebrated in God’s Kingdom. So, stop chasing numbers and perfection. Kill the super pastor that you envisioned in your mind. Live humbly. It will drastically reduce the stress that you feel when you seek performance instead of worship.

So friends, in the midst of your feelings of abandonment, please know that God sees you, He loves you, and He is with you. He’s not aloof. He’s not kicking back somewhere “wishing you the best”.

So take comfort in his presence. He is very near to you, right now in whatever situation you find yourself in today. He knows. Find strength in community, and trust in his perfect plan. You are not alone in this journey of ministry. Keep fighting. Keep serving. Don’t let up or quit. You got this, and, most importantly – He believes in you.

Grace and Peace,
-Pastorsponderings.

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The Un-Muscling of the Soul.

Hey there, friends.

We all know the drill: “Forgive and forget.” Easier said than done, right? Forgiveness. It’s one of those words that gets thrown around a lot, but honestly, what does it even mean?

To me, forgiveness isn’t about pretending something hurtful never happened. It’s not about condoning bad behavior or letting people off the hook for their actions. Forgiveness, at its core, is about un-muscling your soul.

Think about it. When someone hurts us, it’s like they’ve thrown a punch. We clench our fists, tense our shoulders, and hold onto that anger. We build a fortress around our hearts, convinced that holding onto that pain somehow gives us power. But here’s the thing: holding onto anger is exhausting. It’s like constantly carrying a heavy weight around with you. It drains your energy, steals your joy, and keeps you stuck in the past.

Forgiveness isn’t about letting the other person off the hook. It’s about setting yourself free. It’s about choosing to release the grip of that anger, that resentment, that bitterness. It’s about choosing to stop letting the past dictate your present.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But Scott, what about justice? What about accountability?”

Justice is important. Accountability is important. But forgiveness doesn’t negate those things. They can exist side-by-side. Forgiveness is about your inner healing. It’s about choosing to break the chains of the past and step into a life of freedom and peace.

Forgiveness isn’t always easy. Sometimes it feels impossible. But I believe that true freedom comes when we choose to un-muscle our souls, to release the grip of the past, and to step into a life of love and grace.

What do you think? What does forgiveness mean to you? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Grace and Peace,
Pastorsponderings.

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The Weight of “Should”…

We all carry a backpack.

It’s not the one you carry to school or work, though that one can be heavy enough. This backpack is invisible, yet it weighs us down more than any physical burden. It’s the backpack of “shoulds.”

  • “I should be more disciplined.”
  • “I should be a better parent.”
  • “I should be more successful.”
  • “I should be more spiritual.”

These “shoulds” – whispered by society, by our own inner critic (and sometimes that critic is much worse than the voice of society)– they become our mantra. They create a constant, low-grade anxiety. We strive, we hustle, we compare, all in an attempt to meet these impossible expectations.

But what if we dared to take off the backpack? What if we questioned the very weight of these “shoulds”?

  • What if “should” was replaced with “could”?
  • What if “disciplined” became “curious”?
  • What if “successful” became “joyful”?

The Bible, when read with an open heart, is not a book of endless “shoulds.” It’s a story of grace, of liberation, of finding rest. It’s about encountering the Divine in the messy, beautiful, unpredictable reality of human life.

It’s about discovering that true freedom isn’t about achieving some idealized version of ourselves, but about embracing the unique, messy, and magnificent person we already are. And here’s the beauty, God meets us where we’re at but loves us enough not to leave us there. He journeys with us, far beyond the burden of the “shoulds”.

So, today, let’s try an experiment. Let’s notice the “shoulds” creeping into our thoughts. And then, let’s gently but firmly put them down. Let’s choose lightness over weight. Let’s choose curiosity over judgment. Let’s choose joy over pressure.

The world needs your unique brand of messy, beautiful, humanness. Don’t let the weight of “should” hold you back.

Grace and Peace
-Pastorsponderings.

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Surely Good and Mercy…

I’m still envisioning Lesley Nielsen in the movie airplane saying, “And don’t call me Shirley”

Hey there, friends.

We’ve all been there. Those days where the weight of the world feels a little heavier, where the shadows seem to linger a bit longer. Maybe it’s a string of bad news, a relationship that’s frayed, or just that nagging sense of “Is this all there is?”

In those moments, it’s easy to get lost in the weeds. To focus on what’s wrong, on what’s missing, on the fear of what might be. But here’s the thing: you don’t have to walk alone.

Psalm 23, that beautiful ancient poem, offers a powerful antidote to that fear. It’s a reminder that even in the darkest valleys, we are not abandoned. We are not alone.

“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life,” it says.

Think about that for a moment.

Goodness. Mercy.

Not just for a day, not just for a season, but all the days of my life.

Now, I know what you might be thinking: “Easy for David to say. He was a king!” But the truth is, this promise isn’t just for kings and queens. It’s for the weary, the wounded, the ones who feel lost and forgotten. It’s for you.

Goodness. Mercy.

These aren’t abstract concepts. They are real, tangible forces. They are the gentle hand that guides us, the unexpected kindness that restores our faith, the quiet moments of grace that remind us we are loved.

So, the next time you find yourself in the valley, remember this: you are not alone. Goodness and mercy are on your trail. They are always there, even when you can’t see them.

And maybe, just maybe, you can begin to see them. To notice the small acts of kindness, the unexpected moments of joy, the quiet whispers of hope.

Because even in the darkest of times, there is always light. There is always grace. There is always hope.

Grace and Peace,

-Pastorsponderings.

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Peace, Trouble, and Courage in the Chaos…

There’s this moment in John 16:33 that I keep coming back to. Jesus’ words echo like they’re meant to vibrate through the centuries, landing in our ears right when we need them most: “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

What a line. It’s like Jesus drops this truth bomb right into the middle of everything. And it’s not fluffy, feel-good talk—he’s telling it like it is. This world, it’s full of trouble. Chaos, pain, uncertainty. You don’t need me to list it out because you already know it, right? It’s the breaking news that scrolls across your screen. It’s the hard conversations you’ve had this week. It’s the weight you’ve felt pressing on your chest when you wonder if you’re going to make it through.

But Jesus doesn’t stop with the trouble. He says, take heart. Which isn’t just a gentle pat on the back. It’s a rallying cry. A declaration. It’s like he’s saying, “Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s heavy. But don’t let that be the end of the story.”

Because here’s the kicker: I have overcome the world.

And you start to feel the weight of those words, don’t you? This isn’t just some vague optimism. It’s Jesus saying, “I’ve faced it all. Every ounce of pain, betrayal, and darkness. And I’ve come out the other side.”

Now, this isn’t a promise that all your troubles will vanish, like some magic trick. It’s not Jesus saying, “Follow me and life will be smooth sailing.” No, it’s deeper than that. It’s a promise that trouble doesn’t get the final word. That the darkness doesn’t win. That whatever you’re facing right now doesn’t have the power to undo the hope and peace that’s found in him.

So, what does it mean for us to take heart? Maybe it’s leaning into the truth that we’re not alone in this. That we’re held by a love that’s stronger than any storm we’re weathering. Maybe it’s a reminder that peace isn’t found in everything going perfectly, but in the presence of the one who’s already conquered the chaos.

Taking heart looks like courage, doesn’t it? But not the kind of courage that pretends everything’s fine. It’s the courage to admit that things are hard and still trust that hope is real. It’s finding peace, not because the world is trouble-free, but because Jesus has overcome the trouble.

And let’s not miss this—“I have overcome the world” is a now-and-not-yet kind of promise. There’s a victory that’s already happened, and there’s a renewal we’re still waiting for. We live in that tension, don’t we? But even in the tension, there’s peace to be found.

So wherever you are today, whatever trouble you’re carrying, hear these words: Take heart. Take heart because you’re not alone. Take heart because the story isn’t over. Take heart because Jesus has overcome, and that changes everything.

May you find courage in the chaos, hope in the heartbreak, and peace in the presence of the one who’s with you every step of the way.

Grace and Peace.
-Pastorsponderings.

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“I Can See Clearly Now: Removing the Cultural Blinders.”

Have you ever wondered how much of what you believe is shaped by the culture around you? How much it is shaped by your childhood, your Sunday School class, that old church lady or man who frowned every time you laughed during a church service? How often do we confuse what we’ve absorbed from our past and surroundings with what God is truly saying? It’s like wearing sunglasses indoors. Everything looks a little darker, and you don’t even realize it until someone asks, “Why are you still wearing those?”

We all wear cultural blinders. They shape how we see God, how we see others, and even how we see ourselves. These blinders aren’t always bad; they’re just there. They’re the stories we’ve been told, the assumptions we’ve never questioned, and the unspoken rules we’ve learned to follow. But what if some of those stories, assumptions, and rules are keeping us from seeing clearly? Why aren’t we asking the right questions? Or even asking questions at all? Why do we just assume that we already know?

The Problem with Cultural Blindness

One of the biggest dangers of cultural blinders is that they limit our vision. Jesus talked about this all the time. Remember when he said, “You have heard it said… but I tell you…” (Matthew 5)? He was challenging the cultural scripts people had internalized—the ones that said, “Love your neighbor and hate your enemy” or “An eye for an eye.”

Jesus wasn’t just tweaking the rules; he was flipping the entire script. He was saying, “The way you’ve been taught to see the world isn’t the way God sees it.” And if we’re honest, we need that same challenge today. Could it be that there’s a script that we’ve blindly accepted that might need to be flipped?

The Filters We Don’t See

Think about the stories our culture tells about success. Bigger, better, faster, more. It’s a narrative that’s so pervasive we barely notice it. And yet, Jesus comes along and says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit… blessed are the meek… blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” (Matthew 5:3-6). He’s inviting us to see success in a completely different way.

Or consider how we’re taught to categorize people. Who’s in, who’s out. Who’s worthy of our time and attention. And then Jesus tells a story about a Samaritan—someone the cultural script labeled as an enemy—and makes him the hero (Luke 10:25-37). Jesus is constantly disrupting our categories, asking us to see people as God sees them. It’s dangerous. It’s counter-cultural. It’s amazing.

Removing the Blinders

So, how do we begin to remove these blinders? It starts with humility. We have to admit that we don’t see the whole picture. As Paul writes, “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12). Part of growing in our faith is acknowledging that our vision is incomplete and asking God to help us see more clearly. It can be scary to admit this. It’s daunting to accept change in our preconceived notion of “having it all worked out.” So what needs to change? What is still blinding you from fully seeing?

Here are three practices to help:

  1. Question Your Assumptions Start by asking, “Why do I think this way?” Whether it’s about God, relationships, or the world around you, take the time to examine your beliefs. Are they rooted in Scripture, or are they shaped by cultural norms? Philippians 2:12 reminds that we should “work out our salvation with fear and trembling.” When we begin to question our assumptions we begin to remove the sunglasses that has prevented us from properly seeing.
  2. Listen to Other Voices Sometimes we need to step outside our echo chambers. Read books, listen to sermons, or have conversations with people who see the world differently. It’s amazing how much we can learn when we’re willing to listen. But be brave when you listen. Don’t just embrace the comfortable. Or the things that already speak to your accepted understanding of Church, Others and the Divine. Be prepared to dig deeper and as you listen begin to ask the hard questions.
  3. Ask God for Fresh Eyes Make it a habit to pray, “God, help me see what you see.” This simple prayer can open your heart to new perspectives and reveal the blind spots you didn’t even know you had.

The Freedom of Clear Vision

When we remove the cultural blinders, we start to see the world the way God intended. We see people as made in his image, without bias and rooted understanding. We see success as faithfulness, not achievement. We see love as the highest calling. And most importantly, we see God not as a reflection of our culture, but as the Creator who’s constantly inviting us into something deeper, truer, and more beautiful.

So maybe it’s time to take off the sunglasses. To step into the light. To let God show us what we’ve been missing all along. Because when we see clearly, everything changes.

Grace and Peace.
-Pastorsponderings.

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“Risk, Trust, Multiply: The Kingdom Math of the Talents”

I used the word Math…please don’t leave. Check this out:

The Parable of the Talents is one of those stories Jesus tells that cuts right to the heart of how we live, doesn’t it? You can find it in Matthew 25:14-30. It’s a tale about a man, his servants, and an outrageous amount of money—talents, as they called them back then. But this story isn’t just about economics; it’s about something far more profound.

Let’s dive in.

A wealthy man is going on a journey. Before he leaves, he entrusts his property to his servants. To one, he gives five talents. To another, two talents. And to the last, one talent. Now, a talent was no small thing. It was a unit of currency worth about 20 years of wages for a laborer. Imagine being handed 20, 40, or 100 years’ worth of earnings all at once. Can you feel the weight of that responsibility?

The man’s instructions? Not explicitly stated, but implied: Do something with it.

The first two servants get to work. They invest, trade, create, risk. And they double what they were given. But the third servant? He digs a hole. He buries the talent. He hides it.

When the master returns, there’s a reckoning. The first two servants present their doubled investments, and the master’s response is ecstatic: “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”

But the third servant? He’s afraid. He tells the master, “I knew you were a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.”

And the master’s response? Not what we might expect from a story that starts with such generosity. The master calls the servant wicked and lazy. He takes the one talent and gives it to the one who has ten. And the servant is cast out, into the darkness.

Whew. Heavy, right? So, what’s going on here?

First, let’s talk about the fear. That third servant? He was so paralyzed by fear—fear of failure, fear of judgment, fear of the master—that he did nothing. And isn’t that what fear does? It locks us up. It convinces us to play small, to play safe, to not risk, to not create, to not step out, not to speak up. Fear whispers, “What if you fail? What if you’re not good enough? What if it all goes wrong?” And so we bury our talents. We hide what we’ve been given. We stop ourselves from speaking up with the grains of wisdom God has given us.

But the other two servants? They get it. They understand that the talents aren’t just resources; they’re opportunities. Opportunities to participate in the work of the master. Opportunities to create something, to build something, to grow something. And sure, there’s risk involved. But there’s also trust. Trust that what they’ve been given is enough. Trust that the master’s joy is found in their faithfulness, not their perfection. It’s never been about being perfect.

This parable invites us to ask some big, uncomfortable questions: What have I been given? What opportunities, resources, gifts, passions, abilities, relationships are in my hands right now? And what am I doing with them? Am I investing them, risking them, using them for something bigger than myself? Or am I burying them, hiding them, letting fear call the shots? This isn’t about inflating our egos, or making us look important, it’s about using what God has entrusted to us. All of it is Gods.

And here’s the twist that we can’t miss: The master’s joy isn’t about the amount returned. It’s about the fact that the servants were faithful with what they had. The first servant had five talents, and the second had two. Different amounts, but the exact same affirmation: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

You see, the parable isn’t about how much you have. It’s about what you do with what you’ve been given. It’s about the courage to show up, to risk, to trust, to invest, to create. It’s about participating in the work of the Kingdom, right here and right now.

So, what if we lived like the first two servants? What if we stepped out of our fear and into faith? What if we trusted that the gifts we’ve been given—no matter how big or small—are enough? What if we stopped burying our talents and started using them to bring light, love, and hope into the world?

Maybe that’s what Jesus is inviting us to in this parable. Not just to see what we’ve been given, but to step into the joy of using it. To risk. To create. To trust. To live fully into the Kingdom work we’ve been called to. And that Kingdom is right here and right now. With us.

Because when we do, we’re not just holding onto what we’ve been given. We’re multiplying it. And that’s where the joy is.

Grace and Peace.
-PastorsPonderings.

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Discovering Grace in Everyday.

Life has this way of pulling us in a thousand directions at once, doesn’t it? There’s the constant hum of obligations, deadlines, and distractions—a never-ending playlist of demands. And in the midst of it all, we can start to feel like we’re losing the plot, like we’re just moving through the motions. I call it “getting lost in the sauce”…

But here’s the thing: even in the chaos, there’s grace.

Grace is not about striving harder or being perfect. It’s about discovering that God is present in every moment—the messy, the mundane, the miraculous. The sacred is right here, in the very fabric of your ordinary day. It’s both ordinary and mysterious all at the same time.

Think about how Jesus lived. He walked dusty roads. He shared meals with fishermen and tax collectors. He paused to notice people—a woman at a well, a man in a tree, children running toward Him. He didn’t rush through life; He moved with intention, always present, always open to the beauty and possibility in the moment.

And maybe that’s the invitation for us. To slow down. To breathe deeply. To notice.

One of my favorite fiction authors, Brandon Sanderson once said, “Enjoy memories, yes, but don’t be a slave to who you wish you once had been. Those memories aren’t alive. You are.”

So my fellow ponderers, notice the laughter of a friend. The warmth of sunlight breaking through your window. The kindness of a stranger. The joy of a child’s giggle. These aren’t just random moments; they’re whispers of grace, reminders that you’re not alone in this. And that you are alive. What a gift this is!

Scripture reminds us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

Close. Not far off, not out of reach. Close.

What if we lived as though that were true? What if we embraced the idea that God is not only with us in the big, life-altering moments but also in the small, overlooked ones? I call those small things microblessings. They are often overlooked and taken for granted. But God is present within all of it, and with you.

So today, let’s practice looking for the sacred in the ordinary. Let’s believe that grace is woven into the very fabric of our lives, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be embraced. Take notice. Look around you. Breathe deep the blessings and grace of God. It’s there for you to receive.

You are loved. You are held. And you are walking in grace—even now.

Peace to you.

-Pastorsponderings

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Taste and See: The Beauty of Trusting in God.

There’s something magnetic about the way the psalms draw us in, isn’t there? They’re raw, human, unpolished. They take us to the very core of the human experience—joy, pain, fear, gratitude. Today, let’s pause with Psalm 34:

“I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. … Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.”

Did you catch that? Fear and radiance, shame and goodness—all intertwined. The psalmist isn’t merely saying, “Believe this.” He’s inviting us to experience it, to live it, to feel it deep in our bones.

“I sought the Lord, and he answered me.”

Seeking is active. It’s not passive waiting; it’s stepping into the mystery, bringing our messy, tangled fears before God. When you seek, you’re opening your heart to the possibility that maybe—just maybe—there’s a love big enough to hold you, even in your darkest moments.

And then? Freedom. Deliverance. The kind of peace that makes fear lose its grip.

“Those who look to him are radiant.”

Radiance—it’s not about physical beauty or perfection. It’s about what happens when you live with the weight of shame lifted off your shoulders. It’s the glow of someone who knows they’re deeply loved, fully seen, and completely accepted.

Have you ever noticed how light seems to pour out of people who’ve encountered that kind of love? Their joy isn’t tethered to circumstances; it flows from something deeper, more unshakable.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

This isn’t a theoretical proposition. It’s an invitation to dive in. To taste. To see. To engage all your senses. The psalmist is saying, “Try it. Take the leap. Experience God’s goodness for yourself.”

Think about tasting—really tasting—a piece of ripe fruit. You don’t analyze it from a distance. You bite into it. The sweetness floods your mouth. It’s immediate. Real. That’s the kind of encounter with God the psalmist is talking about.

So, what’s the invitation here?

It’s not to have all the answers. (we certainly don’t) It’s not to tidy up your life or figure out your theology. (it’s still a work in progress) It’s simply to come. To seek. To look. To taste. To take refuge in a God who is good—always good—even when life feels anything but.

What would it look like for you to bring your fears to God today? To trust that he meets you right there, not with condemnation, but with deliverance?

What if you leaned into his goodness—not as a concept, but as a reality you can taste and see and know?

Let’s live this day tasting, seeing, trusting. Because when we do, radiance isn’t just a possibility; it becomes the very rhythm of our lives.

Grace and peace.

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The Prodigal Within: Confronting the Parts of Myself I’d Rather Not See

We all know the story of the prodigal son – that wayward child who demanded his inheritance, squandered it in wild living, and finally came crawling back home to his father’s embrace. The scripture literally says, “when he came to his senses” (Luke 15:17, NIV) It’s a beautiful tale of redemption, one we’ve heard countless times from pulpits and Sunday school classes…and maybe an old flannel-graph or two. But lately, I’ve been wrestling with an uncomfortable truth: the prodigal son isn’t just a character in a parable. He lives within me. There. I’ve said it. (Phew, what a relief).

You see, I’ve spent years pointing fingers at others’ shortcomings while expertly avoiding the mirror. I’ve sat in church pews, Bible balanced perfectly on my lap, nodding along to sermons about transformation while carefully tucking away the parts of myself that needed transforming most. I’ve become a master at seeing the speck in my brother’s eye while ignoring the plank in my own. Can you relate? I sure hope you can. Because I think this shadow-self, this prodigal lives within us all.

But God, in His persistent grace, hasn’t let me stay comfortable in my spiritual blindness. He’s been gently, yet firmly, turning my gaze inward, inviting me to examine those shadowy corners of my heart I’ve worked so hard to ignore. This isn’t just another devotional about self-improvement or a three-step guide to better Christian living. This is my raw, honest journey of confronting the prodigal within – the parts of myself I’d rather pretend don’t exist.

Let me start by confessing something that makes me deeply uncomfortable: I am a master of selective Christianity. I’ve perfected the art of highlighting the verses that make me feel good while skillfully dodging the ones that challenge my comfortable patterns. For years, I’ve chosen to focus on God’s promises of prosperity while conveniently overlooking His calls to die to self. I’ve championed grace for others in public while harboring private judgments that would make the Pharisees proud.

This journey began years ago, on an ordinary Wednesday evening, during what should have been a routine small group meeting. We were discussing the Beatitudes – familiar territory, I thought. But when someone asked, “What does it really mean to be poor in spirit?” I opened my mouth to give my usual polished answer and suddenly stopped short. In that moment, the Holy Spirit held up a mirror, and for the first time, I truly saw myself. Have you had that mirror experience too?

In that moment, I saw the pride masquerading as spiritual wisdom. I saw the selfishness dressed up in religious duty. I saw the fear hiding behind my confident exterior. Like the prodigal son, I hadn’t physically left my Father’s house, but my heart had wandered far from home. I was living in a far country of my own making, feeding on the husks of religious performance while starving for genuine transformation.

This isn’t a story about wallowing in guilt or shame. Rather, it’s about the extraordinary discovery that the same Father who runs to meet the physically prodigal son also races toward those of us who’ve wandered within the walls of the church. It’s about finding that true repentance begins not with outward actions, but with the courage to face ourselves honestly before God.

How honest are we about this prodigal within? When the Holy Spirit lifts that mirror before us what do we see and what do we intentionally ignore?

Confronting our Prodigal Self
When we confront instead of flee, true growth begins to take root within us. Only when we begin to accept that which we have long ignored will we truly experience freedom from the slavery of self. It’s liberating. You should try it sometime…there I go again judging you when I still have work to do.

Something more to ponder today.
Questions to consider:
1) What is preventing you right now from confronting your prodigal self (your shadow-self)?
2) What is the Holy Spirit saying to you?
3) How can you intentionally accept God’s honest, yet loving assessment of you?
Being vulnerable before God is hard. What can you do to set aside five minutes today to just sit before that mirror? Don’t flinch, just sit and listen. He desires to clothe you and throw a party for his child who was once lost but is now found.
(Repeat again tomorrow).

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