“The proud person always wants to do the right thing, the great thing. But because he wants to do it in his own strength, he is fighting not with man, but with God.”
NUMBERS 1-2
34So the Israelites did everything the Lord commanded Moses; that is the way they encamped under their standards, and that is the way they set out, each of them with their clan and family. (2:34)
JOURNAL
Watching the Olympics this week, I found myself overwhelmed by a simple but profound truth: some will triumph and some will fail. That is not a flaw in the system. It is the system. It is life. Every athlete arrives carrying years of sacrifice, discipline, hope, and belief. Yet in a single moment, victory or defeat is decided. A perfect routine can end with a small mistake. A lifetime of preparation can be undone by injury, timing, or circumstances beyond control. And still, none of it invalidates the athlete. Failure does not erase worth. Loss does not cancel purpose. The struggle itself is part of the goodness of life.
What struck me most is that joy is not found only on the podium. Real joy is found in learning to live faithfully in both outcomes, to stand in triumph without pride and in disappointment without despair. Life asks us to hold both grief and celebration at the same time. This is what surrender looks like.
Kierkegaard wrote, “The proud person always wants to do the right thing, the great thing. But because he wants to do it in his own strength, he is fighting not with man, but with God.” I recognize myself in that warning. I want control over outcomes. I want certainty before obedience. I want victory without vulnerability. But faith does not promise victory as I define it. Faith invites trust regardless of outcome.
In Numbers, Israel simply moved when God said move and camped when God said camp. No debate, no overanalysis, no attempt to improve upon God's plan. They trusted the order given to them day by day. Their faithfulness was not measured by achievement but by obedience.
In Mark, the Pharisees stand in stark contrast. They are so committed to being right that they cannot recognize goodness standing directly in front of them. Jesus heals a man, restores life, and yet their rigid expectations blind them so completely that they begin plotting His death. Their certainty becomes their prison. How ironic that the desire to honor God can become the very thing that prevents us from seeing Him.
I see how easily I do the same. I build expectations about how life should unfold. I assume I know what success looks like, what healing should look like, how God should work. Then when reality differs, I struggle, resist, or miss the grace present in the moment. Trusting God means releasing my demand for outcomes. It means admitting that I may be wrong about what victory or failure truly is. It means living open-handed, willing to let God redefine success, timing, and even suffering.
Jesus’ words in Matthew remind me that clarity begins with humility. Before correcting the world, I must examine my own vision. Often the obstacle is not circumstance but my own assumptions, fears, and judgments. Like the athletes I watched, I am called simply to step onto the field of today. Some days will feel like victory. Others will feel like loss. Both belong to the journey God is shaping. The goal is not to avoid failure or secure triumph. The goal is faithfulness.
To live fully in the moment given.
To trust God in both grief and glory.
To surrender outcomes while offering effort.
To recognize that God is present not only in winning, but in becoming.
Because ultimate joy is not found in the result. It is found in trusting Him with all of it.
Watching the Olympics this week, I found myself overwhelmed by a simple but profound truth: some will triumph and some will fail. That is not a flaw in the system. It is the system. It is life. Every athlete arrives carrying years of sacrifice, discipline, hope, and belief. Yet in a single moment, victory or defeat is decided. A perfect routine can end with a small mistake. A lifetime of preparation can be undone by injury, timing, or circumstances beyond control. And still, none of it invalidates the athlete. Failure does not erase worth. Loss does not cancel purpose. The struggle itself is part of the goodness of life.
What struck me most is that joy is not found only on the podium. Real joy is found in learning to live faithfully in both outcomes, to stand in triumph without pride and in disappointment without despair. Life asks us to hold both grief and celebration at the same time. This is what surrender looks like.
Kierkegaard wrote, “The proud person always wants to do the right thing, the great thing. But because he wants to do it in his own strength, he is fighting not with man, but with God.” I recognize myself in that warning. I want control over outcomes. I want certainty before obedience. I want victory without vulnerability. But faith does not promise victory as I define it. Faith invites trust regardless of outcome.
In Numbers, Israel simply moved when God said move and camped when God said camp. No debate, no overanalysis, no attempt to improve upon God's plan. They trusted the order given to them day by day. Their faithfulness was not measured by achievement but by obedience.
In Mark, the Pharisees stand in stark contrast. They are so committed to being right that they cannot recognize goodness standing directly in front of them. Jesus heals a man, restores life, and yet their rigid expectations blind them so completely that they begin plotting His death. Their certainty becomes their prison. How ironic that the desire to honor God can become the very thing that prevents us from seeing Him.
I see how easily I do the same. I build expectations about how life should unfold. I assume I know what success looks like, what healing should look like, how God should work. Then when reality differs, I struggle, resist, or miss the grace present in the moment. Trusting God means releasing my demand for outcomes. It means admitting that I may be wrong about what victory or failure truly is. It means living open-handed, willing to let God redefine success, timing, and even suffering.
Jesus’ words in Matthew remind me that clarity begins with humility. Before correcting the world, I must examine my own vision. Often the obstacle is not circumstance but my own assumptions, fears, and judgments. Like the athletes I watched, I am called simply to step onto the field of today. Some days will feel like victory. Others will feel like loss. Both belong to the journey God is shaping. The goal is not to avoid failure or secure triumph. The goal is faithfulness.
To live fully in the moment given.
To trust God in both grief and glory.
To surrender outcomes while offering effort.
To recognize that God is present not only in winning, but in becoming.
Because ultimate joy is not found in the result. It is found in trusting Him with all of it.
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