“The difference between an admirer and a follower still remains, no matter where you are. The admirer never makes any true sacrifices. He always plays it safe. Though in words, phrases, songs, he is inexhaustible about how highly he prizes Christ, he renounces nothing, gives up nothing, will not reconstruct his life, will not be what he admires, and will not let his life express what it is he supposedly admires.”
ACTS 20:17-38
JOURNAL
For much of my life I have approached obedience to God with hidden expectations. I wanted to obey, but I also wanted obedience to produce the life I imagined. My hopes, dreams, goals, and plans quietly became the lens through which I interpreted God's will. If circumstances moved me toward those outcomes, I felt confident. If they moved me away, I questioned God or myself. What I am beginning to see is that true surrender starts long before the decisions of the day. It begins the moment I wake up.
Every morning I have a choice. I can begin the day carrying my own agenda, or I can place it on the altar before God. That means honestly acknowledging my desires, ambitions, fears, disappointments, and expectations without pretending they are not there. Then comes the difficult part. I must surrender them. I must release every outcome I have already written in my mind and become willing for God either to affirm those desires or completely redirect them. Only then am I truly available to hear His voice instead of merely asking Him to bless mine.
To many people, and honestly to much of my own heart, this sounds extreme. Modern life teaches us that our hopes and dreams should become our marching orders. We are told to chase them relentlessly and build our lives around them. The thought of laying those dreams on the altar every single morning almost seems irresponsible. Yet I am becoming convinced this is exactly what Jesus calls His followers to do. It is not because dreams are bad, but because anything that cannot be surrendered has quietly become our master.
In many ways, this daily surrender clears the clutter from my heart. It makes room for God's Spirit. Before I think about work, coaching, finances, success, or even ministry, I must first remember that life itself is already a gift. Breath, strength, a sound mind, another day with my family, and another opportunity to love and serve are gifts I did not earn. Gratitude loosens my grip on outcomes because it reminds me that I have already received far more than I deserve.
Only after that posture is established am I ready to open God's Word and ask for my marching orders. Then my family, my friends, my students, my players, and my community are no longer simply part of my plans. They become the people God has entrusted to me today. My objectives are no longer driven by what I hope to accomplish but by what He places before me in obedience.
Paul lived this way. He was compelled by the Spirit, not by guarantees. He walked toward Jerusalem fully aware that hardship awaited him because faithfulness mattered more than comfort or success. His confidence rested not in achieving a preferred outcome but in finishing the task God had given him. That kind of freedom is difficult for me because my flesh still longs for comfort, recognition, and certainty. Yet those things are not evil until they become the reason I live.
Kierkegaard's words expose the difference between admiration and discipleship. An admirer celebrates Christ without changing his life. A follower continually places his life on the altar. I want to become that kind of follower. Every morning I want to surrender my dreams, ambitions, and expectations, trusting that whatever God returns to me can be pursued with confidence, and whatever He removes was never meant to be my master. Ironically, by surrendering outcomes, I do not lose my life. I finally become free to live it, confident that I "will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living," not because life unfolds according to my plans, but because His presence is enough wherever obedience leads.
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