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Field Note, April 17, 2025

A question creeps in sometimes. It usually happens when I’m quiet and alone. I’m often staring at a half-finished essay or rereading what is already written.

What if this is just me?
What if I’m stringing words together because I enjoy it? Maybe it’s because I think I’m good at it. Or perhaps I’ve got something to prove.
What if I’m trying to do God’s work… without God?

It’s a dangerous thing to teach Scripture. James even warns us not to rush into teaching roles. He says, “for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness” (James 3:1). That’s not just a sobering verse. It’s a clarifying one. It reminds me this isn’t just about passing along information—it’s about formation. Mine and theirs.

So I ask myself:
• Am I building a platform, or am I building disciples?
• Am I offering what the Holy Spirit has revealed to me—or just publishing what I think sounds wise?
• Is this series, this structure, this blog… a tool guided by God? Or just another clever framework I built because I could?

Here’s what I keep coming back to:

I didn’t come up with the desire to do this.
I don’t need another project. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to architect a journey through epistemology, theology, and the nature of truth. This entire thing started with a hunger—to know what’s real, to love God better, and to live what I believe. Every time I try to walk away, the Spirit gently taps me on the shoulder. It says, “You’re not done yet.”

So no—I don’t think this is just me.
But I also know I have to be on guard. Even the best intentions can drift if I stop asking:

“Is this still about Christ?”
“Is this still led by the Spirit?”
“Is this still grounded in truth?”

This project only has value if it keeps pointing beyond me.

I’ll keep walking, pen in hand, heart open to correction. If I ever start doing this just to “teach,” I hope someone will call me on it. I do not want to do it without love, surrender, or the Spirit.

Because I don’t want to build something that impresses.
I want to build something that obeys.

Field Note: April 6, 2025

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I used to think the hardest part of following Jesus was learning what He wanted from me. Turns out, it’s unlearning what I thought I already knew.

Admitting this is uncomfortable. Most of what I believed early on about God, faith, and discipleship did not come through study or Scripture. I absorbed it. From family, culture, sermons, songs, and repetition. Some of it was true. Some of it was half-true. And some of it… just wasn’t.

But here’s the kicker: it all felt true because it was familiar.

That’s the danger of inherited belief—it settles in before we even realize we’ve accepted it. We assume we understand the Christian life because we’ve heard the right words. We’ve joined the right groups. We’ve prayed the right prayer. But have we ever stopped to ask where our beliefs came from—or whether they reflect the actual plan of God?

Now, to be clear—this is not the same as trendy “deconstruction.” That approach often starts with doubt. It ends with discarding truth. I’m not unlearning to un-believe. I’m unlearning so I can believe more faithfully. I don’t want a truth I invented. I want the truth God revealed. That kind of unlearning is not a rebellion—it’s repentance. And repentance always leads us closer to Jesus, not further away.

Jesus didn’t just show up to hand out spiritual benefits. He came to open blind eyes. And sometimes… those blind eyes are ours.

We need to see clearly. First, we should reflect on a question: Am I willing to let go of what I’ve assumed? This is necessary to receive what’s true.

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Field Note April 6, 2025

For years, I assumed God’s plan was something deep, mysterious, and complicated—hidden behind layers of doctrine, theology, or prophetic symbolism. Something I’d only figure out if I studied enough, served enough, or just got old enough. But slowly, and maybe reluctantly, I started to notice something unsettling: what if it’s not hidden at all? What if the reason we miss God’s plan is precisely because it’s too plain, too obvious?

Jesus didn’t bury the purpose of life in riddles. He said it openly: Love God with all your heart, soul, and mind. Love your neighbor as yourself. We hear that so often it starts to sound like a slogan. But what if that’s not just a command—it’s the plan? What if the whole point of our existence is to become people who can actually love like that—who reflect God’s character by living out agape love?

If that’s true, then everything else—salvation, transformation, eternity—it all flows from that central purpose. And that means the question isn’t just “What do I need to do for God?” but “Who is God making me to become?”

I think we’ve been trying to solve a puzzle that was never meant to be a mystery. Maybe it’s time to stop searching for a hidden plan and start becoming part of the one He’s already revealed.

Ready to explore what that plan is?

Step 1.10 – Why Are We Here?