It's a short drive to Prideville

I realised this morning that it wouldn't take much for my writing ministry to become as blind and self-focused as the churches I've left.

This post started out as a note this morning, and then it kept getting longer and longer until I realised that this is clearly the topic of today’s essay.

What I’m about to share with you is coming from a candid desire to talk about how we fail in the moment – not as some past version of ourselves but as the here-and-now fleshy people that we are this very second. This is not an attempt to appear holy, so please don’t admire me for my “honesty.” The only holy one here is the God whose Spirit graciously dwells in me, sanctifying me day by day. I mean it when I say that He is good and merciful and faithful and kind and He deserves all the praise. If you think anything good of me, let it only be that I was the small voice in your world who reminded you that your God is dazzlingly worth your time.

So here we go. Let’s get into it:

Monday (the day on which this post is going out) is my writing day, and I’m truly excited to say that as of right now, my writing has consistently been resulting in growth and engagement here on the ‘stack for a solid month. It’s felt good. It’s been fulfilling to know that the passionate work of my pen is bringing people into an intimate space with Jesus. My heart for this space is to spark a process of healing, to be a light for people who are suffering and need a reminder that God is good when the world seems bereft of His presence. This Substack is a “Battle Cry” of joy in this broken world; and I am certain that this core motivation for my writing is in alignment with God’s will for my life. I’ve talked to Him about it a lot. He’s confirmed it a lot.

So here I am, every Monday morning, typing away at my keyboard. And in recent weeks, I’ve been waking up to new subscribers every single day. I’ve been getting engagement on every single post, every single note, every single idea.

After years of feeling like the world didn’t know just how true it is that I am a writer, this type of engagement has been wild for me. It’s nothing earth-shattering. It’s nothing that is going to change the world. But for me, it’s like a core part of who I am has stepped out of the shadows, and suddenly, I am seen.

My mom once said to me that our deepest spiritual desire is to be perfectly known, and then perfectly loved by the one who knows us. Only God can know and love us perfectly, but when we experience micro-versions of this “knowing” from other people, it can be intoxicating. Or at least, it certainly is for me.

And so in the high of my growth, this morning, I sat on my couch with my coffee and suddenly the thought popped into my head: “It’s writing day. I wonder what I might write about that’ll impact the most people today. What might help my Substack continue to grow?”

Ughhh I am cringing just writing this. Because the second I thought this to myself, my spirit went “WHOA. Is THAT what we’re writing for, now?” (It’s fun to have a brain and spirit that talk to each other – okay, that’s a really weird sentence, but you get it, right?)

Anyway, writing all this down, I feel kind of gross. And it is literally only by the grace of the Holy Spirit who dwells in me that I was so quickly able to discern what a dangerous thought path I was walking down.

(Side note: let me quickly repeat that I am not holy. I am becoming holy, day by day, only through these kind of sanctifying experiences. I am dignified in my conviction. I am loved through the fire of refinement. But I am just like you. My conviction, my repentance, is no more profound or holy or loved by God than yours).

Now don’t get me wrong, wanting to reach a lot of people with a hope-filled message is a good thing! Isn’t that what evangelism is all about? Asking the question “What message might effectively impact the most people?” is a fairly valid marketing question for anyone. And if for some reason, you’ve gotten this far into reading my post and you don’t know Jesus (btw welcome), please know that I am in NO WAY judging you for asking those kinds of questions with the intention of growing your Substack. I want growth, too. Of course I do. If I didn’t want growth, I’d just write in a journal, wouldn’t I?

But the reason I felt conviction this morning wasn’t because growth is inherently bad but because as a Christian, we do not work for the sake of growth as its own goal but for the glory of God. Growth, by His appointment, comes when its meant to come.

If we have a truly good and loving God (which I believe we do), then all we need to do each morning when we wake up is the work in front of us – whatever that work may be (I talked about this a bit in last week’s post, Christian clichés and the blunt prayers of depression). If we are truly invested in just doing that simple, daily work, then I believe that growth and success comes at whatever rate is healthy for us and healthy for God’s people – because when we surrender the outcome to Him, He does the rest for us in perfect love, perfect wisdom, perfect knowledge of what will truly be good for our wellbeing. God is not flippant about our peace and joy (even if it might seem that way when His methods are different from ours).

This isn’t all an exact formula, mind you. I’m not saying you do A + B and God will give you C. I’m saying that there is peace in releasing control. There is rest in knowing that the work you do, with the sincere motivation of bringing heaven to earth, truly does amount to the ultimate joy – more joy than another subscriber could bring. More joy than any mortal success could bring, actually.

I guess what I’m saying is that this symbiotic relationship of trust and love and surrender with God really does amount to the best possible outcome for our lives because, well, our Creator loves us more than we could ever love ourselves. He really does want the deepest form of rest and peace for us, and only by following Him in our simple, daily lives do we have any chance of finding that rest or experiencing that peace.

Everything else is vapour. Every subscriber I have, I could lose. Substack could shut down, and all my painstaking work could be gone. It could all disappear in a moment. But the work that the Holy Spirit does through my writing – the hope that the Spirit instills in even one reader who found one of my essays about depression and was inspired to trust Him with their life again – that work is eternal. I don’t need subscriber numbers to tell me that. If my heart sincerely wants to bring God glory, the eternal kernels of His goodness will be scattered about from the work of my hands – subscriber count or no.

When I wake up in the morning and ask “What kind of post is going to gain me the most subscribers?” instead of “What is God asking me to share today?” then I’ve literally lost myself. As someone who freely chooses to write as a form of worship, the former question is not in alignment with my core values. The latter question, however, gets to the very heart of why I call myself a writer.

I wanted to share this because I think it’s safe to say that a great deal of my generation (and the generations before me) have been deeply hurt by Christian leaders – Christian voices – who have indeed lost themselves to the glory of fame, success, growing followers, a sexy brand, you name it. I just read a timely post about this from Joy Laprade called As for me and my church, we will serve the algorithm if you want to read it (honestly highly recommend).

Basically, I’ve realised how frickin’ easy it is to lose ourselves in the flashiness of attention and growth as if its the true fulfilment of our desire to be fully known and deeply loved. I have watched so many Christian leaders who have harmed their congregations because of this folly, and so in my disgust, I thought “I will never allow my work to be corrupted like that.” This arrogance was my first mistake. I realised this morning that I am just as susceptible to the glory of attention as the Brian Houstons and Mark Driscolls of the world. I have only been on Substack for a few months. I literally have less than 200 subscribers right now. And already, my focus has slipped, for just a moment, to writing for my own gain.

Again, if you choose to write for yourself and your own growth, I am not here to judge you. I’m just here to say that this is not personally why I choose to write, and yet I seem to have lost my true “why” very quickly in the excitement of a few daily subscribers being added to my list over the past month.

Talking about this stuff as a Christian really matters (even if it feels raw and embarrassing) because when we call ourselves Christians, we’re telling the world that we follow a person called Jesus whose teachings literally demand that we be the opposite of mini-gods. He came to earth himself, God made man, not to be served, but to serve. He is the picture of humility. If I claim to follow him and simultaneously get swept up in the small amount of success resulting from my finite existence, I’m not living for eternity.

And friends, I want to live for eternity. Eternity is the thing which reminds me that the pain of grief will one day cease, the sting of death will well and truly be done away with, the bitterness of evil and suffering will be replaced, in the end, with shouts of joy. EVERY morning, I wake up and battle depression, and it is ONLY the joy of knowing that my God and King has worked all things out so that my sadness will one day END that gets me out of bed. Every principle of that joy-filled kingdom, then, is worth me laying down my little idols – especially when that idol is myself.

I am writing this down as a personal reminder that I can refer back to when next month, or next week, or tomorrow, I get caught in the same mental trap all over again. The art of sanctification is a daily walk. But thankfully, we don’t do it alone.

It’s a short drive to Prideville, paved out for us thousands of years ago by those who attempted to build up the tower of Babel. What a shame it is, really, that we haven’t evolved to be less self-centred over the millennia. But what a relief, at the same time, that we have a God who literally doesn’t give a crap about how dumb and short-sighted we are and instead offers us His fully righteous Holy Spirit to carry us through our stumbles.

A God whose love guides me out of my own brokenness? Man, that sounds like freedom to me.

“Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.”
Matthew 24:35

All my love,

P.S. Given the current limitations to the behind-the-scenes settings on Substack, I’m having to press pause on doing my audio narrations for free posts in order to enable the comment section to remain open to all. I won’t get into the semantics of this, but I if you are someone who benefits from receiving the audio narration of my essays, please leave a comment below and let me know so that I can navigate the best steps moving forward!