I'm Often Reluctant to Obey

I am often reluctant to obey. When it’s been a long day, when the kids’ attitudes have been every color under the sun, when I’d rather scroll and veg, when I’ve already spent a day of serving, when I am just people’d out and would rather hide—it’s usually those very ordinary moments that I am faced with an opportunity to obey, or not.

And because I know I should, I do. Pretty robotic of me at times, like today.

"I can save face for an hour or two,” I muse. Meanwhile, my heart is an annoyed mess still thinking about the book I’d rather be reading.


Consequently, my external actions of a smiling face showing up to the park to hand out popsicles to tired playground parents and kids do not tell a truthful story of a servant’s heart that joyfully pours out her time, energy, and resources for the sake of the gospel.

Given my ordinary, mundane Tuesday circumstances, I was really, really reluctant to obey—like in the turn lane about to pull a uey reluctant. But I stayed in the lane. I drove forward to the park.

Because I knew I should obey, so I did.

Because deep down, I knew my excuses were thin and my selfishness was clinging closer than the skin to my bones. I knew saying “yes" to Jesus would bring more joy than whatever lesser joy I would have definitely wasted my time on. I knew from past hesitations, that walking forward in obedience, even when met with inner turmoil and angst, brings lasting joy.

So here I am, I obeyed.  Looking eerily similar to the first son in Matthew 21 who told his father he wouldn’t go work in the vineyard, then regretted it and obeyed.

I’m not sharing this for you to congratulate me on my poor performance of obedience, but rather as an encouragement, that I am there with you crawling on the road of obedience. I want you to remember the tangible joy that is to be had in ordinary obedience of showing up and serving for the sake of the gospel—even when you arrive with a sour heart. Get out of the car, and obey. This is the stuff that eternally matters.

The Lord is faithful to change your heart and renew your mind as you gather alongside other believers who are excited about the mission ahead. He will use the obedience of others—half-hearted or otherwise— to strengthen your joy and reorient your heart. He will use the thankfulness of playground children with popsicles and the laughter from the merry-go-round to humble you and repent of your hardness of heart. He will use the encouragement from a Christian with her great-granddaughter to remind you that your labor is not in vain. He will, time and again as you step out in obedience in a number of ordinary moments, show you that sharing the gospel is the best way you can spend your time—even when it’s at a park with popsicles on a hot Tuesday afternoon.

When I arrived, I got out of the van with 5 children spilling out the side and my heart still unresolved.

When I stepped onto the playground, I knew this was exactly where I was supposed to be as the nations and neighbors gathered at the swing set.

Two hours later, I piled the sugar saturated and sweat soaked children back into the van, and drove off with a full heart and a truthful smile that reflected the thankfulness I had that Jesus would use even me, the first son in Matthew 21, that he would give even me the opportunity to share the gospel at the park today.

I’m glad my mind was changed. It was the Lord who changed my heart. Obedience will always be about belief.

Sure, I obeyed because I knew I should, but when you peel back layers of the war waged inside, we obey because we are compelled to. Because there is a belief that the Lord is good, his commands are not burdensome, and that the gospel transforms lives. Many times this is exactly the evidence of sanctification we have when we look backward. We obeyed, because we know Christ has called us to a greater joy. In fact, he's calling us to himself.