Tag: trustworthy

Jesus,

Today, You violated my expectations. Again.

And honestly? It wrecked me—in the best way.

I came to You with a plan. A perfect little picture of how I thought You would move. I had it all laid out: the timeline, the method, the outcome. I expected peace in the waiting, healing on my terms, breakthrough in a way that made sense to me.

But You didn’t follow my script. You never do.

And that’s what makes You God.

I used to think that faith meant expecting You to move in a certain way. Now I’m learning that faith is surrendering all my expectations and trusting You to move however You want—even if it’s weird, uncomfortable, or completely opposite of what I had in mind.

Your ways are not my ways. (Isaiah 55:8)

And thank God for that.

I think about the blind man in John 9. You could’ve just said the word and healed him. You have done that before. But instead, You spit in the dirt, made mud, and smeared it on his eyes. That’s not clean. That’s not sanitary. That’s definitely not what anyone was expecting.

“Having said this, He spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. ‘Go,’ He told him, ‘wash in the Pool of Siloam.’ So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.” — John 9:6–7 (NIV)

I mean… really? Mud? Spit?

But that’s the thing. You don’t need to meet our expectations. We’re the ones who need to adjust to Yours.

And You’re not inconsistent. You’re just obedient to the Father’s will. That’s Your only consistency—total surrender to the will of God.

So why do I still act shocked when You move in a way I didn’t expect?

Why do I question Your love just because You didn’t answer how I prayed? Why do I think You’ve abandoned me just because the healing hasn’t come the way I pictured? Why do I think delay means denial?

The truth is, You’ve never failed me. Not once. But sometimes You love me too much to meet the expectations I put on You. Sometimes You intentionally violate my comfort zone to build real faith—not the kind that works when life is cute and convenient, but the kind that stands when nothing makes sense.

That’s the kind of faith I want.

Jesus, confront me. Offend my logic. Violate my false beliefs. Expose every place where I’ve boxed You in.

Because I don’t want a tame God. I want the real You.

I want the Jesus who flips tables.
The Jesus who eats with sinners.
The Jesus who doesn’t fit into any of the categories we try to place You in.
The Jesus who saves with blood, not politics.
The Jesus who washes feet but holds all power.
The Jesus who disrupts my comfort so I’ll depend on grace.

You are not predictable—but You are trustworthy.

And I know I’ve been guilty of trying to domesticate You. I’ve begged You to fit into my plans. I’ve expected blessing without pruning, glory without obedience, and miracles without submission.

But today, I lay that down.

All of it.

I don’t need a Jesus who obeys me—I need to obey You.
I don’t need a Savior who plays by my rules—I need one who saves me from myself.
And You do that. Every day.

So please, Jesus, violate my expectations. Shatter them if You have to.

If You need to spit in the dirt and smear it in my eyes so I can finally see, then do it.

If You need to let me sit in a season of silence so I can hear You clearly again, I’m here for it.

If You need to deny me what I think I want so You can give me what I really need, then so be it.

Because faith isn’t about control. It’s about surrender.
It’s not about understanding every step—it’s about trusting the One who holds the path.

And that’s You.

Lord, forgive me for all the ways I’ve treated You like a vending machine or a wish granter. You’re not here to serve my ego—You came to save my soul.

I don’t want You to just “fix my life.” I want You to transform me.

If that takes discomfort, so be it. If that means dying to my preferences, I’m ready. If that means letting go of everything I thought You would do, I’ll do it.

Because in the end, what I want more than anything… is You.

You alone are worthy.

You alone are holy.

You alone are Lord—not just in theory, but in reality.

So take my expectations, my formulas, my assumptions.
Take my pride, my need for control, my fear of the unknown.
Take it all, Jesus. You can have it.

And in return, give me eyes to see what You’re doing—even if it doesn’t look the way I imagined.

Because that man walked away seeing.

I want that kind of vision.
Not worldly vision.
Not religious tradition.
But real, Spirit-filled sight.

Sight that sees Your hand even in the mud.
Faith that trusts You even when it stings.
Love that stays, even when You move differently than expected.

You are Lord.

Not me.

Amen.