Breaking the Devotions Rut
As a mother, I often miss the luxury of deep, uninterrupted thoughts. I had this ideal image of myself as a mother that I chased for many years—the mother who woke up early and had deep devotions. I wanted the holy marks of calloused knees in quiet, consistent prayer.
Motherhood was harder than I expected.
I used to sign up for all the Bible reading plans. I would chase the next method, the next devotional book, the next trend—Bible journaling, Bible art, prayer journals, writing the Scripture out, reading the Bible in a year, pretty Bible memory cards, the new Bible memorization method, the list could go on and on. Each new trend, like a New Year’s Resolution, faded into failure by February or March.
Whenever I did a deep clean of my home, I found piles of good intentions, like staring at an incomplete on my spiritual report card. As the years went on and my “season” of motherhood went from a sprint to a marathon, the will to try again weakened. I lost hope. I’ll just quit anyway, I thought. My failure started to define my spiritual life.
I would problem solve what went wrong before. Maybe I need to try a different time of day. Maybe I need something smaller. Maybe I need something easier. How much is enough? Is it enough to read for 15 minutes, or do “good Christian women” do 30 minutes? I didn’t want to settle for less and I didn’t want to set myself up for failure again. I started to see my faith splinter into manageable fractions that I could handle on my own. After all, it was all up to me to grow.
It took me years to realize that although I believed I was justified, or saved through God’s works, I thought the growth was totally up to me. It seemed that those who had a better support system, better self-control, and better resources had a better shot at spending time with God than I did. I felt like I was sinking.
“Your act of worship is taking care of your kids,” some would say. “Yes, but I need to be fed,” I would whisper.
I sought out resources on spiritual disciplines and talked with those who have gone before me, and so much of what I heard was, “You just have to want it enough. It’s a matter of priorities.” I tried wanting it enough. Then one pastor told me, “If what you’re struggling with is your heart, remember that the Holy Spirit is the only one who can change that.” That was a lightbulb moment. I was working so hard to make sure I was doing all the right things to be sanctified, but God is the one with the power to change my heart.
As Paul explains in 1 Thessalonians 5:23–34, sanctification is the work of God: “Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.” I realized that even self-control is part of the “fruit of the Spirit” (Gal. 5:22–23).
When I shifted from strategizing devotional methods to praying “Lord, help me,” everything began to change. It started with some honesty before God. I have wrong priorities. I’m lazy. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know how to fix this.
Hebrews 12 says that we find our endurance by “looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith” (Heb. 12:2). Jesus doesn’t just save us and let us run along our way. He perfects our faith. He holds us up. He is the one sanctifying us.
Romans 4:20–21 says Abraham “grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised.” He didn’t grow strong in his faith by trying again and again to have a son and make happen what God promised. He didn’t grow strong in his faith by working it out in his head. He grew strong in his faith by looking to God and believing that he would do what he said he would do.
God has answered some of my more embarrassing prayers like, “please help me crave time in your Word more than I crave coffee.” I was amazed how much I saw God at work when I stopped looking to myself to make it happen and not only gave him all the glory, but expected him to do what he says he will do.
As God works in our hearts, we get to participate in the work he is doing. Understanding the depths of his strength and love for us can take a lifetime to process. We should still feel the freedom to buy the next pretty prayer journal, or print out that next Bible reading plan. They’re not bad. But we don’t put our hope in them to turn our time with God around. I no longer put pressure on myself to finish everything strong, and my identity isn’t shaken when I fail once again. My hope isn’t in my abilities, or my grit and determination.
As we look at the names in Hebrews 11, we don’t see:
“By his strength, Abraham…”
“By her strategy Sarah…”
“By hard work, Abel…”
No. It was “by faith”—not in themselves but in the promised Christ.
God loves the weak and unable—he is drawn to them. Acknowledging my repeated failures, and facing them head on, instead of letting Satan use them to shame me, actually showed me the strength of God’s sufficiency. He doesn’t measure our devotions by how many verses or how many minutes we are reading. He measures us based on the work of Christ. I still desire the holy marks of calloused knees in quiet, consistent prayer, but now I know it’s by the help of the Spirit.
