ME!

Me, me, me… why is everything about me?

My prayers often orbit around my own struggles. It’s far easier to intercede for others when the pressure of life isn’t sitting on my chest. But when the weight comes—financial strain, the daily fight against sin, the mental battles that never seem to clock out—suddenly every prayer becomes a desperate plea for personal rescue.

I know the principle behind it all. Romans 12:1–2 is not foreign to me. Present your body as a living sacrifice. Do not be conformed. Be transformed. Yes, I understand it. But understanding a principle and living it out under pressure are two very different realities. That’s why returning to Scripture is not optional. Without the Word of God guiding us, restraining us, correcting us, and comforting us—who would ever find their way through the madness of life?

“Reaction to action” echoes through my mind. “If only…” flashes in the background. But thank God that “Jesus in my place” shouts louder than all my internal noise. Still, even that doesn’t magically dissolve the weight. There’s this ongoing whisper in my heart: life and then some…

We’ve been commanded, not suggested, not to worry about tomorrow. The call to arms is simple: by faith. By faith we walk, by faith we stand, by faith we overcome. And yes, on paper, that sounds beautifully uncomplicated. But the practical—where we actually live, breathe, fail, repent, and get up again—that’s the battlefield. Without that practical outworking of faith, Scripture is clear: we are in danger of the Lake of Fire. This all begins with faith in an unseen God.

We have clues of His brilliance—the creation that preaches louder than any human voice—but we have never seen God with our physical eyes. We do not see spirits moving, angels warring, or demons lurking. Yet we believe. And this belief—this faith—is the key to salvation. It is the door to being born again. It is the gift that grants us spiritual sight.

There must also be gratitude for the work of the Holy Spirit. Without the Spirit’s ministry, thoughts would not be drawn toward Scripture, nor would the truths of God’s Word be brought back to remembrance at the moments they are needed most. Jesus taught plainly on this. He said the Spirit would be our Helper—the One who comes alongside. He promised that the Spirit would “teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.” He also referred to the Spirit as the Spirit of Truth, guiding believers into all truth.

And here is something that needs to be said: in many circles—especially among the more Reformed-minded—the work of the Holy Spirit often seems minimised. Not denied, not rejected, but overshadowed. Scripture is rightly upheld as the final authority, but sometimes the emphasis leans so heavily on discipline, systems, knowledge, and routine that the living, daily ministry of the Spirit is pushed into the background. Growth becomes associated with effort—memory verses, study structures, routines—all good things, but none of them can replace the supernatural work of God within the heart.

The danger is subtle: when human effort takes centre stage, the Christian life becomes something we perform rather than something God empowers. But Jesus promised a Helper, not a homework schedule. The Spirit is not an optional extra—He is the very One who gives life, conviction, remembrance, and power. Without His inner work, Scripture becomes information instead of revelation; discipline becomes duty instead of delight; and transformation becomes impossible. A person may memorise a thousand verses, but without the Spirit, those verses remain at the surface level rather than carved into the heart.

This is not abstract teaching; it is the active, ongoing work of God. The Spirit plays a pivotal role in the life of every believer, and this work stands as evidence that faith is alive. Every truth brought back to remembrance testifies that God is shaping His people from within. And this work is also a safeguard, because Scripture warns of the danger of repeatedly resisting conviction. Peter wrote of those whose consciences become seared through continually ignoring sin—hearts hardened, sensitivity to truth dulled, and the voice of God slowly drowned out. The Spirit’s prompting, therefore, is not something to brush aside; it is mercy. It is evidence of God still speaking, still drawing, still rescuing before the heart grows calloused beyond feeling.

To truly grasp salvation, you must first grasp your sin. If sin is minimised, salvation becomes sentimental. God’s purpose for mankind begins with acknowledging our guilt and then believing His Word. Whoever cries out to the Lord will be saved.

And that word “cries” matters. It is not a casual whisper. It is a vocal expression of emotion. A shout. A call for help. A desperate sound that rises from deep within. This is how we must call upon the Lord—anything less risks being hollow—empty—faithless.

Think of Jacob. He wrestled with the angel until dawn, refusing to let go until he received a blessing. It cost him further mobility in his hip, but he would not loosen his grip. There is always a cost to blessings… That’s the kind of cry God responds to—a cry that clings, pleads, refuses to surrender.

And with all this, here is the assurance the Lord Himself gave: “Whoever comes to Me, I will never cast out.”
No one who truly comes, crying out for mercy, is ever turned away by Christ.

Signing off

Tyrone