A cry from the battlefield of the heart

There is a war within me.

Not just a skirmish. Not just passing tension.

A real war.

One moment I long for God with a hunger that burns,

the next, I’m chasing the very things that dull my soul.

And if I’m honest—I’ve tried to have both.

I’ve tried to behold Jesus while clutching idols.

I’ve lifted my hands in worship while keeping secret rooms in my heart locked and labeled “mine.”

I’ve prayed for purity while negotiating with lust.

I’ve asked for peace while fueling anxiety with control.

I’ve called it balance.

But it’s not balance. It’s divided allegiance.

These things—success, indulgence, distraction, approval—they promise comfort.

But they’re liars.

They take more than they give.

They satisfy nothing.

They dim the light in my eyes.

And worse… they make me forget what it feels like to see God clearly.

But I remember.

And I want it back.

More than that—I want more than I’ve ever had before.

I want to gaze, not glance.

To drink deeply, not sip politely.

To surrender, not negotiate.

I want to stop settling for less—not just because it’s wrong, but because it’s empty.

Because it steals from me the joy of knowing Him.

Because I was made for Him.

So I say it now—not as a vow, but as a prayer:

Jesus, help me turn.

Not out of shame, but out of hunger.

Not just to resist the flesh, but to be filled with You.

Tear down the altars I’ve built.

Even the ones I’ve painted with spiritual words.

Even the ones I’ve called “blessing.”

Even the ones that still whisper to my flesh.

Shape in me a new desire—one that wants You more than comfort.

One that waits on You instead of chasing false relief.

Let me be a man with only one altar.

Let me be a man whose heart is not divided,

whose eyes are not distracted,

whose soul is not dulled.

Because when I behold You—I live.

And nothing else is worth the war.