Living Outloud: When Obedience Hurts
We started the month with a simple plan: rest. Reset the schedule. Dream a little about where the podcast is headed. Nothing heroic—just space to breathe.
But pain has a way of rewriting even the gentlest plans. A ruptured disc turned our quiet month into a maze of appointments, logistics, and a hard stop on anything that looked like “normal work.” Suddenly the question wasn’t How do we rest well? but How do we survive this?
And tucked inside that disruption came a sharper, more uncomfortable question:
When your plan for rest becomes a plan for survival, how do you measure faithfulness?
Do you push through to honor commitments and keep income steady?
Or do you pause, lose momentum, and trust God to cover the gaps you can’t?
This wasn’t a theoretical debate. It pressed on our budget, our relationships, and our sense of calling. It forced us to ask what obedience looks like when both options feel faithful—and both come with real costs.
When God’s Command Collides With Your Calculations
We found surprising clarity in 2 Chronicles 25. King Amaziah hires mercenaries from the northern kingdom, only to hear from God: Don’t rely on them.
The command is simple. The cost is not.
Amaziah has already paid a hundred talents of silver. There’s no refund button. So he asks the question we all ask when obedience gets expensive:
“But what about the money?”
The prophet doesn’t offer a reimbursement plan. He offers a revelation of God’s character:
“God is able to give you way more than that.”
Not obligated.
Not guaranteed.
Able.
That distinction matters. It pulls us out of transactional faith—If I do this, God will do that—and into relational trust—I obey because God is trustworthy, not because I’m securing an outcome.
It breaks the illusion that good results prove good choices. And it anchors us in a God who can restore what obedience costs… in His way, in His time.
Obedience Often Empties Your Hands Before God Fills Them
Scripture doesn’t hide the price tag of obedience.
Gideon lost soldiers before he gained clarity.
David shed armor before he found freedom.
Peter dropped nets before he stepped into a friendship that reshaped history.
None of them were promised a payout. All of them were invited into a bigger story.
When “God is able” becomes enough to move, we stop bargaining with outcomes. We stop trying to engineer safety. We start guarding our hearts instead of our comfort.
Because compromise rarely shows up wearing a villain cape. It usually sounds like “practical wisdom,” “good stewardship,” or “just being realistic.”
The Subtle Danger of Partial Obedience
Amaziah obeyed—sort of. He released the troops like God said. But he took home foreign gods as spoils of war to hedge his losses.
That’s the danger: the “yes, but” obedience that keeps one hand on the wheel.
It looks prudent. It sounds spiritual. But it dilutes trust.
The antidote is surprisingly simple: gratitude right after obedience.
Gratitude says:
I accept the cost.
I trust the Giver.
I won’t manufacture my own rescue and call it providence.
Gratitude closes the door to pride and opens our eyes to provision that doesn’t look like our plan.
When Both Choices Hurt, Start Here
If you’re standing in a moment where obedience feels costly no matter what you choose, try this:
1. Name the loss you fear.
Write it down. Say it out loud. Drag it into the light.
2. Hold it up to this truth:
God is able to give you way more than that.
Not as a guarantee, but as a reason to choose the right thing when the wrong thing is easier.
3. Ask for a whole heart, not a perfect outcome.
Obedience isn’t a lever you pull to get results. It’s a posture that places you under mercy instead of pressure.
4. Answer the ache with gratitude.
Thank God for the strength to act, for the clarity you received, for the truth that steadied you.
Thank Him for seeing the ledger—and loving you more than your math.
This is where faith grows sturdy: the point where you release control and discover that letting go is the path to being held.
