Day 201

Amos 8–9 | Matthew 18:1–20 | Psalm 85

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This post is late.

Not because I forgot.

But because I wrote three different drafts last night—and none of them landed.

They all felt forced. Nothing felt finished.

So I walked into church this morning still unsure about what I was going to write—until Andrei stood up to preach.

And at one point, he said this:

“Some people make comfort their king. Others make status their king.

Many have a king that comes in the form of a boat or a car or a cabin or a trailer.

But for some of you… it’s your career.

And you won’t realize it’s your king—until you don’t have it anymore.”

That was it.

That was the line.

Because I don’t have it anymore.

And I’ve been floundering ever since.

I didn’t know how much identity I had built on titles and deadlines and metrics and usefulness.

But now that it’s gone, I feel like a throne has been knocked over in my heart—and I’m not sure who’s supposed to sit there anymore.

It didn’t feel like idolatry.

But now that it’s gone, I see it clearly.

Career wasn’t just what I did.

It was who I was.

And who I was becoming.

Which is exactly what God confronted in Israel through Amos.

They still went to temple.

Still held their feasts.

Still offered their songs.

But underneath it all—they were worshiping another king.

A king of profit. A king of self. A king of independence.

So God sent a famine.

“Not a famine of bread… but of hearing the words of the Lord.”

And maybe that’s what this season feels like:

A holy silence.

A famine meant to expose what I was feeding on.

The Kind of Shepherd Who Confronts

In Matthew 18, Jesus brings a child into the center and redefines greatness.

Not achievement. Not visibility. Not control.

But humility. Trust. Surrender.

Then He tells the story of the one sheep that wandered.

And the Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to go find it.

But the point isn’t just comfort.

It’s confrontation.

Because Jesus doesn’t go after the sheep just to bring it back.

He goes to call it home.

To restore what was broken.

To re-center what drifted.

The gospel doesn’t just invite me to be found.

It calls me to dethrone what’s false.

And maybe that’s what this season is:

Not punishment.

But pursuit.

Not failure.

But realignment.

I still don’t know what comes next.

The job. The plan. The next open door.

But I do know this:

God is too loving to let me keep bowing to a false king.

Too faithful to let me stay fed on identity that isn’t from Him.

Too jealous to share the throne with a career.

So I’ll let Him tear it down.

And I’ll wait on what He builds in its place.

Even if the famine lingers.

Even if the silence stretches.

Even if I don’t feel found yet.

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Lord, thank You for using Andrei this morning to say what I couldn’t say on my own. For calling out the kings I didn’t know I had. I surrender the career I made into a throne. Dethrone what doesn’t belong—and reign in its place. Amen.