Settling For Shores

Lately, I’ve been realizing how easy it is to confuse spiritual maturity with emotional suppression.

For a long time, I genuinely thought becoming more like Jesus meant becoming less human.

Less affected.

Less emotional.

Less exhausted.

Less frustrated.

Less aware of pain.

I thought growth meant eventually reaching a place where nothing really touched me anymore.

But sitting with Scripture recently completely challenged that perspective.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” 2 Corinthians 5:17

I have heard that verse my entire life.

But this time, something different stood out to me.

Paul did not say I stop being human.

He said I become new.

That distinction changed something in me.

Because I think many of us quietly carry the belief that holiness means becoming emotionally untouchable. We think if we still struggle, still feel deeply, still get tired, still wrestle internally, then maybe we are failing spiritually.

But when I started reading through Romans 7 and 1 Corinthians 3, I noticed Paul makes a distinction between humanity and the flesh.

And honestly, it was incredibly eye opening.

The flesh is not my humanity.

The flesh is the corrupt influence that tries to govern my humanity.

Humans get hungry.

The flesh turns hunger into greed.

Humans get tired.

The flesh turns fatigue into neglect.

Humans feel hurt.

The flesh turns pain into bitterness.

Humans experience success.

The flesh turns success into pride.

Humans desire safety.

The flesh turns security into control.

That hit me deeply because for years I treated every human emotion like evidence of spiritual failure.

If I was anxious, I thought I lacked faith.

If I was exhausted, I thought I was weak.

If I was hurt by people, I thought I should be “more mature” by now.

But Jesus Himself experienced grief.

Jesus wept.

Jesus withdrew from crowds.

Jesus rested.

Jesus felt sorrow deeply enough to sweat blood in Gethsemane.

His humanity was never the problem.

And I think somewhere along the way, many of us inherited a version of Christianity that accidentally taught us to distrust our humanity instead of surrender our flesh.

That realization brought me a strange kind of relief.

Because so much of my life has been shaped by performance.

Growing up, I learned how to survive by being good, composed, self aware, careful, manageable. In different seasons of my life, especially spiritually, I unknowingly carried that same mentality into my relationship with God.

I thought maturity meant becoming unaffected.

But now I wonder if real spiritual growth looks less like pretending not to feel things and more like learning how to let the Spirit lead what I feel.

Paul says in 1 Corinthians 3:1 that believers can still behave “carnally.” The Greek word used is “sarkikos,” meaning governed by the flesh rather than governed by the Spirit.

Not abandoned by God.

Not fake Christians.

Just people still learning what it means to stop letting the flesh narrate their humanity.

That feels honest to me.

Because sometimes my flesh still tries to interpret my life for me.

It turns fatigue into isolation.

Pain into self protection.

Success into self reliance.

Disappointment into cynicism.

And yet God, patiently and consistently, keeps inviting me into transformation instead of shame.

Matthew 11:28-30 has been sitting heavy on my heart lately.

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

Jesus never invited exhausted people into performance.

He invited them into rest.

And honestly, I think many of us are carrying weights He never asked us to hold.

Trying to prove ourselves.

Trying to appear spiritually polished.

Trying to “act brand new” instead of actually allowing God to make us new.

But God is not asking me to become less human.

He is teaching me how to become whole.

Not ruled by the flesh.

Not controlled by old survival patterns.

Not driven by fear, pride, bitterness, or performance.

Just slowly, steadily transformed into someone who looks more like Jesus.

Not because I no longer feel things.
But because those things no longer lead me.