If I See A Burning Bush, I’m Calling 911.

I have a confession.

I spend an embarrassing amount of time waiting on burning bushes.

Not literally, of course. If I walked outside tomorrow morning and saw a shrub on fire that wasn’t actually burning up, I’d probably call the fire department before I quoted Exodus.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that every important decision needed to come wrapped in the supernatural. A prophetic word. An unmistakable feeling. A giant neon sign from heaven saying, “Yes, Jazmin. This way.”

This morning, though, Jesus gently reminded me of something I somehow keep forgetting.

He works in the super.

He also works in the natural.

Those two aren’t competing with each other. They’re partners.

I may not be in control of the seasons I’m walking through, but I am responsible for how I steward myself inside of them. My welfare and my well-being cannot be tied to seasons I have absolutely no authority over.

Sometimes what I’m calling “waiting on God” is actually God waiting on me to use the wisdom He’s already given me.

That doesn’t diminish the supernatural. It actually honors it.

Because the same God who parted the Red Sea also wrote Proverbs.

The same God who spoke through a burning bush also tells me to observe the ant and become wiser (Proverbs 6:6–8).

Think about that for a second.

The Creator of the universe didn’t always point His people toward miracles.

Sometimes He pointed them toward creation.

The ant doesn’t receive prophetic words.

It doesn’t wait for perfect conditions.

It doesn’t need someone standing over it telling it what to do.

It prepares.

It works.

It stores up for seasons it knows are coming.

It simply does what it was created to do.

Maybe that’s the lesson.

Sometimes spiritual maturity isn’t waiting for another supernatural encounter.

Sometimes it’s faithfully stewarding the wisdom God has already placed right in front of me.

Sometimes spiritual sense is exactly what’s needed.

Sometimes common sense is.

The mature believer learns the difference.

That realization led me to another uncomfortable discovery.

I realized…I’ve been using the word discernment all wrong.

If you had asked me a few years ago what discernment meant, I probably would’ve told you it was the ability to tell when something felt off.

Honestly?

That’s how I’ve lived.

I’m the queen of “Nope.”

Someone asks to have a difficult conversation?

“Nope. I have discernment.”

An opportunity stretches me outside my comfort zone?

“Nope. Doesn’t feel peaceful.”

God starts dealing with an area of my heart I’d rather avoid?

“I just don’t have peace about that.”

Except…Jesus gently showed me this morning that what I’ve often called discernment wasn’t discernment at all.

Sometimes it was fear.

Sometimes it was pride.

Sometimes it was offense.

Sometimes it was impulsivity.

Sometimes it was simply me reacting faster than I was actually thinking.

I’ve always been quick to react. Before my brain has fully processed what’s happening, I’ve already built the case. I’ve already decided the outcome. I’ve already started protecting myself.

Then I’d stamp the whole thing with the word “discernment” as though that somehow made it holy.

But biblical discernment isn’t simply having a feeling.

Discernment is wisdom.

It’s the ability to inspect fruit before making conclusions. It’s slowing down long enough to observe patterns instead of isolated moments. It’s asking, “What is actually true?” instead of, “What do I feel right now?”

Discernment doesn’t rush.

It listens.

It observes.

It learns.

It adjusts.

I’ve realized I’ve called a lot of things discernment that were actually discomfort wearing a church outfit.

And there’s a difference.

Maybe that’s exactly why John 8 hit me so differently this morning.

Jesus wasn’t confronting people who hated Him.

He wasn’t speaking to pagans.

John tells us He was speaking to Jews who believed in Him (John 8:31).

Believers.

Jesus says,

“If you abide in My word, you are truly My disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” (John 8:31–32)

Instead of leaning in, they immediately defended themselves.

“We’ve never been slaves to anyone.”

The irony is heartbreaking.

They were so accustomed to their bondage that they couldn’t even recognize it anymore.

By the time Jesus reaches verses 39 through 44, He tells them something incredibly sobering.

Their lives reflected a different father.

Not because they didn’t believe in Him.

Because what they believed had become distorted by religion.

Their traditions had become more trustworthy than truth.

That should humble every single one of us.

Because if believers in John 8 could mistake bondage for freedom…

I probably can too.

Bad religion has a way of making chains feel normal.

Which also means misinformation almost always produces misery.

If I misunderstand the source of the issue, I’ll choose the wrong strategy every single time.

Sometimes I’m rebuking something that actually requires repentance.

Sometimes I’m praying against something that really needs accountability.

Sometimes I’m asking God for a miracle while He’s asking me to make a wise decision.

And maybe that’s the point.

Not every decision falls into the categories of right or wrong.

Some simply ask a different question.

Was it wise?

I’ve been sitting with that all morning.

There are really three kinds of decisions.

Wrong decisions.

Right decisions.

Wise decisions.

Wrong decisions are usually the easiest to recognize.

Judges 21:25 tells us that everyone did what was right in their own eyes.

That sounds strangely familiar.

Our culture has become incredibly good at redefining “right” according to feelings instead of truth.

Wrong decisions ignore God’s standards and replace them with personal preference.

They’re often fueled by ignorance, arrogance, greed, convenience, or simply believing I know better than God.

Then there are right decisions.

Right decisions are ethical.

They align with the character of God whether they’re comfortable or not.

Daniel 3 gives us Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who refused to bow before Nebuchadnezzar’s image.

Making the right decision didn’t remove suffering.

It led them straight into the furnace.

But suffering because of a godly standard is far less damaging than the suffering that comes from having no standard at all.

Joshua understood that when he declared,

“Choose this day whom you will serve… but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15)

Commitment over convenience.

Every single time.

But then there are wise decisions.

Those are the hardest ones.

Not because they’re wrong.

Not because they’re right.

Because they’re somewhere between good and better.

Proverbs 6 sends us back to the ant.

Not because ants are extraordinary, but because wisdom often looks surprisingly ordinary.

The ant quietly prepares today for a season it hasn’t even entered yet.

It doesn’t procrastinate.

It doesn’t panic.

It doesn’t wait until winter to wish it had started in summer.

It simply responds wisely to what it knows.

The ant understands that today’s discipline determines tomorrow’s stability.

No applause.

No audience.

No burning bush.

Just quiet faithfulness.

I wonder how many seasons of my own life would’ve looked different had I prepared instead of procrastinated, listened instead of reacted, and chosen wisdom over impulse.

Then there’s Abigail in 1 Samuel 25.

She wasn’t rebellious.

She was wise.

She understood that doing nothing would cost innocent people their lives, so she acted with humility, courage, and wisdom before disaster ever arrived.

Wisdom often sees tomorrow while everyone else is reacting to today.

I’ve also had to admit something that wounded my pride a little.

Sometimes I’ve been living in mercy…

…while calling it favor.

There’s a difference.

Favor opens doors God intended for me.

Mercy keeps me alive after I’ve kicked the wrong door open like Denzel Washington in Training Day.

I’ve mistaken God’s patience for His approval more times than I’d like to admit.

His mercy has carried me through decisions His favor never asked me to make.

Luke tells us that Jesus grew in wisdom, stature, and favor with God and man (Luke 2:52).

Notice the order.

Wisdom came first.

Maybe favor isn’t something I’m supposed to chase.

Maybe it’s waiting on the other side of wisdom.

The truth is, every single day, whether I recognize it or not, I am living in spiritual warfare.

Not because every inconvenience is the devil.

Not because every difficult conversation is an attack.

But because every decision is forming me into someone.

Every offense I choose to carry.

Every apology I refuse to make.

Every conversation I avoid.

Every impulsive reaction.

Every act of obedience.

Every single decision is shaping my character.

God still works miracles.

He still heals.

He still speaks.

He still moves in ways that leave us standing in awe.

But He also gave me His Word.

He gave me wisdom.

He gave me the Holy Spirit.

He gave me principles.

He gave me a renewed mind.

Maybe maturity isn’t needing more signs from heaven.

Maybe maturity is becoming the kind of person who knows what to do because heaven has already written it down.

Lord, give me wisdom to recognize when You’re calling me to wait, and when You’re calling me to move.

Teach me the difference between reacting and responding, between fear and discernment, between mercy and favor.

And the next time I find myself waiting for a burning bush…

Remind me that sometimes You’re already speaking.

Through Your Word.

Through wisdom.

Through the quiet faithfulness of an ant.

And yes…

Sometimes through plain old common sense.

Amen.