The Great Christian Bake Off (Spoiler: I Lost)

There are certain Bible verses that almost become background noise.

John 10:10 is one of those for me.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”

If you’ve been in church for more than five minutes, you’ve probably heard it. I’ve quoted it. I’ve nodded confidently when someone else quoted it. It sits comfortably in that collection of verses that make me smirk a little and think, Yep. I know that one.

Except…

I don’t think I ever really did.

This morning God gently interrupted what I thought I knew.

Not with condemnation.

With clarification.

Because sometimes familiarity is the enemy of curiosity.

I’ve spent years reading “I have come that they may have life” assuming Jesus simply meant…well…being alive. Existing. Going to heaven someday.

But that’s not the word He used.

The Greek word is zoe.

Not bios.

Bios is biological life. It’s the heartbeat in my chest. The oxygen in my lungs. It’s the life every person on earth possesses simply because they’re breathing.

Zoe is different.

Zoe is the very life of God.

His quality of life.

His nature.

His abundance.

His wholeness.

His peace.

His joy.

His purpose.

Jesus wasn’t saying, “I came so you could keep breathing.”

He was saying, “I came so you could experience My kind of life.”

That changes everything.

Because then Jesus immediately gives us a contrast.

The thief comes for three reasons.

To steal.

To kill.

To destroy.

Three very intentional verbs.

Steal what God gives.

Kill what God starts.

Destroy what God intended.

Then Jesus says, “I’m the opposite.”

Everything the enemy removes…

Jesus restores.

I started realizing something uncomfortable.

Maybe the enemy doesn’t always have to destroy me.

Maybe he just has to convince me to settle.

Because if I’m merely surviving while believing abundant life isn’t possible, he doesn’t have to steal very much.

I’ll hand it over willingly.

That one stung.

Because I felt God whisper something I honestly wasn’t expecting.

“Jazmin… you’ve been settling.”

Not in the obvious ways.

I’m thankful.

I’m grateful.

I know God has carried me through things I never imagined surviving.

But somewhere along the way, I quietly accepted survival as the finish line.

And Jesus never promised survival.

He promised zoe.

As someone who absolutely loves baking (thank you, Daphne, for passing that obsession down), this clicked almost immediately.

Baking is funny.

Recipes are incredibly forgiving…

until they’re not.

An extra chocolate chip? Fantastic.

A splash more vanilla? Probably okay.

Double the baking soda because you felt led?

Enjoy your hockey puck.

You don’t get to rewrite chemistry.

Recipes exist because someone has already figured out what works.

Which made me laugh because…isn’t that exactly how I treat Scripture sometimes?

God gives me the recipe.

I call it a suggestion.

He says forgive.

I add resentment.

He says trust.

I sprinkle in anxiety.

He says rest.

I whisk in hustle.

He says love my enemies.

I accidentally-on-purpose substitute sarcasm.

He says be quick to listen.

I hear, “Be quick to make your point.”

Then I stare at the finished product wondering why it doesn’t taste like heaven.

The recipe wasn’t wrong.

I just kept adding ingredients that never belonged there.

Sometimes it’s legalism.

Sometimes it’s performance.

Sometimes it’s pride disguised as discernment.

Sometimes it’s fear dressed up as wisdom.

Sometimes it’s religion that knows all the verses but somehow still produces people who are mean, petty, impatient, and impossible to enjoy being around.

That’s not zoe.

That’s just Christian-ish.

I’ve realized there is a huge difference between believing Jesus is my Savior and actually allowing Him to be Lord.

Savior says, “Please rescue me.”

Lord says, “You get to tell me how to live.”

If I’m honest…

I’ve loved the first part far more than the second.

It’s a lot easier to ask Jesus to fix my life than it is to let Him rearrange it.

One of the things that stopped me this morning was Isaiah 43:6-7.

“…Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth—everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.”

Created.

Formed.

Made.

For His glory.

That means the purpose of my life isn’t ultimately about me feeling fulfilled.

It’s about people seeing Him through me.

They should experience His patience when they interact with me.

His kindness.

His gentleness.

His mercy.

His generosity.

His truth.

His compassion.

The question that kept echoing in my heart wasn’t, “Am I happy?”

It was…

“What does God look like through me?”

That question has been following me around all morning.

Because if my interactions leave people seeing more of my offense than His grace…

More of my opinions than His compassion…

More of my wounds than His healing…

Then somewhere I’ve started reflecting myself more than my Savior.

Matthew 6:33 suddenly feels less like a memory verse and more like an invitation.

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

I’ve spent so much energy trying to add all the “things.”

God simply asked me to seek Him.

He takes responsibility for the adding.

I take responsibility for the seeking.

Simple.

Not always easy.

But simple.

Then came the part of my quiet time that I honestly wish I could tell you I misunderstood.

God said something so clearly I actually stopped writing.

“You’ve been settling.”

I immediately started defending myself.

“I’ve just been protecting my peace.”

Silence.

“I’ve been setting healthy boundaries.”

More silence.

Now before anyone throws tomatoes through my window…

Healthy boundaries are biblical.

Necessary.

Wise.

Jesus Himself withdrew to lonely places to pray.

He didn’t say yes to every request.

He wasn’t emotionally available to everyone’s demands.

Boundaries are healthy.

But here’s what God exposed in me.

Sometimes what I call “protecting my peace” is actually protecting my comfort.

Sometimes what I call “discernment” is disappointment that never healed.

Sometimes my boundaries aren’t built out of wisdom.

They’re built out of fear.

I’ve been calling it peace because that sounds holier.

But underneath it…

I’ve quietly lowered my expectations.

Stopped believing people could surprise me.

Stopped expecting relationships to deepen.

Stopped believing God might do something bigger than what I’ve already experienced.

I wasn’t protecting peace.

I was managing disappointment.

That’s settling.

And God can’t be glorified in my settling.

Not because He’s angry.

Because settling causes me to represent a God who is far smaller than He actually is.

If I believe God still transforms hearts…

I should live like it.

If I believe He restores relationships…

I should leave room for it.

If I believe He still provides…

I should expect Him to.

If I believe He still changes people…

Maybe I should stop assuming they’ll always be who they used to be.

Maybe the abundant life Jesus talked about isn’t measured by what I own.

Maybe it’s measured by how much of Him people experience when they encounter me.

My character.

My work.

My relationships.

My generosity.

My conversations.

My responses.

Every one of those becomes another opportunity for God to be glorified.

I’ve spent a lot of years simply trying to make it.

Jesus came to give me so much more than that.

Not just bios.

Zoe.

Not just existence.

Abundance.

Not just surviving.

Living.

And maybe that’s the invitation for all of us today.

To stop editing the recipe.

To trust the Baker.

Because the One who designed life probably knows exactly what ingredients it takes to make it taste like heaven.