Some nights I go to bed with a tightness in my chest.

Not because I don’t love God.
Not because I don’t care about obedience.
But because I’m deeply aware of where I fall short.

I replay the day in my head. The moments I gave in to my flesh. The prayers I rushed. The worries I carried instead of surrendered. I ask God to forgive me. To purify my heart and my mind. I want to walk in victory. I want peace. I want to trust Him with my kids and how I steward what He’s entrusted to me, and all the other things I keep trying to carry on my own. I want to stop carrying burdens I was never created to carry.

And still, I often end the day wondering if I disappointed Him.

When everything feels heavy and tangled, one simple phrase keeps bringing me back to center:

Do the next right thing.

Not everything at once.
Not tomorrow.
Not fixing my whole life.

Just the next faithful step.

When Trying Harder Isn’t Working

For a long time, I assumed this tension meant I wasn’t doing enough. That victory would come if I prayed more, worried less, got more disciplined, figured it out.

Then I spent time in Romans 7.

Paul describes a struggle that feels uncomfortably familiar:

“I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate… Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?” (Romans 7:15, 24 NLT)

This isn’t a hard heart.

It’s an honest one.

Paul isn’t someone who doesn’t care about holiness. He loves God’s law. His frustration comes from realizing that wanting to do right isn’t the same as having the power to do it. The law can show us what’s good, but it can’t make us good.

And that’s where so many of us live. We love God. We want to obey Him. And we’re exhausted from trying to be better versions of ourselves.

Victory Isn’t About Striving

Romans 7 doesn’t end with a self-improvement plan. It ends with a Savior.

“Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Romans 7:25)

Then Paul immediately says:

“So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)

That sentence changes everything.

Victory in the Christian life is not achieved through striving. It is received through abiding.

Romans 8:13 says that real life comes when, through the power of the Spirit, we put to death the deeds of the flesh. I used to read that and quietly translate it into “try harder.” But that’s not what it’s saying.

Abiding doesn’t mean I finally get strong enough.
It means I stay close enough.

Close enough to notice when my heart starts drifting.
Close enough to turn back before shame takes over.
Close enough to whisper, “Jesus, I need You right now,” instead of promising I’ll do better tomorrow.

Most days, abiding looks very ordinary. It looks like stopping mid-spiral. It looks like choosing honesty over hiding. It looks like doing the next right thing instead of fixing everything at once.

I’m learning that obedience doesn’t grow from white-knuckling my way through temptation. It grows when I don’t run from God in my weakness, when I stay connected instead of self-condemning, and when I let the Spirit meet me where I actually am, not where I think I should be by now.

As I’ve been sitting with this, I’m realizing that whether abiding feels like rest or pressure often depends on something deeper: how I actually see God.

How We See God Shapes How We Live

I know, in my head, that God is loving and gracious and patient. I believe He is kind. But if I’m honest, I often feel His justice and jealousy more than His tenderness. And when that happens, I start relating to Him like a disappointed supervisor instead of a loving Father.

When I believe God is mostly watching for my mistakes, I become harder on myself. I become quicker to judge others. I strive. I hide. I carry shame instead of peace.

But when I remember that God is slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and already aware of my weakness, something shifts. I stop trying to earn His approval and start living from it. I become more patient with myself. More compassionate with others. More willing to stay in the light instead of retreating into fear.

What we believe about God doesn’t just shape our theology. It shapes how we see ourselves and how we treat the people around us. And healing often begins not with fixing our behavior, but with seeing Him rightly.

We Were Never Meant to Walk This Alone

Another truth God keeps bringing me back to is this: I was never created to live this life in isolation.

My pastor, Joby Martin, talks about “mat carriers,” the friends in Mark 2 who carried a paralyzed man to Jesus when he couldn’t get there on his own. Jesus healed the man when He saw their faith.

That story dismantles the idea that maturity means independence.

Scripture tells us:

“Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” (James 5:16)

Confession isn’t about punishment. It’s about light. Sin grows best in secrecy. It loses power when it’s brought into the open, named honestly, and met with grace.

One commentary I once read said we should treat sin like a poisonous snake instead of candy. We don’t play with it. We don’t see how close we can get. We flee.

And often, fleeing looks very practical. It looks like calling a trusted friend. Setting boundaries. Removing access. Saying out loud, “I’m struggling,” before we fall instead of after.

Doing the Next Right Thing, Practically

Here are a few ways I’m learning to live this out, imperfectly but intentionally:

• Naming temptation without shaming myself
• Turning toward God in the moment instead of hiding
• Removing access instead of relying on willpower
• Surrounding myself with people who love Jesus and love me enough to ask honest questions
• Confessing early, before sin has time to grow roots

None of this earns God’s love.
It simply keeps me close to the One who already gave it.

Grace for Today

Doing the next right thing doesn’t mean having the whole path figured out. It means trusting that obedience is learned step by step, hand in hand with Jesus.

If you feel tired, anxious, or discouraged in your walk with God, hear this: your struggle is not proof of failure. It may actually be evidence that the Spirit is at work, gently teaching you how to stop striving and start abiding.

You don’t need to carry the mat alone.
You don’t need to fix yourself before coming to Jesus.
You don’t need to conquer tomorrow today.

Just do the next right thing.