When the Path Feels All Wrong
“Make me to know your ways, O LORD; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long… Good and upright is the LORD; therefore he instructs sinners in the way. He leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way. All the paths of the LORD are steadfast love and faithfulness, for those who keep his covenant and his testimonies.” Psalm 25:4–5, 8–10
Some days, the circumstantial path you’re walking feels like anything but “steadfast love and faithfulness.” A child running from God. A job crushing your soul. Pain waking you up at 3am again. And the whispered lie is always the same: “This path can’t possibly end well. Maybe God isn’t good after all.”
That lie is older than Eden. Oswald Chambers said it plainly: “The root of all sin is the suspicion that God is not good.”
Pastor Troy Keaton puts it like this: “The fear that underlies all other fears in those who trust in the Lord… is the fear that God is not really good and does not have a deep desire for our blessing nor does He have our best interest at heart… It is the fear that the underlying nature of God is not for us but against us.”
Jesus looked His nervous little flock in the eye and struck that fear dead: “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).
Good pleasure. Delight. Eagerness. Not gritted-teeth tolerance—“Fine, I guess I’ll bless them.” No. Every morning you awake, the Father is longing to lavish the kingdom on you.
My friend Mark once hiked a familiar trail in the Washington Cascades after a heavy blizzard. The higher they climbed, the more the path vanished under fresh snow. One friend trusted feelings. Another followed the crowd. Mark stopped, prayed, turned, and pushed through untouched snow in a different direction. Suddenly—there it was: the real, packed-down, safe trail. Then, instead of celebrating, he went back, found his freezing friends, and called with urgent love, “This way! I found the path! Follow me!”
That is exactly what Jesus has done for us.
When David cries, “Teach me your paths,” he is asking for two things at once:
The same is true for us. The diagnosis you never asked for? He brought you to it. The prodigal you weep over? He brought you to it. The job that is crushing you? He brought you to it. And because He brought you to it, in answer to the deepest cry of Psalm 25 (“Lead me… teach me…”), He will bring you through it.
But here is the part we hate to hear: very often He brings us to hard places not primarily to change the path, but to change us on the path. We beg Him to remove the cup; He uses the cup to make us more like the One who drank it for us.
And yes—sometimes the wrong path looks dazzlingly right (broad, crowded, comfortable, applauded), while the right path looks utterly wrong (narrow, lonely, painful, ridiculed). In those seasons we have only one safe response: keep doing the next right thing we know to do and keep our eyes locked on Jesus—who not only shows us the way and clears the way with His blood, but actually is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Stay on the path you can control—the path of trust and obedience—and every circumstantial path you cannot control will be woven into steadfast love and faithfulness by the Father who delights to give you the kingdom.
Prayer:
Good and upright Father, I praise You that all Your paths are steadfast love and faithfulness, and that it is Your delight—Your good pleasure, Your joy—to give me the kingdom.
Forgive every moment I have entertained the lie that You are not good. Silence the serpent’s hiss with the roar of the empty tomb.
Thank You for bringing me to this place I never would have chosen. Because You brought me to it, You will bring me through it—and You will change me in it.
When the wrong path glitters and the right path hurts, give me grace to keep taking the next obedient step with my eyes fixed on Jesus—my Way, my Truth, my Life, my packed-down trail, my Light, my Shepherd who never loses a sheep.
I believe; help my unbelief. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Some days, the circumstantial path you’re walking feels like anything but “steadfast love and faithfulness.” A child running from God. A job crushing your soul. Pain waking you up at 3am again. And the whispered lie is always the same: “This path can’t possibly end well. Maybe God isn’t good after all.”
That lie is older than Eden. Oswald Chambers said it plainly: “The root of all sin is the suspicion that God is not good.”
Pastor Troy Keaton puts it like this: “The fear that underlies all other fears in those who trust in the Lord… is the fear that God is not really good and does not have a deep desire for our blessing nor does He have our best interest at heart… It is the fear that the underlying nature of God is not for us but against us.”
Jesus looked His nervous little flock in the eye and struck that fear dead: “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).
Good pleasure. Delight. Eagerness. Not gritted-teeth tolerance—“Fine, I guess I’ll bless them.” No. Every morning you awake, the Father is longing to lavish the kingdom on you.
My friend Mark once hiked a familiar trail in the Washington Cascades after a heavy blizzard. The higher they climbed, the more the path vanished under fresh snow. One friend trusted feelings. Another followed the crowd. Mark stopped, prayed, turned, and pushed through untouched snow in a different direction. Suddenly—there it was: the real, packed-down, safe trail. Then, instead of celebrating, he went back, found his freezing friends, and called with urgent love, “This way! I found the path! Follow me!”
That is exactly what Jesus has done for us.
When David cries, “Teach me your paths,” he is asking for two things at once:
1. God’s revealed, known will—the clear commands of Scripture, the narrow way of humility, truth, and covenant love that we are responsible to walk in every day.
2. God’s secret, providential will—the hidden purposes He rarely whispers audibly into our ears but instead leads us into step by step, the way He led Esther “for such a time as this.” He brought her to it in answer to the hidden prayers of an entire nation, and because He brought her to it, He brought her through it.
The same is true for us. The diagnosis you never asked for? He brought you to it. The prodigal you weep over? He brought you to it. The job that is crushing you? He brought you to it. And because He brought you to it, in answer to the deepest cry of Psalm 25 (“Lead me… teach me…”), He will bring you through it.
But here is the part we hate to hear: very often He brings us to hard places not primarily to change the path, but to change us on the path. We beg Him to remove the cup; He uses the cup to make us more like the One who drank it for us.
And yes—sometimes the wrong path looks dazzlingly right (broad, crowded, comfortable, applauded), while the right path looks utterly wrong (narrow, lonely, painful, ridiculed). In those seasons we have only one safe response: keep doing the next right thing we know to do and keep our eyes locked on Jesus—who not only shows us the way and clears the way with His blood, but actually is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Stay on the path you can control—the path of trust and obedience—and every circumstantial path you cannot control will be woven into steadfast love and faithfulness by the Father who delights to give you the kingdom.
Prayer:
Good and upright Father, I praise You that all Your paths are steadfast love and faithfulness, and that it is Your delight—Your good pleasure, Your joy—to give me the kingdom.
Forgive every moment I have entertained the lie that You are not good. Silence the serpent’s hiss with the roar of the empty tomb.
Thank You for bringing me to this place I never would have chosen. Because You brought me to it, You will bring me through it—and You will change me in it.
When the wrong path glitters and the right path hurts, give me grace to keep taking the next obedient step with my eyes fixed on Jesus—my Way, my Truth, my Life, my packed-down trail, my Light, my Shepherd who never loses a sheep.
I believe; help my unbelief. In Jesus’ name, Amen.