Dedicated to God: Who Really Has Your Heart in Recovery?

It really comes down to one important question for every one of us: Who do we truly serve? This is not merely a theological question reserved for pastors, scholars, or Sunday morning discussion. It reaches directly into the hidden motivations of the heart and exposes what governs our decisions, consumes our attention, and receives the greatest portion of our emotional energy. For many of us who have struggled with addiction, codependency, fear, shame, guilt, resentment, or doubt, the honest answer is uncomfortable. We may have spent years organizing our lives around an addiction, compulsive behavior, unhealthy relationship, secret fear, or desperate need for approval.

There is a simple word that helps us confront this reality: dedication. It is a familiar word, but familiarity has stripped it of much of its sacred weight. We speak of dedicated employees, dedicated parents, dedicated athletes, dedicated volunteers, and dedicated recovery advocates. These uses are not necessarily wrong, but they can cause us to forget that dedication once carried the meaning of consecration—something or someone being set apart for God’s possession, service, worship, and glory.

A. W. Tozer recognized this spiritual loss when he wrote, “It is one of the ironies of modern life that after a word has been dropped from the Christian vocabulary because it no longer expresses any vital content in current church religion, it is often taken up by the world and made to mean not the same thing but something close to what it once meant in its original Christian usage.” Tozer was concerned that Christians had not merely lost a religious word. We had lost the sacred idea the word once represented. Dedication had become synonymous with enthusiasm, discipline, productivity, or commitment, while its deeper meaning of complete surrender to God had quietly disappeared.

This raises a more specific question: To whom—or to what—are we dedicated? One person may answer, “I am dedicated to my job.” Another may say, “I am dedicated to my family.” Someone else may be deeply committed to a church, ministry, fellowship, political cause, or community organization. Those of us in recovery may confidently declare, “I am dedicated to my recovery and sobriety.” Employment, family, fellowship, service, and recovery are all worthy responsibilities. Yet none of them can safely occupy the place that belongs to God alone.

Anchor Scripture: “No one can serve two masters, for a slave will either hate the one and love the other or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” —Matthew 6:24, NRSVUE

Jesus does not present divided loyalty as a difficult arrangement that requires better time management. He presents it as an impossibility. We may attempt to satisfy two masters, maintain two identities, or divide our allegiance between God and a ruling desire, but eventually one will receive our obedience while the other receives our excuses. The controlling master may be money, alcohol, drugs, sexual compulsion, resentment, approval, a relationship, religious performance, professional success, or the need to control every outcome. Whatever we cannot surrender has already begun competing with God for the throne of our hearts.

Read More »

Molded by God: Identity, Healing, and the Beauty of Being Fearfully and Wonderfully Made (Psalm 139:14)

I always had this inclination that something was wrong. And whenever that feeling rose up, I was convinced it was because of someone else. Someone failing me. Someone not stepping up. Someone not doing the honorable thing. I lived with this constant sense that other people were the reason I suffered. And underneath all of that? A deep ache that no one truly cared, no one appreciated me, no one saw the effort I poured out trying to prove myself.

I chased validation like oxygen. I wanted approval so badly that I shaped myself around what I thought others wanted. I tried to be the “better person” in the eyes of everyone else, all while never actually seeing who I was. I was blind to my own entitlement, blind to my victimhood, blind to the way I was both the victim and the villain in someone else’s story. Hypervigilant. Defensive. Exhausted. And yes—hurt by real betrayals, real lies, real wounds that left me carrying depression, resentment, bitterness, and anxiety like a backpack full of bricks.

And then came the moment that broke me open.

My father had just been released from the hospital after months in intensive care from a brutal auto accident. I had given up everything to be there. And yet, I found myself standing on a cold Seattle curb in January of 2005 with nothing but a backpack, work boots, and three cartons of cigarettes. No home. No money. No plan. No one.

I walked the streets of Seattle wondering if this was the end of me.

But God had other plans.

A transitional housing program took me in. I rested. I worked. I rebuilt. And slowly—slowly—I found my way back to faith. But even then, I still couldn’t see myself clearly. I still felt unworthy. I still lived for validation. I still believed I had to earn dignity, earn love, earn respect.

It wasn’t until years later that the Holy Spirit began breaking the spiritual blindness I had carried for so long. And the revelation was simple, but it shook me to my core:

I didn’t know who I was. And I didn’t know how my Heavenly Father saw me.

Anchor Verse — Psalm 139:14 (NASB2020): I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Wonderful are Your works, And my soul knows it very well.

Two words rise like mountains in this verse: fearfully and wonderfully. Fearfully — yārē’ — to stand in awe, reverence, astonishment. Wonderfully — pālā’ — marvelous, extraordinary, beyond human ability.

This is not casual language. This is identity language. God is not saying, “You’re barely acceptable.” He is saying, “You are My intentional, awe-inspiring work.” We are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works that He prepared beforehand (Ephesians 2:10). Even when we feel like a mistake, God calls us purposeful, crafted, and known (Psalm 139:1–4).

So today, let’s walk slowly through what it means to be fearfully and wonderfully made—especially when we don’t feel like it. Especially when addiction, shame, trauma, or codependency have distorted the mirror we look into. Especially when our past tells us one story, but God is trying to tell us another.

Read More »