I'm Learning To Lean

The Honest Starting Point

Thoughtful people do not arrive at faith lightly. They arrive carrying questions, experiences, and scars earned through paying attention. Discernment was not learned in a classroom alone; it was learned in rooms where trust failed, promises collapsed, and someone had to stay clearheaded. Intelligence became shelter. Caution became wisdom. Over time, standing upright felt safer than leaning, because leaning had consequences.

Most sermons assume resistance comes from rebellion. Often it does not. It comes from responsibility. From being the one who noticed inconsistencies, managed fallout, and quietly absorbed disappointment so others could remain hopeful. You learned to think first, feel second, and decide carefully. That habit saved you more than once.

So let this be said plainly. This message is not an argument against thinking. It is not an appeal to abandon reason or to silence honest questions.

It is an invitation to notice something subtle that happens to capable people over time. Discernment slowly becomes posture.

Evaluation becomes default.

Faith shifts from dependence into agreement.

Nothing dramatic breaks. Beliefs remain intact. Language stays orthodox. The change happens quietly, almost invisibly. Prayer becomes shorter, more efficient, less desperate. Trust becomes theoretical rather than lived. God is respected, affirmed, and discussed, yet rarely leaned upon. Life continues, but something essential thins.

This thinning is hard to name because it does not feel sinful. It feels mature. It feels careful. It feels like growth. But beneath competence there is often exhaustion. The mind stays alert, but the soul stays guarded. Wonder fades. Listening becomes analysis. Presence becomes distance.

The modern world praises this posture. We live among experts, systems, strategies, and optimization. Being smart is rewarded. Being careful is applauded. Depending appears risky, even childish. We are trained to master environments, anticipate outcomes, and secure ourselves against uncertainty.

Yet beneath all that mastery sits an uncomfortable question that thoughtful people eventually face.

Why has being smart not solved more than this?

Why, with all our tools, does anxiety persist?

Why does clarity not guarantee peace?

Why does competence still feel heavy?

This message begins there, not with answers, but with honesty. It names the experience of standing so long that leaning feels unfamiliar. It respects the walls you built, because those walls made sense. And it gently suggests that safety and sufficiency are not the same thing.

There is a difference between being protected and being held. Between managing life and receiving it. Between standing strong and resting weight. This sermon will not tear down what has kept you standing. It will ask whether something stronger is available, something that does not require you to stay braced forever.

It invites patience, curiosity, and courage, not pressure. It allows space for listening without surrendering intelligence. It begins a journey rather than concluding one. What follows will move slowly, deliberately, and honestly, giving room for reflection, recognition, and rest. This opening establishes trust, direction, and tone before any deeper theological claims are explored together in subsequent segments.

--- When Standing Replaces Leaning

There is a moment most capable people recognize, though they rarely talk about it out loud. It is the moment when you realize you are no longer waiting on God the way you once did. Not because you stopped believing, but because you learned how to proceed without waiting.

Decisions still get prayed over, but the prayer no longer delays the decision. It accompanies it.

Faith walks alongside competence, but competence leads.

This shift does not feel rebellious. It feels responsible. It feels like growth. You are no longer reckless. You no longer panic.

You have learned patterns, read situations, and anticipated outcomes. You know how things tend to go. You’ve earned that knowledge. And because you’ve earned it, you trust it.

The problem is not that you trust your understanding. The problem is that you lean on it.

Scripture names this tension with unsettling clarity: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding.”

That line is familiar, almost domesticated by repetition. But its force lies in the word lean. Leaning is not casual. It is weight-bearing. It is what you do when you allow something else to hold you up.

Understanding was never meant to do that job.

Understanding can guide. It can clarify. It can warn. But it cannot carry the full weight of a human life. It cannot hold grief, uncertainty, regret, or fear without eventually cracking. And yet many thoughtful people place their full weight there because it feels solid. Familiar. Tested.

Standing feels safer than leaning when leaning once failed.

So we stand.

Upright. Capable. Alert.

And the longer we stand, the harder it becomes to admit that standing is exhausting. Muscles tighten. Vigilance increases. Control becomes necessary because release feels dangerous. Even rest becomes strategic rather than received.