Intentions
What drives the things you do? Is it a desire to receive blessings or favor from God, as if faith were a transaction? Is it to exalt yourself, to feel superior or worthy in your own eyes? Do you act to appear more righteous, more accomplished, or more admirable than those around you? Or perhaps it’s simpler—maybe your actions stem from a quiet urge to satisfy personal cravings, to chase comfort, pleasure, or control, all while cloaking it as something noble?
The human heart is a maze of intentions, and many of them are tangled in selfishness or pride. What’s worse, we’re masters of self-deception. We can convince ourselves that our motives are pure, that we’re doing good for God or others, when beneath the surface, we’re quietly building altars to ourselves. A kind word might hide a hunger for praise. A generous gift might mask a need to be seen. Even prayer or worship can twist into performances if we’re not careful. The Bible warns of this in Jeremiah 17:9: “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” Left unchecked, our intentions can drift far from what’s true and good, all while we remain blissfully unaware.
So how do we break free from these subtle traps? How do we sift through the mess of our motives and align ourselves with something greater than our own egos? The answer isn’t found in willpower alone—it’s too fragile, too easily swayed. Instead, it begins with turning our gaze outward and upward, fixing our eyes on God. Not as a vague idea, but as the living, searching presence who knows us better than we know ourselves. Psalm 139:23-24 captures this plea: “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” It’s an invitation for divine clarity, a surrender to being refined.
But it’s more than just looking to God—it’s letting Him take up residence within us. The Holy Spirit, promised as our guide and comforter, doesn’t just point the way; He reshapes us from the inside. He convicts us when our intentions veer off course, nudging us back toward humility and love. Without His presence, we’re blind to our own flaws, stumbling through life with a fractured compass. With Him, we gain the sensitivity to discern what’s real—our selfish impulses begin to stand out against the backdrop of His holiness.
And then there’s His word—God’s truth etched in Scripture. It’s not enough to hear it occasionally or skim it for comfort. It has to sink deep, taking root in our hearts until it becomes the lens through which we see the world. Hebrews 4:12 calls it “living and active, sharper than any double-edged sword,” able to cut through the layers of our pretense and expose what’s beneath. When we hide His word in our hearts, as Psalm 119:11 urges, it becomes a shield against self-deception. It reminds us of what matters: loving God with all we are and loving others as ourselves, not chasing shadows of self-interest.
This isn’t a one-time fix—it’s a daily rhythm. We drift toward selfishness as naturally as water flows downhill. That’s why we need constant reorientation: gazing at God in prayer and worship, yielding to the Spirit’s gentle (or firm) correction, and letting Scripture renew our minds. It’s a posture of dependence, admitting we can’t untangle our motives alone. And in that dependence, there’s freedom—not the freedom to do whatever we want, but the freedom to become who we’re meant to be: people whose intentions reflect a love that isn’t our own, a love that flows from God Himself.
Consider the practical side too. Examine your actions today—why did you say that, give that, or pursue that? Pause and ask: Who’s this for? If the answer isn’t God or others, let it be a signal to recalibrate. Surround yourself with people who’ll call you out, not just cheer you on. And above all, rest in grace—because even when our intentions falter, God’s mercy doesn’t. The goal isn’t perfection, but pursuit: a life increasingly aimed at Him, not ourselves.