Most of my life’s most interesting adventures have come from trying to save money. That frugal mindset has led me down winding backroads in search of hidden thrifty gems — and this particular destination was no different. What I didn’t realize was that it might actually save my life.

A few years ago, my husband told me we had a rare opportunity to stay, free of charge, at a world-renowned five-star resort. I was thrilled. We planned the trip for the week of my birthday and our anniversary. It was only four hours away, so it was a no-brainer.

The only catch? The main reason for the trip was for me to undergo a full physical at the resort’s medical clinic. I was due for a well visit anyway — how bad could it be? I figured I’d be in and out in a couple of hours, then off to enjoy the amenities.

I wish.

Instead, my birthday turned into eight full hours of every possible exam a woman can endure. By the end of the day, every nurse on staff knew it was my birthday — and that my husband owed me a serious redo.

Even so, I laughed a lot that day. It was, without question, my worst birthday ever. But in hindsight, one of the best gifts I could have received. As a healthy, non-smoking, middle-aged woman, I breezed through most of the tests — until I didn’t.

The doctor gave me unsettling news: I needed to see a cardiologist immediately. We all know someone in their 50s who appears healthy, doesn’t smoke, eats relatively well, and then suddenly has a heart attack without warning. That could have been me, if not for my love of free things.

I scheduled follow-up tests and, while I waited, I committed to eating clean, exercising, and taking care of my body like it was my job. I was all in — until one phrase from the doctor stuck with me:

“This is hereditary. You could run marathons and eat vegan, and you’d still have high cholesterol. The damage done can’t be corrected.”

It was, honestly, the worst thing I could have heard. As someone who already wrestles with discipline — both physically and spiritually — it gave me a dangerous excuse. If all my effort wouldn’t change the outcome, why bother trying?

That mindset of resigning when results aren’t guaranteed started to sound too familiar.

And then, gently, the Lord whispered to my heart:

“Isn’t that the same excuse you use with Me?”

I knew exactly what He meant.

I had been doing the same thing with my spiritual life — gradually disengaging while rehearsing a playlist of excuses:

“I just don’t feel close to God.”
“My prayer life is dry.”
“Scripture doesn’t come alive.”
“Quiet time feels like a chore, not a lifeline.”

When I didn’t feel immediate results, I started putting in less effort — not in a rebellious, turn from God kind of way, but in the subtle way we often drift. A slow fade. And isn’t that how we lose our first love?

Jesus’ words to the church at Ephesus cut to the core:

“But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first.”
Revelation 2:4–5 ESV

Like the early church, I had grown complacent. I stopped doing the things I did when I first fell in love with Christ: prioritizing time in His presence, seeking Him through prayer and in His Word.

My time with Jesus became a checklist. And then I wondered why I didn’t feel close to Him anymore.

Just like with my physical health, where a cookie became my breakfast of choice, I had fallen into apathetic thinking. If I can’t control the outcomes (of my life or the way I feel about God), why bother? So I stopped bothering. But Jesus didn’t ask for my perfection or control.

He asked for my heart — and He called me to remember, repent, and return.

What I’m learning is this: Through loving obedience, faithfulness isn’t about guaranteed outcomes — it’s about trusting the One who is always faithful. We don’t pursue God to feel something, to get something. We don’t practice spiritual disciplines because we’re expected to. We do it because He’s worthy of our worship. Because He is our first love.

We fall in love with Jesus when we know Him more intimately. It’s the only way. That kind of love deepens through practice, just like any relationship. If we don’t know where to start, find people ahead of us in their spiritual journey to walk with us, teach us, and challenge us. But none of that happens without returning to the basics: His Word, prayer, worship, and community.

This isn’t a work-hard, try-harder religion. It’s a grace-filled relationship. But the reality is, discipline is part of devotion. There’s no way around it.

We don’t chase spiritual growth for instant results — just like we don’t eat healthy or exercise for one perfect lab report (and unfortunately, the doctor informed me I’ll never get one of those). We do it because we have a Savior who says:

“Come back to Me — not because it’s easy, but because I’m worth it.”

He is always worth it.

Are you in a season where your faith feels dry or distant? Let’s not wait for a crisis to wake us up. Join me in the comments. Let’s start today and return to our first love.

 

Listen to Jen’s devotion here or wherever you stream the (in)courage podcast. 

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