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I spent part of this week pulling the old trim off my living room walls — window casings, door frames, baseboards, all of it. Repainting, replacing, fitting it all back into place. It wasn't a vacation, exactly. It was just work at the house that had been waiting on me for a while.

Somewhere in the middle of it, paint on my hands and wearing an old shirt my whole family wishes I'd finally throw out, my niece walked in and asked why I still owned the thing. I told her the truth: it's my working shirt, and I'm comfortable in it. I'm at home.

That word is worth slowing down over. Home is the place where you don't have anything to prove. Where your presence matters simply because you walked through the door. Where you can let your guard down, and nobody's keeping score.

So let me ask you what I've been asking myself all week: spiritually, where is home for you?

The Place Where You Don't Have to Prove Anything

If you belong to Christ, you might answer that quickly — heaven. And you'd be right. That's the good answer, the true one. But it's the answer for later. It doesn't tell you where your home is right now, in the middle of this life, in the middle of all the striving.

That's exactly where Jesus meets us in John 15.

I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it might bring forth more fruit. (John 15:1–2, KJV)

Notice what He does not say. He doesn't call Himself something like a vine or similar to one. He says He is the vine — the source, the root, the place every good thing a branch needs actually comes from.

And here's the part that ought to unsettle us a little, because it unsettled me this week: a lot of us have quietly built our spiritual home somewhere else. We've built it on performance.

The Performance You Were Never Asked to Give

You know what performance-based faith sounds like. And if you've never said these things out loud, I'd guess you've at least thought them:

  • If I just pray enough, everything will finally be right in my life.
  • I missed my quiet time today — I can feel myself slipping.
  • If I serve a little more, maybe God will be pleased with me.
  • If I mess up, He's disappointed in me.

Underneath every one of those is the same weariness — a spiritual report card you're always a few points behind on. The numbers never quite add up. You never quite feel caught up. And there's a particular kind of exhaustion in trying to keep your prayer life, your Bible reading, and your service all propped up by willpower.

But that's not how the vine works.

I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing. (John 15:5, KJV)

Nothing. He didn't say you'll struggle. He didn't say you'll find it hard. He said nothing. You cannot produce spiritual fruit by sheer effort — and that isn't a failure on your part. It was never your assignment to begin with.

I've watched this play out in my own yard. We threw some old tomatoes out onto the ground, never planted a thing, and a tomato plant came up on its own and gave us tomatoes. Meanwhile, there have been seasons where we planted properly, dug around the roots, tended it week after week, and got almost nothing for the trouble. The fruit was never really about how hard we worked. It was about the connection to the source.

A Love That Was Settled Before You Arrived

This is where it gets personal, because the fear hiding beneath all that performance is really about love: does God still love me when I fail Him?

As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love. (John 15:9, KJV)

That is not a love you claw your way into. It's the same love the Father has for the Son — a love you and I will never fully comprehend — and Jesus turns it and aims it straight at us. Not because we earned it. Not because we've been good enough. He loves us because that is who God is.

Think back to the prodigal son. He took the inheritance, wasted every bit of it, and ran as far from home as his money would carry him. When he finally turned around, he came back rehearsing a speech — ready to earn his way back in as a hired servant. But he never had to give it. His father was already watching the road, already running toward him.

That's the picture. The son's fellowship with his father had been broken by his own choices — but the love had never stopped, never wavered, never needed rebuilding. So when Jesus says, "if ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love," He isn't naming a price. He's describing what it looks like to keep choosing to stay home instead of wandering back out to the pig pen. Obedience was never the cost of being loved. Obedience is just what home looks like.

Joy Instead of Endurance

So many believers are white-knuckling their way through the Christian life — treating it like something to survive until heaven finally arrives. I'll be honest with you: I've spent stretches of my own life living exactly that way. But Jesus never framed it like that.

These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full. (John 15:11, KJV)

Full joy. Not happiness, which comes and goes with whether you got what you wanted — but a settled contentment that comes from actually abiding. From actually being home, right now. Not someday. Not once you've finally gotten your act together.

If you've been carrying your whole spiritual life on willpower — keeping the devotions consistent, the prayers regular, the performance high enough — hear this instead: if you belong to Him, you are already a branch. Your job was never to manufacture the fruit. Your job is to stay connected. Let His word shape the way you think. Keep His commandments out of love rather than fear. And rest in a love that was finished long before you ever tried to earn it.

He isn't asking you to carry the weight anymore. He's asking you to come home. And He's standing there with open arms.

If you're walking through a season where you can't quite see the way forward — where all the striving has left you exhausted instead of at peace — Standing in the Dark: What to Do When You Can't See the Way Forward was written for exactly that. You can find it here.

Reflection Questions:

  1. Where have you been working to earn something Christ has already given you freely?
  2. What would change in your daily life if you truly believed God's love for you isn't tied to your performance?
  3. Where have you confused simply enduring the Christian life with actually abiding in it?