At the risk of sounding like an annoying overachiever, the idea of hard work has never really bothered me.

I’m probably too competitive for my own good, so the thought of a challenge (even a dumb one) has always called to something deep and elemental within me. Are you willing to do something hard to accomplish something great?

In fact, at points this summer, I would have told you that all I wanted was to be an Olympian. The idea of pushing my body to be in peak condition, wearing colors that represent my entire nation, and competing for the ultimate victory made me go starry-eyed and want to go jump over something just so I could feel like I was a hurdler.

Even though being an Olympian is a laughable notion that is clearly not in my cards, I and others I know have faced some worthy foes in our day (even if they’re not Usain Bolt), and it didn’t faze me that hard work was required of us.

Fighting against textbooks and study guides and deadlines? Not a problem—just give us some colored highlighters and toffee-flavored coffee and late nights in the library and the battle is won.

Facing that tall center with a decent jump shot on the road in high school? Not that daunting—just give us a few solid days of practice and a thorough scouting report and maybe a good song on the bus and we’re good to go.

“When the enemy lining up against me is my own emotions, hard work looks much less appealing.”

Hard work wasn’t that hard to put in when it was needed in those contexts.

But when the opponents get a little more sinister and the weapons get a little more personal, that’s when I balk and skid to a stop.

When the enemy lining up against me is my own emotions, hard work looks much less appealing.

Maybe it was my own immaturity or maybe the culture of our generation has done us a disservice, but somewhere along the way I fell into the trap of believing that a life of faith consisted of glamorous moments and rosy feelings.

That every day had to be contributing to something big, something that was influencing a lot of people and using my gifts to the fullest extent.

That Monday would bring a Paul-style mass conversion, on Tuesday I would defeat a Goliath-sized giant, Wednesday I would finally understand the book of Ezekiel, and by the end of the week, I would be in a leadership position rivaling that of Moses leading millions of people out of slavery.

That I would feel fulfilled and irreplaceable and joyful all the time.

I bought the lie that the grandeur of my feelings reflected the condition of my faith.

I must have forgotten.

Somehow I forgot that before God called Moses to lead His people, Moses spent 40 years in the back of the desert.

Somehow, in my search for the big and grand and dramatic, I overlooked that Jesus retreated to lonely places to pray.

It slipped my mind that David was a shepherd when he was called to be king of a nation, and didn’t take the throne for over 20 years after being anointed.

Preparation. Solitude. Patience.

I missed the fact that it takes hard work to fight for a healthy soul.

“Often times, my walk of faith comes down to making choices in spite of my feelings.”

In one sense, yes, it takes hard work to practice spiritual disciplines—to set aside time to pray, to focus on reading my Bible, to hear and apply sermons.

But I’ve found that the battle is much more gritty and complicated and minute-by-minute than just those things.

Often times, my walk of faith comes down to making choices in spite of my feelings. And that is by no means glamorous or glitzy or spectacular.

The same internal question is posed to me: “Are you willing to do something hard to accomplish something great?” But this time the prospect of hard work doesn’t seem so inspiring.

When I spend time with a friend and my heart jumps straight to jealousy of her life or her looks, am I going to do the work of reminding myself that the Lord has unique works prepared for me that He created me to do? Or will I let myself tear her down internally to make myself feel better?

When I have down time and my heart wanders to loneliness and questioning my role in this season, am I going to do the work of looking for opportunities to spend time with new people or catch up with old friends? Or will I let myself drown my sorrows in whatever feels good at the time?

When it’s late at night and the dishes need to be done and my budget needs to be handled, am I going to do the work of serving my roommates and being wise with my money? Or will I let myself take the selfish route?

“It’s taking care of my responsibilities and making wise choices for the betterment of my soul and my people.”

This “Work” series has been so crucial in teaching me what work is—simply stewarding my energy in a way that makes me more godly—and in teaching me that practicing it is almost painfully simple. It’s taking care of my responsibilities and making wise choices for the betterment of my soul and my people.

Choices that may go against how I feel, but in the long run will build a habit of faithfulness that is much more sustainable than my fickle feelings.

Honestly, sometimes I feel like I would rather take on ten Usain Bolts than battle my emotions for one more minute. But in the end, I think I’d rather have a “Well done, good and faithful servant” from my Savior than a gold medal anyway.

So let the games begin, and may we run with perseverance the race marked out for us.