I used to keep a list—a long, well-intentioned list—of all the ways I wanted to grow closer to God. Daily prayer at dawn. Scripture memorization. Fasting on Fridays. Journaling my spiritual insights. Volunteering more. Reading the Church leader's insights The list grew longer each week, a monument to my earnest desire and, if I'm honest with myself, my quiet anxiety that I wasn't doing enough.
But somewhere beneath all that striving, I lost my breath.
The trap of paralysis by analysis is easy to fall into as a disciple. We live in a culture that celebrates optimization, that promises us we can master anything—even intimacy with the God—if we just follow the right steps, implement the right systems, track the right metrics. So we attempt to focus on too many areas to improve our relationship with God, and in doing so, we add too much friction to our journey.
Analysis over action creates friction. We study spiritual disciplines instead of practicing them. We debate theological nuances instead of loving our neighbors. We plan elaborate prayer routines instead of simply showing up, empty-handed, before the throne of grace. And that friction, subtle as it may seem, impedes our growth as disciples of Christ.
What I've learned, slowly and with many stumbles, is that growth aids in our journey outlook by gaining momentum. Like a wheel that needs that first hard push to start rolling, our spiritual lives flourish not through perfect planning but through consistent, simple movement forward. Gaining momentum is what we are called to do as maturing disciples—not to achieve perfection, but to stay in motion, to remain oriented toward the Light.
Here's the paradox that changed everything for me: maturing disciples understand that we are never finished. There is no arrival point, no graduation ceremony from the school of faith. We are always beginners, always students, always dependent on grace. And accepting we are never finished—truly accepting it—frees me as a disciple to focus on the basics.
The basics. Not the impressive spiritual feats. Not the complex theological frameworks. The basics: showing up, listening, loving, trusting, obeying.
These discipleship basics are the foundation necessary to better allow the Holy Spirit's promptings to be found. When our lives are cluttered with spiritual ambition and religious busyness, the still, small voice gets drowned out by our own noise. But when we strip things down to the essentials, we create space for that gentle leading. And allowing and following the Holy Spirit's prompting is simple—not easy, but simple.
Simple to understand, simple to build the foundation—if we declutter our lives.
Decluttering our lives includes stripping away excess. Not just physical clutter, though that matters too, but the excess expectations we place on ourselves, the excess guilt we carry for not measuring up to imaginary standards, the excess activities that we've confused for actual discipleship. We've mistaken busyness for faithfulness, and it's exhausting us.
Intentionally stripping excess is essential in decluttering a disciple's journey. Notice that word: intentionally. This isn't about passive laziness or spiritual apathy. It's about actively choosing what to release, about having the courage to disappoint some voices—including our own—in order to hear the Voice that matters most.
What if the path forward isn't about adding more but about returning to less? What if maturity looks less like mastery and more like surrender? What if the most radical thing we could do is show up each day with open hands and say, "Here I am, teach me," and then actually wait for the answer?
I still keep a list, but now it's much shorter. Love God. Love people. Listen. Repeat. Some days I do these things well. Most days I stumble through them imperfectly. But I'm moving forward, and there's a lightness to the journey now that wasn't there before—a holy simplicity that feels less like striving and more like coming home.
The invitation stands for all of us: to declutter, to simplify, to return to the basics that allow the Spirit room to breathe in our lives. Not because we're giving up on growth, but because we're finally making space for it.