I’ll never forget—try as I might—my very first diary. It had a neon-themed Winnie the Pooh on the front and a tiny little lock that never quite worked. And while I was always a prolific talker, I was even then a sporadic writer: consistent for weeks at a time, then skipping two years without a single blot on a page.
As I matured, though, I found myself, as an older teen, settling into a regular habit of devotional journaling. Almost every evening, I would read a chapter of the Bible, write down whichever verse stood out along with a couple of thoughts, and end with a short prayer.
What I’m remembering most tonight, however, is how my journal entries always ended the exact same way. It was a quote I thought I heard in a song (an internet fact-check says I’m crazy—not entirely wrong, but I digress). The quote was:
“Break down every idol, until it’s You alone I live for.”
Such a noble phrase—from a sixteen-year-old who thought idols were things like pretty clothes and popularity. Written again and again, it mocks my older self just a little now, sprawling across those pages.
Because since adulthood, I haven’t really been able to write that phrase. In honesty, I haven’t even tried for years. The truth is, I like my idols. They’re beautiful, sweet…
And honestly, they look a lot like blessings.
Brant Hansen wrote a book called Unoffendable, and I can’t recommend it enough. It explores a Christian’s supposed right to anger and offense (spoiler: it doesn’t exist), systematically unpacking the things we choose to be “offended” by. In one chapter, though, he turns to idols, and one quote has been pounding a drum in my mind ever since:
“Idols aren’t bad things… they’re good things, made ultimate.”
Sigh.
Let me tell you, friends—my life is full of good things.
I have a beautiful home and a husband who adores me. I have four adorable children, praised often for their good behavior and hilarious sense of humor. I have a best friend with whom I can share everything, from laughter to heartbreak. I have a church where I can serve and be served. I have parents and in-laws who love me with patience and grace, giving abundantly of their time and treasure to me and my children. I have community, meaning, and health.
So if I were to tell God to tear down every idol…
It feels unthinkable. Unbearable, really. I’ve lived through a season when every single one of those things felt threatened, and God preserved me by His grace. He held onto me—even when life didn’t feel altogether worth living without these beautiful things.
These beautiful idols I placed above the Creator of my very un-beautiful soul.
I once had a friend in high school—over a decade ago, before marriage and children and all the rest—sit me down for a conversation. It began pleasantly enough, but when he reached his point, he confessed that he feared I had an unfaithful character: that I wasn’t a loyal friend, too easily swayed by circumstances and changing seasons.
As you can imagine, my shock quickly turned to indignation. I corrected what I believed were base misrepresentations of my character, explaining every example he cited. We ended the conversation still friends, but I walked away upset and confused.
A decade later, I find myself regularly crying out the words of the old hymn writer:
“Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it! Prone to leave the God I love.”
I say I want Him—and only Him—yet my heart shatters at the thought of my idols breaking.
I don’t have a tidy conclusion this time. Only the confession of a woman who has far from figured it out, but who recognizes that her heart needs to change. I have a good, good Father—one who is greater than, and worth more than, the gifts He gives. And when He asks me to return them to Him, He seeks my good, never my harm.
Because when I clutch these things too tightly to my chest, I lose them anyway. My anxiety over losing a child makes me less present as a mother. My worry about my home and my health steals the joy of living. My fear of loss costs me the priceless gift of peace—peace He has been trying to give me all along.
Idols don’t bring peace, no matter how shiny they are. God does. And He will—if I surrender it all.
So break down every idol, Lord—until it’s You, and You alone, I live for. I trust them to Your loving hands. Help me to say it until I mean it. And give me the grace to live it out.
Love always,
Kelsey
Miracles Enough 