HEART DIAGNOSIS

Nobody's going to tell you this. You sinned. You feel terrible. On your knees. "God, how could I do that? What is WRONG with me?" How could I. What's wrong with me. I'm such a failure. Every sentence starts with "I." Not one word about God. Not one word about who you sinned AGAINST. When David sinned he said "Against thee, thee only have I sinned." THEE. THEE. THEE. His grief pointed upward. Yours points inward. One leads to change. The other just leads to a better self-image. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

You already know this, you're just hoping I won't say it. You did something generous. A week later, they let you down. And from nowhere: "After everything I did for you." You never told them you were keeping count. But you were. Every favor. Every sacrifice. Filed. You weren't giving. You were lending at interest. And the interest was their loyalty. It was a transaction disguised as love. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

You already know this, you're just hoping I won't say it. You pray differently when someone can hear you. The vocabulary changes. The cadence changes. Theology shows up that never shows up alone. But alone — five minutes. Distracted. Can barely finish a thought. The audience changed. And the prayer changed with it. So who were you talking to? You weren't praying to God in front of them. You were performing for them in front of God. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. "I'm just being honest." That's what you say right before you open someone up. But watch what happens in your chest after. There's a flush. Not the grief of hurting someone. The satisfaction of standing over them with something they can't argue with. Your honesty wasn't for them. It was a weapon. And "I'm just being honest" was the permission slip. Truth in the wrong hands is the most sophisticated form of deception. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

You already know this, you're just hoping I won't say it. What's the FIRST thing you do when you learn something? You tell someone. "I was actually reading about this the other day..." You're not sharing knowledge. You're displaying it. That's why you're more excited to DISCUSS what you read than to OBEY it. Paul didn't say knowledge destroys. He said it INFLATES. And inflated things are hollow. Your bookshelf is not your sanctification. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. Prayer answered. Crisis resolved. Your heart swelled with love for God. But did the love come before the blessing — or after? Because if it came after, you didn't fall in love with God. You fell in love with the relief. Satan understood this before any theologian did. "Does Job serve God for nothing?" Even the devil knew that subsidized love is worthless. Would you worship the God who didn't answer? If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Nobody's going to tell you this. Someone praises you. You deflect. "All glory to God." And you walk away feeling humble. But pride doesn't just hide behind your sins. It hides behind your GRACES. Your patience. Your gentleness. Your humility. Especially your humility. Because that's the last place anyone would look. Pride in a sin is clumsy. Pride wearing humility — that's a masterpiece. It's the one disguise that gets applauded. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. Someone you love is suffering. You feel it. You post about it. You tell people how broken you are. But broken for THEM — or for what their pain does to YOUR world? La Rochefoucauld: "We all have strength enough to bear the misfortunes of others." And some grief is even simpler. You grieve because NOT grieving would make you look cold. The tears aren't for them. They're for your image. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Nobody's going to tell you this. You see someone struggling. Your heart goes out. You want to help. And it feels selfless. But why does helping feel so GOOD? Because compassion only flows downward. The helper is above. The helped is below. And your ego knows exactly which position it prefers. You're not being selfless. You're enjoying a view that only exists because someone else is lower than you. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. You learned you're elect. Chosen before the foundation of the world. And something shifted. Not just peace — a sense of being SPECIAL. Set apart. Not like them. Edwards: "Their very lusts will make Christ seem lovely. Pride itself will prejudice them in favor of that which they call Christ." Your PRIDE can manufacture love for Jesus. Not the real Jesus — a Jesus shaped by your self-love. One who confirms how special you are. Same doctrine. Same Bible. Completely different hearts. And the feelings are identical. That's what makes it terrifying. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

You already know this, you're just hoping I won't say it. Someone compliments you. You wave it off. "No no — it was nothing." So they push harder. "No seriously, that was incredible." Now you've been praised twice. Here's the test. If they had just said "okay" and moved on — would you feel relieved? Or bothered? La Rochefoucauld: "Refusing praise reveals a desire to be praised twice." 1665. The game hasn't changed. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Nobody's going to tell you this. You sinned again. The same sin. And something strange happened — you didn't just feel guilty. You felt a dark kind of comfort. "This is who I am. This is what I do." That resignation felt better than fighting. Because fighting means hoping. And hoping means you might fail again. So you stopped hoping. Dostoevsky: "I found pleasure in the very feeling of my own degradation." Not because he enjoyed suffering. But because suffering asked NOTHING of him. The guilt isn't repentance. It's a sedative. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. Your prayers used to be raw. Desperate. You'd pour yourself out like water. What happened? You grew in knowledge. And without noticing, the prayers got shorter. More polished. Less desperate. You started praying like someone who understands grace instead of someone who needs it. That's why new believers pray like they're drowning and mature believers pray like they're filing paperwork. "I remember the devotion of your youth, your love as a bride." He misses the version of you that couldn't survive without Him. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

You already know this, you're just hoping I won't say it. You realize you've been a hypocrite. Something clicks. "I've been fake. I see it now." And that feels GOOD. Because you just leveled up. You're no longer a hypocrite — you're the rare person who's HONEST about their hypocrisy. And that honesty just became your new performance. Dostoevsky: "I was lying. And the confession was also a lie." Jeremiah said the heart is deceitful above ALL things. Not some things. ALL. There is no floor. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. "I'll deal with it tomorrow." You've said that about the same sin for months. And it feels responsible. You're not ignoring it — you're scheduling it. But tomorrow lets you keep the sin today in exchange for a promise you never intend to keep. Sin doesn't need your yes. It just needs your not yet. Felix said it to Paul's face — "When I find a convenient time, I will call for you." He never called. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Nobody's going to tell you this. It didn't start with the thing you're ashamed of. It started with something small. A glance. A thought you let sit three seconds too long. "It's nothing." But sin never asks for the whole thing at once. It asks for an inch. Just consider it. Just look. Just this once. Sin gains more ground by inches than by assault — because an assault you'd fight. A slow drift feels like standing still. The last step feels exactly like the first. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. You had a genuine moment with someone. Real vulnerability. And then you ruined it. Made a joke. Pulled back. Maybe picked a fight. Because the genuine moment made you feel exposed. You showed something real and you can't control what they do with it. So you killed it. Rewrote it as something smaller. "It wasn't that deep." It was that deep. You know it was. That's why you had to destroy it. The real thing was the only thing worth having. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

You already know this, you're just hoping I won't say it. You're quick to admit your small faults. "I struggle with patience." "I should pray more." La Rochefoucauld: "We confess to small faults only to persuade others that we have no great ones." Your transparency is a strategy. By admitting the small stuff, you build a reputation for honesty that makes people assume there's nothing bigger underneath. They weren't hiding their sins by denying them. They were hiding their sins by confessing different ones. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. You started performing years ago. The Christian smile. The right answers. And at first you knew it was a performance. You felt the gap. But the gap closed. Not because you became real — because the mask fused to your face. "We become so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that at last we are disguised to ourselves." You can't remove a mask you can no longer feel. You can't repent of a performance you've forgotten you're giving. You might be the last person to know who you really are. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Nobody's going to tell you this. You're loyal. Dependable. The friend who shows up. And that's become central to who you are. "The fidelity of most men is merely an invention of self-love to win confidence — a method to place us above others." Every time you show up and someone else doesn't, you win a quiet comparison. You're not loyal to them. You're loyal to the version of yourself that loyalty produces. "You have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead." If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

I hate to be the one to tell you this. "Money doesn't matter." "I'm content with little." "God is enough." But are those words coming from peace — or are you baptizing your limitation and calling it a conviction? "The contempt of riches was only a hidden desire to avenge their merit upon the injustice of fortune." You couldn't get it. So you made not wanting it a virtue. And now you look DOWN on people who have it. Paul had both abundance and need. His contentment wasn't poverty-only. Can you say the same? If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Nobody's going to tell you this. "Our virtues are most frequently but vices disguised." Your patience — might be cowardice avoiding conflict. Your generosity — might be pride buying loyalty. Your gentleness — might be fear dressed in a Sunday suit. Isaiah didn't say our sins are filthy rags. He said our RIGHTEOUSNESSES are filthy rags. The good stuff. The stuff you're proud of. You'll never produce a virtue clean enough to trust. And the moment you think you have — that confidence is the vice wearing its finest disguise. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

You already know this, you're just hoping I won't say it. You think your beliefs shape your desires. That learning the right doctrine will fix the wrong impulse. "The head is ever the dupe of the heart." Your theology doesn't control your desires. Your desires choose your theology. You landed on the doctrine that made you feel the way you wanted to feel. That's why two people read the same Bible and arrive at opposite convictions. The text didn't change. The hearts were different. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

"Our repentance is not so much sorrow for what we've done — as fear of what might happen to us." Three hundred years ago. Nothing's changed. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

"Self-love is more cunning than the most cunning man in the world." You will never outsmart your own heart. That's why you need something outside yourself to search it. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

"If we had no faults, we should not take so much pleasure in noting those of others." You see their sin so clearly because yours needs the distraction. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

"The gratitude of most men is but a secret desire of receiving greater benefits." You're not grateful. You're investing. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Nobody counterfeits copper. The more excellent a thing is, the more counterfeits it produces. More fake diamonds than fake rocks. And there are more counterfeits of love and humility than any other grace — because those are the ones worth faking. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

We become so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that at last we are disguised to ourselves. You wore the mask so long you forgot it was a mask. The performance became the personality. The act became the man. Paul called it the form of godliness without the power. You have the shape of the thing. Not the thing. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

The love of justice is simply, in the majority of men, the fear of suffering injustice. You don't want fairness. You want protection. You champion justice when you're the victim. When you're the one with power? Silence. You posted about accountability when they wronged you. Where was that energy when you wronged someone else? God told you what He requires. Do justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly. You did the first when it served you. Skipped the second when it cost you. And the third — you never started. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

When not prompted by vanity, we say little. A man would rather say evil of himself than say nothing. You'd rather confess a sin in a room full of people than sit there unremarkable. Because even your self-criticism is about YOU. Even your brokenness is a stage. Silence terrifies you. Not because you have nothing to say — because you have nothing to BE without an audience. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Usually we only praise to be praised. You complimented their sermon so they'd notice your insight. You celebrated their win so they'd celebrate yours next. You lifted them up so they'd owe you the same. Praise is flattery — artful, hidden, delicate. The one who receives it takes it as reward for merit. The one who gives it does so to show his own taste and judgment. Both walked away satisfied. Neither walked away honest. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

We frequently do good to enable us with impunity to do evil. You tithed so you wouldn't feel guilty about the thing you're hiding. You served at church so no one would suspect. You read three chapters this morning. And all of it was currency — buying permission for the sin you have no intention of killing. Isaiah 64:6. The rags aren't the sin. They're the righteousness you built on top of it. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Your enemies come nearer the truth about you than you do about yourself. Here's why. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things. You do that with yourself every day. You bear with your failures. You believe the best about your motives. You hope you'll change tomorrow. Self-love runs the same operating system as charity — pointed inward. And it blinds you the same way. But your enemy? No love to blind them. They see what you hide from yourself and what your friends are too kind to say. Faithful are the wounds of a friend. Sometimes the most faithful wound comes from an enemy who doesn't even know he's doing you a favour. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

The refusal of praise is only the wish to be praised twice. They say nice things about you. You wave it off. Oh no, it's all God. It wasn't me. I'm just a wretch saved by grace. And you wait. For the second wave. For them to insist. For them to say no, really — you're incredible. You didn't reject the praise. You returned it for a better exchange rate. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

Reconciliation with our enemies is but a desire to better our condition. A weariness of war. The fear of some unlucky event. You didn't forgive because you're holy. You forgave because holding the grudge was exhausting. Because the high road is a better look. Because being the bigger person — IS the whole point. Your mercy is a mirror. You're not looking at them. You're admiring yourself in the act of pardoning. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

We are inconsolable at being deceived by our enemies and betrayed by our friends — yet perfectly content to be thus served by ourselves. Someone lies to your face? Unforgivable. You lie to your own face every morning? Survival. You demand honesty from everyone around you. From yourself? You negotiate. You reframe. You find the angle that lets you sleep. The heart is deceitful above all things. Not their heart. Yours. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.

The most subtle of our acts is to simulate blindness for snares that we know are set for us. You saw the temptation coming. You walked toward it anyway. And halfway there, you closed your eyes — so when you fell, you could call it an accident. David said of the wicked: he flatters himself in his own eyes that his iniquity will not be found out. You didn't stumble. You chose not to look. If you want conviction in the age of compromise, you know where to find me.