I grew up in the church, so I understand the desire to be blessed. I want my life to look like it. I want it to feel like it. I want the fruit, the peace, the stability, the joy—all of it. That desire isn’t wrong.
What was missing for a long time was clarity about what the blessing is actually for—and even more importantly, who the reward really is.
The Apostle Paul says something that still feels shocking if we slow down long enough to hear it. In Philippians 3:8, he says he counts everything as loss—as dung—compared to the surpassing value of knowing Christ. Not serving Him. Not being used by Him. Not receiving things from Him. Knowing Him.
Jesus says something just as disruptive when He defines eternal life. Eternal life, He says, is knowing the only true God and Jesus Christ whom He sent (Gospel of John 17:3). Not going somewhere when we die. Not achieving spiritual status. Knowing God.
That reframes everything.
A lot of us—especially those raised in church—were taught some version of “do this and you’ll be blessed.” Pray this way. Give this much. Obey hard enough. And if we’re honest, that language can quietly turn God into a system to master rather than a Father to know.
It reminds me of the moment in Genesis 3 when the serpent told Eve that if she ate from the tree, she would be like God. The deception wasn’t that God was withholding something. The deception was that Eve already was made in the image of God—and she was tricked into performing for what was already hers by design.
That same pattern shows up today when blessing is framed as something we earn rather than something we carry.
Here’s what I’ve come to see:
The blessing is inevitable. Jesus Christ and Him crucified secured that. Access was settled at the cross. But the blessing was never meant to terminate on us personally—even though we absolutely benefit personally.
From the beginning, the blessing was functional.
“Be fruitful. Multiply. Replenish. Subdue. Have dominion.” (Genesis 1:26–28)
The blessing empowers assignment. It fuels purpose. It enables responsibility.
God doesn’t want to be used—but He does want to be trusted. Leaned on. Fully drawn from. He wants sons and daughters who know Him well enough to take advantage of His faithfulness, His protection, His provision—without turning the relationship into a transaction.
Seen this way, blessing finds its proper place. God is not the means to reward—He is the shield and the exceedingly great reward. Not outcomes. Not optics. Not accumulation. Him.
And compared to knowing Him?
Everything else—no matter how impressive, spiritual, or well-intended—really does start to look like dung.
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