This Is Sin. This Is Discipleship.

Let’s not overcomplicate what Christ came to make simple.

To repent, put simply, is to change your mind. That’s all it is. Not a ritual. Not a guilt trip. Just a turning of the mind back to Christ.

Sin, or being a sinner, does not make you bad or wrong. It makes you real. It means you live in a world that isn’t ruled by Christ—but by Satan. Scripture calls him the “god of this world” for a reason (2 Corinthians 4:4). This is his realm. Sin isn’t just something we do; it’s the spiritual air we breathe while walking in the flesh. But we’ve been saved. And we just need to remember that. Every day. Every moment. We get to turn our minds—our attention, our allegiance—back to the King. That is repentance.

Sin is Satan’s attempt to change your mind. That’s what he’s doing all day long. Twisting your thoughts. Distracting your focus. Luring you off the path. And every time we feel it, we’re given a choice: stay under the spell… or change our mind and return to Christ.

That’s the war. It’s not a metaphor—it’s reality. The flesh pulls us, subtly or suddenly, all day long. And we will never stop feeling that pull until we are free from these physical bodies. Because the body—this beautiful but fallen vessel—is still part of a fallen realm.

So sin is inevitable. But separation is not. That’s the gift. That’s the Gospel. We can turn back. Christ is always ready to receive us. He already won. And repentance is how we walk in that victory.

We live in a physical realm owned by Satan. And because of that, sin is simply part of being here. It’s not a special category for bad people—it’s the normal condition of every human being born into this world. But we were made for another Kingdom. And Jesus is the doorway back to it.

Repentance is our daily re-alignment. It’s how we say, “I know I’ve drifted. I see what happened. And I choose You again.”

Here’s a personal example. As a man, I desire my wife. That’s good. That’s holy. But that same God-given capacity for desire can be distorted. It can turn toward what doesn’t belong to me—toward lust. And Satan knows this. He tempts me daily. Not with obvious evil—but with subtle compromises. Because I live in a physical body, I have the capacity for sin. That’s not failure. That’s the battleground.

Just the other day, I was scrolling through something innocent—searching for creative new advertising ideas, and suddenly, a video popped up. A woman, not my wife, was dressed in a way that left little to the imagination, dancing in a way that also left little to the imagination. And before I even had time to think, my eyes lingered. Just long enough to feel that old pull. That tightening in my chest. That flash of curiosity wrapped in desire.

I didn’t choose to see it. And I didn’t have a choice how my body reacted to it. That’s the flesh. That's the sin.

but in that moment, I could feel it—the spiritual split. One part of me saying, “It’s harmless,” and the other part whispering, “Look away. This isn’t yours.” That’s the war. The war we are all in one way or another.

So I turned my mind, right then and there. I said, “Jesus, I saw her. And I let my eyes linger. I confess that. I don’t want that. I want You. Please take this. Pull me back.”

And He did. He always does. He reaches down, even in the small moments, and pulls me out. He saves me newly.

And it’s not just about lust. The flesh doesn’t just tempt us with what looks good—it tempts us with fear. Doubt. Control.

A few weeks ago, my wife was feeling anxious about a personal finance situation. We had a plan, but things still felt tight. She didn’t know how it would all work out. And for a moment, her thoughts started spiraling: “What if we made the wrong choice? What if we can’t afford this? What if God doesn’t come through?”

She wasn’t being dramatic—she was being human.

But we talked about it later, and she said something so honest. She said, “I realized the anxiety itself was a form of not trusting Jesus. It was like I was turning away from Him, trying to figure it all out on my own.”

That’s what the flesh does—it whispers, “You’re alone. You have to solve this.” But that’s the same lie Satan’s been telling since the garden. And just like I had to repent when my eyes wandered, she had to repent when her mind did. Not with shame, but with clarity.

She prayed, “Jesus, I’ve been trying to carry this on my own. I’ve let fear speak louder than You. I turn back to You. Help me trust You with our needs.”

And He met her. Just like He meets me. Just like He’ll meet you.

That is repentance. And that is discipleship.

The Bible says:

Sin desires us. Craves us. But we must desire Christ more. And that craving—His presence, His holiness, His nearness—is what discipleship stirs up in us.

Being in the body means being tempted. Always. Temptation doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re still alive. It means the battle is still on. This life is like standing on a slope that’s always sliding away from Christ. Each day starts with Him—near, loving, holding us—and then the drift begins. Quietly. Slowly. Sin pulls us. But if we’re willing to admit the drift, re-acknowledge our fall, He pulls us back.

But we must admit it. We must tell the truth. Not because He doesn’t already know, but because WE need to know that we are still choosing Him. We come to Him and say, “Jesus, I slipped again. My mind wandered. My pride rose up. My fear took over. I didn't trust You. But I see it now. And I’m turning back.”

Even your thoughts are part of the flesh. The brain itself—the mind—is still a physical organ. So the thoughts of pride, of anxiety, of shame, of victimhood, of rage—they all come from the flesh. But inside you, deeper than the mind, is your spirit. The part that always longs to do right. The part that cries out for Jesus even when your flesh is falling apart. That spirit is pure. That spirit is His.

And so we trust our spirit. We acknowledge that this flesh—this body, this brain—is prone to sin. But we are not the enemy. We are temples. And we bring our whole selves—flesh and spirit—to Christ, and we say: “I know this body is a sinner. I know I am vulnerable. But I choose You. And I choose to walk with You today.”

That is discipleship. And it never ends. It’s not about conquering sin once and for all—it’s about choosing Christ again and again and again. It’s about showing Him, and yourself, whose side you’re on.

And the truth is, the further you go, the harder it gets. The temptation doesn’t disappear. It evolves. It becomes more cunning. But so do you. And so does your trust grow in Him.

Think of it like this: You’re not just a Christian. You’re a soldier in Christ’s army. And as you mature, He doesn’t bench you—He promotes you. You’re not in training camp anymore. You’re special forces. And no, the battles don’t get easier. But they do get clearer. You don’t flinch like you used to. You don’t fold like you did before. But the enemy? He still comes. He knows your name now. He knows where you live. He knows who you love. He’s paying attention, and he knows exactly what buttons to push to get to you. So when life starts to press harder, take heart—it means you’re in the field. It means you're on Christ's front-line team. It means you’re dangerous to the darkness. And the enemy's aim has never been sharper.

So if you think you’re above temptation, be careful. Because that’s where the enemy hides—in the places where you think you’ve already arrived. If there’s any part of you that says, “I’ve got this handled,” that may be the very place Christ is absent. Pride doesn’t keep Satan out. It invites him in.

So repent. Change your mind. Admit that Christ is the best at everything—and only He can make you better. Anyplace you say, “I’ve got this figured out. I can’t be tempted here”—that is the very place where repentance must begin. None of us—no one still in the flesh—is above temptation or sin in any area. Not in lust. Not in pride. Not in fear. Not in control. If you think you’re standing on your own, be careful—Scripture warns, “Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.” (1 Corinthians 10:12)

But remember:

As long as you keep turning to the light, darkness will never win.

And here’s the beauty of it all—discipleship is not a lonely path. You are not fighting this war alone. Christ didn’t call us to be isolated warriors—He made us into a body. A family. An army. A fellowship.

And in that army, bonds are forged in the fire. Real ones. Not surface-level handshakes, but brotherhood. Fellowship that costs something. The kind of trust that only forms when you’ve watched your brother bleed, struggle, repent, and rise again.

There is joy in this path. Not because it’s easy, but because Christ walks it with us. And we walk it together. We grow stronger. We grow freer. We see each other clearly—not for how we perform, but for how we return. That’s what makes the narrow path beautiful. The daily turning back. The laughter through tears. The stories shared after the battle. The quiet peace that says, “We’re still here. We’re still choosing Him.”

So walk on, soldier. You may fall. You may stumble. But the war is already won. Just stay close to Christ. Stay close to your brothers. And remember—

The ones who keep turning back are the ones who make it home. And you’re not walking alone.

We’re in this together. Shoulder to shoulder. Every fall, every prayer, every quiet victory.

If any of this hits close to home… good. It means you're still in the fight.

It means your heart is still soft. It means you’re not numb. And it means Christ is still calling you back.

So hear me—you are not alone. Not in your struggle. Not in your temptations. Not in your repentance.

I’m not above you—I’m beside you. Same mud on my boots. Same scars on my hands. Same Savior pulling me out of the pit—again and again and again.

So if you’ve drifted, come back. If you’ve fallen, get up. If you’re tired, lean in. Don’t let shame have the last word. Don’t let pride keep you stuck. Don’t let the enemy isolate you when the family of Christ is here.

Right here.

This is what we do. This is who we are.

We fall. We rise. We fight. We repent. And we do it together.

So stand. Shoulder to shoulder. Let the Spirit convict you. Let Christ lift you. Let the joy of the narrow path become your strength again.

Because one day—after all the battles, after all the prayers, after all the turning back—we’ll walk through Heaven’s door together.

Do you see your daily temptations as signs of failure—or proof you’re still fighting the good fight?