What I want you to know today is that you’re not behind; you’re being remade. And the sooner you stop demanding answers and start asking better questions like, “Who am I becoming?” and “What is God forming in me?” the sooner the wall will shift from a prison to a place of presence.

You never think it will happen to you. Not when you’re obeying the Lord, at least. Certainly not when you’ve laid everything down for Him. And not when you’ve fasted, prayed, surrendered, and submitted to Him faithfully. But the truth is, everyone who walks with the Lord long enough will eventually hit a wall. Everyone.

And I’m not talking about circumstantial hardship or spiritual dryness. I’m talking about the moment where the presence you once sensed so clearly now feels distant. And everything in you starts to wonder if you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way.

But allow me to tell you today that if your heart is tender before the Lord, and you’ve committed your trust to Him, you haven’t taken a wrong turn. The wall is not evidence that the Lord has abandoned you (for He has not). Instead, it’s evidence that He is forming you deeper than your senses can track. The wall isn’t a detour. It’s the place where your inner architecture is torn down and rebuilt.

Yet the sad truth is that not everyone makes it through. The wall doesn’t just test your endurance; it tests your theology. It tests your identity. It tests your allegiance. It reveals the hidden contracts you’ve made with God—the ones that say, “I’ll obey You, as long as You reward me quickly. I’ll follow You, as long as I feel You. And I’ll stay surrendered, as long as it pays off in my favor and on my timeline.”

Yet the wall is the very place in which those soul contracts are exposed and burned. And thus my point: the wall is not an attack. It’s an invitation.

Take a look at Psalm 34:5 (ESV). Scripture says, “Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.”

You’ll note that the psalmist isn’t writing about those who fix themselves or who outperform others. He’s not even addressing those who feel strong. He’s writing about those who look to the Lord. And that’s the key. In a culture of religious performance, emotional validation, and spiritual self-sufficiency, this verse is nothing short of a holy confrontation. Why? Because everything about the wall will tempt you to turn inward and to self-diagnose, overanalyze, and manage your pain with hyper-spiritual language. Again, Scripture doesn’t say, “Those who look to themselves are radiant.” It says, “Those who look to Him.” And if your eyes stay fixed on Him, shame will lose its grip.

The wall is not an attack. It’s an invitation.

When Shame Names You

Shame is one of the native tongues of the wilderness. It is devious and insidious. And as I wrote in my book, while conviction and a sense of guilt for wrongdoing are real and necessary, shame is never useful, healthy, beneficial, or productive when it comes to our long-term maturity in Christ, let alone our emotional resilience. Like a soul-cancer, shame metastasizes quickly and speaks early and often in difficult seasons of obscurity and hiddenness.1 And in these times, if you’re not anchored in the truth, shame will sound like wisdom. It says things like, “If you were more mature, you wouldn’t be here.” “If you had more faith, you’d be out by now.” “You must have missed God.” “You’re falling behind.” “You’re no longer useful.”

You see, I believe shame is a form of spiritual gaslighting. And the tragedy is that we often agree with it, especially when it disguises itself as discernment. We call it being “realistic.” We saturate our suspicion with the language of prudence. But underneath it all is a soul that no longer trusts the Father. And when shame takes root, radiance becomes impossible because you can’t reflect the face of the Lord when you’re hiding yours.

King David knew better, and his example serves us well. From the very cave where his calling felt least likely to be fulfilled, he declared, “Those who look to Him are radiant.” In Hebrew, the word for “look” (nabat) carries the idea of a fixed gaze—not a glance, not a scroll, not a panic-driven look of last resort. It’s the stare of trust. It’s the gaze of surrender, and the posture of someone who knows they have nothing left to prove.

And in a gentle moment of transparency between you and me, friend, I’m right there…right now.

So what does it mean to be radiant? Well, it means that your face (your countenance, your presence, and your identity) reflects something that isn’t rooted in your performance. Here’s what I mean: radiance isn’t the result of striving. It’s the evidence of union. It’s what marked Stephen when he was being stoned. It’s what marked Moses when he came down from the mountain. And it’s what will mark you if you refuse to let shame narrate your story at the wall.

You can’t reflect the face of the Lord when you’re hiding yours.

You Are Not the Exception

Let’s dismantle another lie, the idea that spiritual maturity exempts you from spiritual disorientation. The succulent lie says that if you pray enough, fast enough, and believe enough, you’ll avoid hitting the wall. But that kind of thinking isn’t faith; it’s spiritual entitlement.

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