As I think about what it means to move forward in my writing at Time for Providence, I find myself praying in the Spirit:

“Lord, help me discover the creativity to tell the stories of Your providence in a way that draws people to the love and truth of Your Word.”

Lately the Lord has been using two unexpected lanes to expose what’s been shaping me: personality frameworks (through the Enneagram Institute) and philosophy (through Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations).

Last October I took the Enneagram test and, for whatever it’s worth, my highest scores clustered around Type 7 (Enthusiast) and Type 9 (Peacemaker), with Type 2 (Helper) and Type 5 (Investigator) close behind. I found that pretty wild, and I’ve been reading more to understand why I move the way I do.

But the deeper issue isn’t the label—it’s what I’m tempted to build my life and my writing on.

As I read Marcus, a question has been pressing on me—one that has convicted me more than it has impressed me:

How can a man who appears not to have the Spirit of God exercise a precision and discipline that resembles the fruit of self-control… while I, who claim to have the Spirit, recently failed at that very discipline in the way I handled conflict with my wife?

I’ve been sitting with that.

One part of the answer is that God truly does restrain evil and grant many good gifts even in a fallen world. A man can learn composure. A man can build habits. A man can be trained by suffering, or by consequence, or by culture. In that sense, Marcus can resemble certain outward virtues through God’s kindness—what Christians often call common grace—without possessing the inward life of Christ.

But another part of the answer cuts closer to home: having the Spirit does not mean I never fail. It means I am no longer excused to stay hard. The Spirit exposes my sin, brings me to turn away, and teaches me to walk in a way that matches my confession. My recent failure didn’t prove the Spirit absent; it revealed how quickly I default to self—to control, to coldness, to grit, to “my way”—instead of abiding in Christ. And even when I do exhibit self-control, I want to receive it with humility—as fruit purchased by Christ at the cross and applied by His Spirit, not a badge of my own strength.

So I’m curious how you would answer it, reader. Not as an abstract debate, but as a mirror: What do you do when someone outside the faith seems to outpace you in a virtue you claim comes from God?

My ship is at sail, and the direction I want is clear: a holy disposition shaped by the Spirit. I don’t want self-salvation through grit. I want sanctification through grace.

And in God’s providence, He placed a brother in my path—Rainer, The Devotional Guy—who blessed me with a weighty treasure that is still working itself out in me:

Practice writing in your head throughout the day.

Move through ordinary moments awake to God, learning to name what He is doing. Then, when you sit down in front of the screen, you won’t have to manufacture meaning—you’ll already have a piece of providence to offer.

Notes / Scripture References

• Romans 1:16
• Romans 5:15
• Romans 11:32
• Philippians 2:12–13
• John 15:4–5
• 2 Corinthians 3:18
• Psalm 90:17
• 1 Peter 1:6–7