This morning, on my way to the gym, I crossed over a pedestrian bridge and glanced up at a billboard. In bold letters it read, “Más De Lo Que AMAS”--“More Than What You LOVE.” The words hit me like an arrow. Almost before I realized it, I began whispering a prayer: “Lord, I love You with all my heart, my strength, my life…I love You more than the comforts…”
But as the words left my lips, I felt the Holy Spirit press back against them. And then it came—the truth God whispers that we so often try to ignore. And I had to admit, I don’t love God as I should. Too often, my heart still clings to lesser loves—approval, safety, relationships, the little comforts that make life easier. And there, above the middle of the street, I felt the undeniable presence of conviction.
When I arrived home later, the Spirit’s prompting didn’t let me shake off that moment. He pressed the deeper truth: Jesus never called us to be “respectable” Christians—people who attend services, live moral lives, and occasionally mention His name. I knew what He was getting at: To love the Lord is to live as He demands—He called us to be disciples. And discipleship is not about convenience. Discipleship is about surrender.
Living as a disciple doesn’t begin when you’re given a title or a platform. It starts the moment you’re willing to surrender the life you planned for yourself. It begins the day you give up your right to be comfortable. Think of Peter, James, and John: they weren’t meditating in a synagogue when Jesus called them. They were working, building their family businesses, mending nets. And then, suddenly, their lives were interrupted by Jesus’ words: “Follow Me.” It wasn’t scheduled. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t easy. And it never is.
To love Jesus is to follow Him—and following Him means trading your own plans for His purpose. It means leaving behind what feels secure and stepping into what seems impossible. A disciple isn’t defined by who you preach but by Whom you follow.
A.W. Tozer once wrote:
“The call of God is not a call to comfort. It is a call to purpose, a call to suffering, a call to change the world, starting with yourself.”
Our world conditions us daily into craving comfort. Most Americans have climate-controlled homes, padded chairs, instant Wi-Fi, microwaves, and stable routines. None of these are evil in themselves. But over time, comfort whispers a lie—that life should always be easy, that following God should never cost us. And when that lie shapes our choices, comfort becomes a shackle. Jesus never promised us ease; He promised us a cross. And a cross is not a necklace around your neck—it is where we nail our comfort, plans, and pride to Him each day.
What if Peter had clung to his nets? We would never know his name. If Matthew had stayed at his tax booth, he would have died wealthy but empty. If Paul had chosen the safety of silence, the gospel would not have shaken the Roman Empire. The story of God’s people has never been written by those who chose comfort—it has always been written by those who said “yes” when it cost them everything.
And here is the miracle: in losing everything, they gained everything. They found the treasure in the field, the pearl of great price, the joy of an abundant life abandoned to Christ. That was the whisper I heard on that bridge. The Spirit wasn’t condemning me; He was inviting me: Inviting me to love God more than what I love.
Friend, you and I both have nets to drop. For one person, it may be an obsession with approval. For another, a relationship clutched tighter than Christ. For someone else, the idol of reputation, a savings account, or a plan for the future that feels safer than obedience. Whatever it is, the Spirit of God is standing in our path, asking us the same piercing question Jesus once asked Peter: “Do you love Me more than these?”
That billboard read: Más De Lo Que AMAS. God used it to cut me open. Maybe He is using these words right now to cut into you. Christ doesn’t want half, 80%, or 98% of our hearts—He wants all of it. Not to rob us, but to free us. Only in giving all do we receive all.
So let us love Christ more than what we love. Let us follow Christ when it costs, when it hurts, when it strips us bare. For in that surrender there is freedom, and in that cross, there is joy.
When history is written, let it not be said of you and me that we clung to our nets. Let it be said that we dropped them—because we found in Christ something more than what we loved.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
But as the words left my lips, I felt the Holy Spirit press back against them. And then it came—the truth God whispers that we so often try to ignore. And I had to admit, I don’t love God as I should. Too often, my heart still clings to lesser loves—approval, safety, relationships, the little comforts that make life easier. And there, above the middle of the street, I felt the undeniable presence of conviction.
When I arrived home later, the Spirit’s prompting didn’t let me shake off that moment. He pressed the deeper truth: Jesus never called us to be “respectable” Christians—people who attend services, live moral lives, and occasionally mention His name. I knew what He was getting at: To love the Lord is to live as He demands—He called us to be disciples. And discipleship is not about convenience. Discipleship is about surrender.
Living as a disciple doesn’t begin when you’re given a title or a platform. It starts the moment you’re willing to surrender the life you planned for yourself. It begins the day you give up your right to be comfortable. Think of Peter, James, and John: they weren’t meditating in a synagogue when Jesus called them. They were working, building their family businesses, mending nets. And then, suddenly, their lives were interrupted by Jesus’ words: “Follow Me.” It wasn’t scheduled. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t easy. And it never is.
To love Jesus is to follow Him—and following Him means trading your own plans for His purpose. It means leaving behind what feels secure and stepping into what seems impossible. A disciple isn’t defined by who you preach but by Whom you follow.
A.W. Tozer once wrote:
“The call of God is not a call to comfort. It is a call to purpose, a call to suffering, a call to change the world, starting with yourself.”
Our world conditions us daily into craving comfort. Most Americans have climate-controlled homes, padded chairs, instant Wi-Fi, microwaves, and stable routines. None of these are evil in themselves. But over time, comfort whispers a lie—that life should always be easy, that following God should never cost us. And when that lie shapes our choices, comfort becomes a shackle. Jesus never promised us ease; He promised us a cross. And a cross is not a necklace around your neck—it is where we nail our comfort, plans, and pride to Him each day.
What if Peter had clung to his nets? We would never know his name. If Matthew had stayed at his tax booth, he would have died wealthy but empty. If Paul had chosen the safety of silence, the gospel would not have shaken the Roman Empire. The story of God’s people has never been written by those who chose comfort—it has always been written by those who said “yes” when it cost them everything.
And here is the miracle: in losing everything, they gained everything. They found the treasure in the field, the pearl of great price, the joy of an abundant life abandoned to Christ. That was the whisper I heard on that bridge. The Spirit wasn’t condemning me; He was inviting me: Inviting me to love God more than what I love.
Friend, you and I both have nets to drop. For one person, it may be an obsession with approval. For another, a relationship clutched tighter than Christ. For someone else, the idol of reputation, a savings account, or a plan for the future that feels safer than obedience. Whatever it is, the Spirit of God is standing in our path, asking us the same piercing question Jesus once asked Peter: “Do you love Me more than these?”
That billboard read: Más De Lo Que AMAS. God used it to cut me open. Maybe He is using these words right now to cut into you. Christ doesn’t want half, 80%, or 98% of our hearts—He wants all of it. Not to rob us, but to free us. Only in giving all do we receive all.
So let us love Christ more than what we love. Let us follow Christ when it costs, when it hurts, when it strips us bare. For in that surrender there is freedom, and in that cross, there is joy.
When history is written, let it not be said of you and me that we clung to our nets. Let it be said that we dropped them—because we found in Christ something more than what we loved.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
