Spiritual growth has not been a straight line in my life. It has been more like a roller coaster. There have been seasons of intensity and clarity, and seasons of distraction and dryness. At times I thought I was moving forward with strength and conviction. At other times I wondered whether I had stalled or quietly drifted. Yet when I look back now, I can see something I could not see then. I can see providence. I can see a steady hand guiding even when I felt uncertain. I can see that the path was not random. It was patient.

Recently I picked up one of the first Christian books I ever read, Major W. Ian Thomas’s The Saving Life of Christ. I had not opened it in decades. As I flipped through it, I found my old notes in the margins. Underlines. Question marks. Exclamation points. I could see the younger version of myself wrestling with what he was reading. What struck me was not that the book had changed. It was that I had. The words felt more alive now. I understood them at a depth I simply did not have the life experience to grasp thirty years ago. Perhaps I intellectually agreed with them back then. But agreement is not the same as lived understanding. It seems that sometimes it takes decades of failure, responsibility, heartbreak, work, fatherhood, and reflection before truth sinks below the surface.

When I step back and trace the arc of my Christian walk, I can see a kind of progression. It began with a focus on being saved. Am I forgiven? Am I secure? Where will I spend eternity? That was the central question. Then it shifted toward behavior. Am I doing the right things? Am I avoiding the wrong ones? Am I living morally? After that, doctrine became central. Am I believing the right things? Am I theologically sound? Am I defending truth accurately? None of these stages were wrong. In fact, they were necessary. But looking back, I can see that each one, when isolated, was incomplete.

“Your focus determines your reality.” – Qui‑Gon Jinn, The Phantom Menace

What has come into sharper focus in recent years is something deeper. It is not primarily about being saved, though salvation matters. It is not primarily about behavior, though obedience matters. It is not primarily about doctrine, though truth matters. It is about relationship. It is about walking with God. It is about living in conscious communion with the One who created me.

What is interesting to me is that several authors I have been reading recently are all circling this same reality from different angles. Brother Lawrence in The Practice of the Presence of God speaks of a continual awareness of God in the ordinary tasks of life. Washing dishes becomes worship. Turning an omelet becomes communion. Dallas Willard speaks of the transformation of the inner person and of living in Christ’s presence. James D. Gifford Jr., in Perichoretic Salvation, pushes even deeper, describing salvation not merely as a legal declaration but as incorporation into the life of Christ. Major Ian Thomas, decades ago, was saying that only Christ can live the Christ life, and that we must allow Him to live His life through us.

They are not contradicting one another. They are digging at the same root. Salvation is not merely rescue from punishment. It is participation in divine life. Behavior is not moral performance. It is fruit that grows out of union. Doctrine is not a checklist of propositions. It is a description of reality. Relationship is not a sentimental add on. It is the very substance of the Christian life.

If I am honest, I did not live this way thirty years ago. I may have read the words. I may have underlined the sentences. But I was focused on other things. Achievement. Responsibility. Knowledge. I assumed that relationship with the Creator would simply happen because I believed the right things. It turns out that it does not just happen. It requires attention. And attention is hard.

“Grace is not opposed to effort, it is opposed to earning.” – Dallas Willard

That may be the real battleground. Focus. Where is my attention. What fills my mind. What captures my imagination. When my focus drifts, everything fragments. When my focus returns to Christ, other things begin to align. Brother Lawrence spoke of a silent, secret conversation with God. Willard speaks of intentional formation. Gifford speaks of perichoresis, that profound word describing mutual indwelling. The Father in the Son. The Son in the Father. The Spirit in both. And through Christ, we are drawn into that communion. Not metaphorically. Not sentimentally. But truly.

Perichoresis is traditionally used to describe the inner life of the Trinity. Distinct persons, yet fully united in love and being. Gifford suggests that our union with Christ participates in that same pattern. Salvation is incorporation. Christ in me. I in Christ. This reframes everything. It moves the Christian life from transaction to transformation, from performance to participation. It is not God standing over me with a checklist. It is God drawing me into His own life.

This past year I have taken intentional steps to train my attention. During Lent I practiced fasting each week, sometimes forty eight hours, sometimes seventy two. Not as a stunt. Not as spiritual bravado. But as a way of reminding my body and mind that they are not in charge. I also made space for journaling and deeper reflection. I revisited writers often labeled as Christian mystics, a term that unfortunately turns some people away. The word has baggage. But at its heart, it simply points to experiential union with God. It does not reject doctrine. It does not abandon orthodoxy. It presses into lived communion.

The disciplines themselves are not the goal. Fasting is not the point. Journaling is not the point. Reading is not the point. They clear space. They quiet noise. They retrain desire. They teach the mind to return.

When I reflect on this progression, I wonder how common it is. From salvation to behavior to doctrine to relationship. When I read Willard, Foster, Tozer, Nouwen, and others, I see similar arcs. The journey often moves from external conformity to internal transformation. From rule following to belovedness. From argument to adoration. Even in Scripture we see this pattern. Peter moves from impulsive action to bold confession to broken restoration and love. Paul moves from legal zeal to union language such as Christ lives in me.

“There is no sweeter manner of living in the world than continuous communion with God.” – Brother Lawrence

None of the earlier stages are discarded. Salvation remains foundational. Obedience remains necessary. Doctrine remains protective. But they find their proper place when they are anchored in communion. The Christian life is not about accumulating theological data or checking moral boxes. It is about abiding. It is about remaining.

When I look at my old notes in the margins of that book from decades ago, I do not feel embarrassment. I feel gratitude. God was patient with me. He was at work even when I did not understand the depth of what I was reading. Maturity, I am learning, is not dramatic. It is often quiet. It is a gradual reordering of loves. It is the steady returning of attention. It is the slow realization that the goal was never merely to be saved, or to behave, or to believe correctly, but to live in conscious union with the living God.

Moving closer to God is not about geographic distance. It is about awareness. It is about surrender. It is about allowing Christ to live His life in and through me. Perhaps that is what maturing spiritually really means. Not arriving, but remaining.

“The one who calls you to a life of righteousness is the One who by your consent lives that life of righteousness through you.” – Major W. Ian Thomas

Excerpt

Spiritual growth has not been linear in my life. It has moved from salvation to behavior to doctrine, and finally toward relationship. What I once understood intellectually has become lived reality. Maturing spiritually is less about trying harder and more about learning to remain in conscious union with Christ.

Grace Before Thunder