— Pastor Bruce Mitchell
Spiritual awakening happens when we stop chasing our dreams and let Christ find us. For years, I searched for wholeness in achievement, applause, and ambition. But every dream I caught slipped through my fingers—beautiful, but empty. Then Jesus came. Not in thunder, but like morning light. He didn’t ask me to perform. He asked me to rest. To be found. Now I walk in light I didn’t earn, held by grace I couldn’t achieve. The dream faded, but the Light remains—and He is in it.
“For God, who said, ‘Let there be light in the darkness,’ has made this light shine in our hearts so we could know the glory of God that is displayed in the face of Jesus Christ.”
—2 Corinthians 4:6 (NLT)
The Ache We All Know
There’s a restlessness in the human heart that no achievement can silence, no applause can satisfy, no success can settle. You know it, don’t you? That feeling that something more is out there—just beyond reach, just past the horizon, just one more effort away.
We dream.
We chase.
We build altars to our ambitions and call them faith.
But what if the very restlessness we’ve been trying to silence is actually God’s invitation? What if the ache isn’t the problem—but the pathway?
The Scriptures tell us plainly: “He has set eternity in the human heart” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). That holy discontent, that soul-deep thirst, that midnight longing for something beyond what this world can offer—it’s not a flaw in your design. It’s a feature. You were made to dream of more because you were made for more.
But here’s the truth we often miss in our pursuit: the dream itself was never meant to be the destination. It was meant to lead us to the Dreamer.
When Dreams Become Distractions
I’ve spent years in ministry walking alongside beautiful, broken people who’ve given everything to their dreams. Some chased significance. Others chased success. Some just wanted to feel whole—to fix the cracks, polish the edges, and finally be enough.
And let me tell you something with the tenderness of Someone who’s been there: those dreams will exhaust you.
Not because they’re evil. Not because ambition is wrong. But because even our holiest aspirations, when they replace intimacy with Jesus, become another form of wandering.
The Psalmist knew this ache: “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God” (Psalm 42:1). Notice the imagery here—this isn’t casual thirst. This is desperation. The deer isn’t browsing; it’s panting. Its very survival depends on finding water.
Your soul knows that kind of thirst.
You’ve tried to quench it with progress, haven’t you? With productivity. By proving yourself. With one more project, one more promotion, one more attempt to become the person you think God wants you to be.
But the thirst remains.
Because what your soul is crying out for isn’t something—it’s Someone.
And until we understand that, we’ll keep running toward mirages in the desert, wondering why we’re still parched after we arrive.
The Light That Finds Us
Let me take you back to the beginning. Not your beginning—the beginning.
“For God, who said, ‘Let there be light in the darkness,’ has made this light shine in our hearts so we could know the glory of God that is displayed in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6).
Paul is doing something profound here. He’s connecting the first moment of creation—when God spoke Light into the void—with the most intimate work of redemption: the Light He speaks into our void.
Think about that first creative act. There was nothing. Darkness. Chaos. Formlessness. And into that absolute emptiness, God spoke: “Let there be light.”
He didn’t ask the darkness to cooperate.
He didn’t negotiate with the void.
He spoke—and Light came.
That same God, Paul says, has done the same thing in your heart.
You didn’t earn it. You didn’t achieve it. You didn’t dream hard enough, perform well enough, or pray long enough. God spoke—and Light came.
The Light of the knowledge of God’s glory.
The Light that reveals Jesus.
The Light that doesn’t just illuminate your path—it transforms your seeing.
This is the great awakening: when you stop chasing shadows and realize the Light has been chasing you.
A Story of Surrender
Let me share something personal with you—a memory that still marks me.
Once I Had a Dream
I used to dream of being whole.
Not holy—just whole.
I thought that if I could fix the cracks, polish the edges, and capture the right Light, I’d finally feel at peace.
I dreamed of applause.
Of being seen.
Of being enough.
But the dream kept slipping.
Even when I caught it, it didn’t hold me.
It was like chasing mist—beautiful, but empty.
Then Jesus came.
Not in thunder. Not in triumph.
He came like morning light—quiet, steady, kind.
He didn’t ask me to wake up and perform.
He asked me to rest.
To let go.
To be found.
And I did.
I let the dream die.
And in its place, I found something better—
Not a fantasy, but a Friend.
Not a spotlight, but a Shepherd.
Now I walk in the Light I didn’t earn.
I’m still cracked. Still learning.
But I’m held.
Do you see what happened there? The dream didn’t just fade—it was replaced. Not with emptiness, but with fullness. Not with less, but with more. Not with resignation, but with awakening.
Paul understood this. Listen to his words:
“I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Philippians 3:8).
Everything. A. Loss.
Not because those things were worthless, but because Christ is worth infinitely more.
When the Light of Jesus truly dawns in your heart, everything else dims. Not because life loses its beauty, but because you finally see what beauty was always pointing toward.
The dream fades.
The Light remains.
And He is in it.
The Invitation to Stop Striving
Here’s what I’ve learned after decades of walking with Jesus and shepherding others on this journey: most of us are exhausted not because we’re doing too little, but because we’re trying too hard to do what only grace can accomplish.
We’re still trying to become what Christ has already declared us to be.
We’re still trying to earn what He freely gave at the cross.
We’re still trying to prove what His resurrection already validated.
And Friend, it’s killing us.
Jesus said,
“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).
Never walk in darkness.
Not “might not walk in darkness if you try hard enough.”
Not “will occasionally stumble into light if you pray the right prayers.”
But never walk in darkness.
Why? Because following Jesus isn’t about achieving enlightenment—it’s about walking with the Light Himself.
You don’t have to become the Light. You have to walk with the Light.
There’s a profound difference.
One is performance. The other is presence.
One is striving. The other is surrender.
One leaves you exhausted. The other leaves you held.
When New Creation Replaces Old Ambition
Paul gives us this stunning promise:
“If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2 Corinthians 5:17).
New creation.
Not an improved version. Not a slightly better model. Not “you, but with more spiritual disciplines.”
New creation.
And here’s what makes this so radical: new creation doesn’t happen because you stopped dreaming. It happens because you started seeing.
When the Light of Christ shines in your heart, you begin to see:
- That your worth was never tied to your performance
- That your identity is rooted in His finished work, not your ongoing effort
- That rest isn’t laziness—it’s trust
- That surrender isn’t giving up—it’s finally receiving what you could never achieve
The old has gone. The restless striving. The anxious proving. The midnight fear that you’re not enough, you’ll never be enough, you can’t sustain enough.
Gone.
Not because you conquered it, but because Christ completed it.
And the news is here. A life marked not by what you accomplish, but by Whose you are. A walk defined not by your ability to create Light, but by your willingness to follow the One who is Light.
The Peace That Settles the Restless Heart
Isaiah gives us a promise that the restless soul desperately needs to hear: “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you” (Isaiah 26:3).
Perfect peace.
Not partial. Not temporary. Not “peace, with an asterisk and twenty conditions.”
Perfect peace.
And notice what produces it: not perfect behavior, but steadfast trust. Not a flawless performance, but it has fixed focus.
The Hebrew word for “perfect peace” is actually shalom shalom—peace repeated, peace doubled, peace so complete it has to be said twice. It’s the kind of peace that settles every restless part of you. The peace that doesn’t just calm your anxiety but transforms your seeing.
This is what happens when the wanderer finally stops wandering.
Not because the journey is over, but because you realize you’ve been found. Not because every question is answered, but because you know the One who holds every answer. Not because life suddenly becomes easy, but because you’re no longer walking it alone.
The restless Dreamer becomes a rooted disciple.
And here’s the beautiful mystery: you don’t lose your passion when this happens. You don’t become less alive, less engaged, less purposeful.
You become more.
But now your dreams flow from rest, not restlessness. Your purpose flows from identity, not insecurity. Your work flows from worship, not worthlessness.
Everything changes when the Light comes.
Walking in the Light You Didn’t Earn
Let me tell you what this looks like practically, because theology that doesn’t touch Monday morning isn’t really theology—it’s just religious philosophy.
Walking in the Light you didn’t earn means:
You stop performing for God and start communing with Him.
Prayer isn’t a duty—it’s a conversation with the One who already delights in you. Bible reading isn’t a checklist—it’s a love letter from the One who knows you fully and loves you completely. Worship isn’t something you do to earn His attention—it’s your response to the attention He’s already given.
You embrace the cracks instead of hiding them.
You were never meant to be flawless. You were meant to be faithful. And faithfulness doesn’t mean perfection—it means showing up, cracked jar and all, and letting His Light shine through the broken places.
Paul understood this:
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Corinthians 4:7).
The cracks aren’t the problem. The cracks are where the Light gets out.
You release the illusion that you have to have it all figured out.
Mystery isn’t the enemy of faith—it’s often the doorway to deeper intimacy. You don’t have to understand everything about God to trust Him completely. You don’t have to have every answer to follow Him faithfully.
You let your life become a response to grace, not a resume for approval.
Everything you do flows from who you already are in Christ, not from who you’re trying to become. Your service isn’t to earn love—it’s the overflow of love already received. Your obedience isn’t to prove yourself—it’s to protect the intimacy you’ve been given.
This is what it means to walk in the Light.
Not perfectly. Not flawlessly. But freely.
The Dream That Doesn’t Fade
Here’s what I want you to hear, and I mean this with every fiber of pastoral love in my being:
The dream you’ve been chasing? The One that keeps slipping? The One that exhausts you even when you catch it?
It was never meant to hold you.
He was.
Jesus didn’t come to fix your dreams. He came to replace them with something better—Himself.
Not the idea of Him. Not the theology about Him. Not the religious performance for Him.
But Him. The actual, living, breathing, resurrected Jesus who spoke Light into darkness and now wants to walk with you in that Light every single day.
The dream fades.
The Light remains.
And He is in it.
This is the great awakening: realizing that every restless night, every unfulfilled ambition, every midnight longing was actually your soul crying out for the only One who can satisfy.
Not the dream.
The Dreamer.
Not the destination.
The Guide.
Not the Light you chase.
The Light who found you.
Reflection Questions
Take a moment. Don’t rush this. Let these questions settle into the quiet spaces of your heart:
- What dreams have I been chasing that were never meant to hold me? Be specific. Name them. Not to shame yourself, but to release them. What have you been trying to accomplish, achieve, or become that’s left you exhausted rather than fulfilled?
- Where do I need to stop striving and start surrendering? What areas of your life are still operating under performance-based acceptance rather than grace-based identity? Where are you still trying to earn what Christ has already given?
- What does it mean for me personally to be found—not fixed? How would your life look different if you believed you’re already complete in Christ, cracks and all? What would change if you truly embraced that you don’t have to achieve wholeness—you have to receive it?
An Action Step: Let Yourself Be Found
Today, I won’t be giving you a long list of spiritual disciplines to master or habits to develop. That’s not what this moment calls for.
Instead, I’m inviting you to something far more radical: rest.
Take a quiet moment—not to chase a dream, but to rest in the One who dreamed of you first.
No journal. No checklist. Just presence.
Sit with Jesus.
Let Him speak into the places you’ve tried to fix, perform, or forget.
Let the Light in.
Let grace do what effort never could.
Because the dream was never the destination.
He is.
Maybe that means sitting in silence for ten minutes with your hands open—literally, physically open—as a posture of receiving. Perhaps it means taking a walk without your phone and simply talking to Jesus like the Friend He is. Maybe it means going to bed tonight without reviewing your failures or planning tomorrow’s victories, but instead whispering, “Thank You for finding me.”
Whatever it looks like for you, do this: stop trying to become and start being.
Be present. Be honest. Be found.
The Light is already there. You don’t have to create it. You have to stop running from it.
A Prayer for the Wandering Heart
Come as you are. Not as you think you should be. Not as you hope to become. As you are—right now, right here, in this moment.
Lord,
I’ve chased dreams that didn’t hold me.
I’ve searched for peace in places that couldn’t give it.
I’ve tried to fix myself, prove myself, perfect myself—and I’m exhausted.
But You—You met me in the middle of my mess.
You didn’t ask me to be perfect. You asked me to be present.
So here I am.
Cracks and all. Dreams and all. Exhaustion and all.
Let Your Light shine in the places I’ve hidden.
Let Your grace rewrite the story I thought I had to finish alone.
Teach me what it means to be found, not fixed.
Please show me how to walk in the Light I didn’t earn.
Help me release the illusion that I have to become something before I can rest in who You say I am.
I’m tired of wandering, Jesus.
*Not tired of seeking—but tired of searching alone.
So I’m letting go. Right now. Right here.
Not because I’ve figured it out, but because you have.
The dream fades, but the Light remains—and You are in it.
Thank You for speaking Light into my darkness.
Thank you for finding me when I was too tired to keep searching.
Thank You for being not just the answer to my dreams, but something infinitely better—my reality, my rest, my Redeemer.
In Your precious name,
Amen.
One Sentence to Carry With You
The dream was never the destination—He is.
A Closing Word
If you’ve read this far, thank you. My heart is in every word, reflecting the love and grace of Christ—not just in theology, but in relationship. I write not to impress, but to embrace.
I pray that something here has reminded you: you are not alone, and you are deeply loved.
You don’t have to keep chasing what you already have.
You don’t have to keep proving what’s already been declared.
You don’t have to keep wandering when you’ve already been found.
The Light came. He spoke your name. And now, He’s asking you to walk with Him—not perfectly, but faithfully. Not flawlessly, but freely.
This is where wandering ends and worship begins.
Not when you’ve arrived.
Not when you’ve achieved.
But when you finally stop running and let yourself be held.
Grace. Always grace.
With love, prayer, and expectancy,
Pastor Bruce Mitchell
A voice of love & grace—always grace
Bruce@allelon.us
allelon.us
“Most important of all, continue to show deep love for each other, for love conceals a multitude of sins.” —1 Peter 4:8
Acknowledgment of Influence:
This devotional was inspired by themes found in the song “Once I Had a Dream.” Performed by Mustard Seed Faith, the heart of that song—where dreams end and divine love begins—deeply resonates with the call to surrender our illusions and receive the Light of Christ.
“Once I Had a Dream” was written by Lewis McVay, a member of Mustard Seed Faith during their 1975 Sail On Sailor album era.
McVay contributed vocals, drums, and acoustic guitar, and his songwriting helped shape the band’s reflective, grace-centered sound. The song carries his signature blend of vulnerability and spiritual awakening—hallmarks of the Jesus Movement’s musical legacy.
Listen to “Once I Had a Dream”:
