The Struggle Is Real
The Struggle Is Real—But So Is Grace
Last year around this time, I was clocking 20,000 steps a day, prepping for a Sabbatical Camino—fully immersed in training and hopeful that my body could handle the miles ahead. Fast forward a year, and… let’s just say, I’m no longer in “Camino shape.” In fact, according to a certain president’s doctor, I weigh the same as him—and he’s taller! Where do I sign up for that medical plan?
Life is like that, isn’t it? We know what’s good for us. We make plans to wake up early for prayer, to eat better, to speak more gently to our kids, to avoid the ice cream shop (especially when your daughter works at Sargent Sundae!). But somehow, our intentions don’t always line up with our actions.
Chances are, you’ve felt that same tug-of-war. You set the alarm for a morning devotion—then somehow hit snooze until it’s time for work. You resolve to parent with patience, only to end up in tears over spilled cereal and an escaped dog before 8 a.m. You promise to live generously, only to find yourself clinging to comfort.
The struggle is real.
That phrase—often used as a meme or a joke—might as well have been coined by the Apostle Paul. In Romans 7, he gives us a raw, relatable look at the internal battle we all face.
“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”
—Romans 7:15 (NIV)
Even Paul, a spiritual giant, admits he doesn’t always do the good he desires. He confesses that sin still lives in him. Not past tense. Present. Paul, the church planter, missionary, and writer of nearly half the New Testament, still wrestled with doing the right thing.
And maybe that’s the most comforting thing we can hear today: Even Paul struggled. You’re not broken beyond repair. You’re not a failure because you mess up. You’re human.
Like a mirror that reveals a smudge but can’t wipe it away, the law shows us our flaws—it doesn’t fix them. Paul writes that the law is holy and good, but it can’t save us. Trying to follow every rule perfectly doesn’t lead to freedom; it often leads to frustration.
But here’s the turning point:
“What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?
Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!”
—Romans 7:24–25 (NIV)
Paul doesn’t point to his own effort. He points to Jesus.
When we admit our struggle, we’re not giving up—we’re making space for grace. Because grace, not willpower, is what transforms us.
This brings to mind the old story of the two wolves—a tale of inner conflict. One wolf is anger, envy, pride. The other is peace, kindness, humility. Which one wins? The one you feed.
Paul echoes this in Philippians when he says he’s pressing on—not because he’s already perfect, but because Christ took hold of him (Philippians 3:12). He’s not relying on his past credentials or law-following skills. He’s trusting in the righteousness that comes through faith in Jesus.
So where does this leave us?
First—be honest about your struggle.
There’s freedom in confession. The Church is not a museum of perfection but a hospital for the broken. Find safe people. Share your story. Don’t hide behind a mask of “I’m fine.” If Paul could say it, so can we.
Second—feed your spirit.
What we consume matters. Fill your mind with what is good, true, and life-giving. Touch grass. Turn off the noise. Worship. Reflect on Scripture. Let the Spirit train your spiritual muscles for the daily battle.
Finally—trust the process.
Sanctification isn’t instant. You’re in process, not perfection. As Paul reminds us in Philippians 1:6:
“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”
God hasn’t given up on you. He’s still working. Still shaping. Still calling you to more.
So the next time you find yourself saying, “Why did I do that again?”—remember, that’s not the end of your story.
The struggle is real. But grace is greater than the struggle.
The Spirit is stronger than your weakness.
And Jesus is enough.
Let this be your invitation:
Don’t give up. Don’t go silent. Don’t pretend you’ve arrived.
Instead, lean into grace.
Feed the right wolf.
Keep pressing forward.
Because the One who took hold of you isn’t letting go.