True Enough

Lately, I’ve been thinking about a phrase that shows up everywhere.
In culture. In relationships. Even in Christian spaces.

“My truth.”

When I hear it, it’s like nails on a chalkboard for me.

I understand what people usually mean. They’re talking about their experience. Their perspective. Their side of a situation. And those things matter. But somewhere along the way, we started using that phrase as if truth itself is personal, flexible, or owned.

And it isn’t.

Perspective isn’t the same thing as truth. Experience isn’t the same thing as truth. And when we blur those lines, everything gets muddy very quickly.

I’ve seen how easily this happens in everyday life. Something doesn’t go the way we expect. A moment feels off. Someone doesn’t show up the way we thought they would. And instead of asking questions, we fill in the blanks. We tell ourselves a story about why it happened. What it meant. What it says about them or about us.

Over time, that story starts to feel so convincing that we defend it as objective fact. We repeat it. Build conclusions on top of it. Until eventually, we stop calling it a perspective at all. We call it truth.

And here’s what makes that dangerous. We don’t just live based on these stories. We make decisions from them. We advise others from them. We interpret circumstances through them. All while believing we’re standing on something solid.

And the thing is, we don’t just do this with people.

We do this with God.

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When we don’t understand what He’s doing, we fill in the blanks. When He doesn’t act the way we expect, we assign meaning anyway. We tell ourselves stories about His intentions, His motives, and His heart toward us.

Scripture is surprisingly honest about this tendency.

“I spoke about things I did not understand, things too wondrous for me to know.”
(Job 42:3, CSB)

In this part of the story, Job wasn’t rebuked for asking questions. He was corrected for speaking beyond what he actually knew. For confusing closeness to God with comprehension of Him.

And the Word draws a clear boundary around that impulse.

“The hidden things belong to the Lord our God, but the revealed things belong to us.”
(Deuteronomy 29:29, CSB)

That distinction matters.

When we move past what God has revealed and start explaining what He hasn’t, we don’t just misunderstand Him. We speak for Him. We assign meaning where God has not spoken. We apply pieces of Scripture instead of submitting ourselves to the whole counsel of it. And slowly, without realizing it, our interpretations begin to sound like truth.

And this is when things start to blur.

Because we don’t just do this individually. We do it collectively. We affirm one another’s assumptions. We echo one another’s certainty. Until something that started as a perspective quietly becomes “what Christians believe.”

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I’m reminded of this often when I listen to sermons, podcasts, or read forms of Christian content. Especially now, when there is so much of it everywhere.

What starts to feel off, if I’m paying attention, is usually the same thing. Scripture isn’t really present. And if it is, it’s used to support a point that’s already been decided, rather than shaping the message from the ground up.

It centers on us, our purpose, our clarity, and sense of direction. All of it framed in spiritual language. All of it sounding good, relatable, and encouraging. And none of it is necessarily wrong.

That’s what makes it so tricky.

Something can be close to the truth without actually being true. Like a compass that’s only a few degrees off. At first, everything seems fine. You’re still moving forward. The direction feels right. But over time, that small misalignment carries you somewhere you never intended to go.

That’s often how Christian content goes off course too. It doesn’t reject Scripture outright. It just doesn’t let Scripture set the direction. It’s affirming, emotionally-compelling, and even helpful. But the center of gravity slowly shifts from what God has revealed to what resonates most.

But not everything that resonates is rooted.
Not everything that stirs us should shape us.

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Deception often comes dressed as something respectable. Paul warned the church about that directly.

“For such people are false apostles, deceitful workers, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder! Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”
(2 Corinthians 11:13–14, CSB)

That’s how distortion works. Not through outright lies, but through partial truth. Through selective Scripture.

And that’s why the Word warns us about speaking beyond what God has revealed.

“Every word of God is pure; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him. Don’t add to his words, or he will rebuke you, and you will be proved a liar.” (Proverbs 30:5–6, CSB)

This isn’t just about adding verses to the Bible. It’s about the quieter ways we add to what God has said. When we take a passage out of its context and turn it into a personal guarantee. When we use Scripture to validate decisions we’ve already made. We layer our interpretations, preferences, and assumptions on top of what God has actually said, and then treat the result as authoritative.

Over time, those small additions shape everything. How we hear God. How we explain His silence. How we interpret His actions. And before we realize it, we’re no longer submitting ourselves to the truth. We’re asking the truth to submit to us.

So how do we guard against that?

We test what we hear. Not cynically. Not to pick people apart. But because we want to walk in truth.

Scripture calls that noble.

“Now these were more noble-minded than those in Thessalonica, since they received the word with eagerness and examined the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.” (Acts 17:11, CSB)

And we can test with confidence because we’re not doing it alone. Jesus said the Spirit would lead us into all truth.

“When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth. For He will not speak on His own, but He will speak whatever He hears. He will also declare to you what is to come.” (John 16:13, CSB)

Not truth that merely sounds right.
Not truth that aligns neatly with our expectations.
All truth.

Which means we have to be willing to test what we hear, even when it comes from Christian spaces. Even when it resonates. Even when it’s popular. Even when it’s said with confidence.

A few questions to help:

• Is this supported by Scripture, or just a few isolated verses?

• Does this align with God’s character as He has revealed Himself throughout the Word?

• Does this lead me toward dependence on God, or deeper confidence in myself?

Asking these questions protects your faith.

Because true enough isn’t the same as true.

And when it comes to truth, yours and mine don’t count.

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Guided Practice

Reflect.
Where have you been tempted to treat perspective, feeling, or resonance as truth?
What voices have you trusted simply because they sounded familiar or spiritual?

Write.

Write about a time when something felt right but later proved to be incomplete or ungrounded. What made it convincing at the time?

Pray.
God, I want to know You as You actually are, not as I’ve imagined You to be. Show me where I’ve been trusting voices more than I’ve been trusting Your Word. Teach me to love truth more than affirmation. Holy Spirit, help me test what I hear and cling to what is true. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Return.
This week, think back to something you’ve heard or read recently.
A sermon. A podcast. A devotional. A message that stayed with you.

What made it compelling?What assumptions did it reinforce?
What did it quietly leave unchallenged?

You don’t have to decide anything right away. Just notice.

Formation happens whether we’re paying attention or not.