The river looked calm from the shore. Its glassy surface glimmered under the sunlight, and the air was thick with the smell of wet earth and life. You would think it was harmless—a place for wading, for cooling your feet, for letting the world’s noise drift away in the sound of rushing water.
But step in far enough, and you learn the truth. Beneath its stillness, there was a war. The current split in two, each side tugging in its own way. One side was steady and patient, drawing you toward a wide, open stretch where the water seemed to meet the sky. The other was fierce and unrelenting, dragging you toward a hidden bend where the river’s voice turned violent, making your heart pound as if you were standing at the edge of something that wanted to devour you whole.
There is such a river in the soul of every believer. Two currents within one soul—which way will you go?
At first, you think you can stand your ground—plant your feet, lean into what you know is right, and resist. But the river laughed at your pride. You drift. You sway. One moment you lean toward life; the next, you’re pulled toward ruin. The more you fight in your own strength, the more your strength burns away.
This is the daily reality of the Christian life. Every day, you might stand in waters that pull both ways. One current carries you toward life, toward true freedom—you can feel the pull of the Spirit, steady and sure, carrying you toward the ocean of grace. It is “the river whose streams make glad the city of God” (Psalm 46:4), the living water Jesus promised in John 7:38 that would flow from within those who believe in Him; the other pulls the opposite way—toward a waterfall of ruin. It is the current of sin and the flesh, “the desires of the body and the mind” (Ephesians 2:3), offering pleasure that conceals destruction. It may look thrilling, effortless, even beautiful—yet Proverbs 14:12 warns us: “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death.” And you know the truth: the rocks at the bottom are jagged, and the plunge will shatter you.
Maybe you’ve felt it—making progress with God one day, only to find yourself swept back into the very mess you thought you left behind. A part of you longs to surrender to grace, to let the water carry you where mercy runs deep. Yet another part clings to the drag of ruin, to the familiar pull of habits and dwelling in the shadows that feel like home even as they lead to destruction.
Here you stand—caught in between, as Paul describes in Romans 7:15: “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Your muscles ache from resisting; your soul aches from longing for spiritual security. You want the ocean, yet the undertow of sin feels familiar, almost comfortable.
This is the war within—the flesh against the Spirit—just as Galatians 5:17 says: “For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh… to keep you from doing the things you want to do.”
The battle is real, and the pull is constant. The Spirit urges you toward life; the flesh lures you toward destruction. But here this: your struggle is not proof of God’s absence, but of His presence. Dead hearts drift without resistance; living hearts fight because the Spirit within them is alive.
The only danger lies in believing that your own strength will win this fight—that if you just paddle harder, memorize more verses, or grit your teeth, you can overpower the current. But the truth is sobering: “Apart from Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Left to ourselves, the waterfall’s pull is stronger than our will. But there is One who “reaches down from on high and takes hold” of us, who “draws us out of deep waters” (Psalm 18:16). When you are too weak to stand, He carries you.
Yes, the fight will last as long as you live in this body. Sanctification is not the absence of struggle but the increasing victory of the Spirit over the flesh. But your hope is not in how well you fight—it is in the One who has already won.
So when you feel the pull of both currents today, don’t rely on your own strength. Cry out with Paul, “Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24–25). Fix your eyes on “Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2). Let His Word be your anchor, His Spirit your power, and His grace your safe shore.
