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Desires are not inherently sinful. They often begin as good gifts—yearnings for love, respect, intimacy, connection. But when those longings become demands—things we feel we must have in order to be okay—they subtly shift into something far more dangerous. Our desires take center stage, and slowly, without fanfare, they become our functional gods. This exchange is how idolatry often works. It rarely comes with a golden calf. It comes in the shape of expectations: “She must love me like this.” “He should talk to me that way.” “I just want to feel seen.” These desires, once elevated, begin to control our minds, then, emotions, and dictate our behavior. When unmet, we feel anger, resentment, despair—or panic. When met, we feel temporarily satisfied, even justified. But always, the center of gravity is us.
To illustrate how easily this shift happens, let me introduce you to Brice. Brice was looking for something that all of us crave in some form—significance. He wanted to matter. He wanted to feel like someone valued him, respected him, chose him. But instead of processing this desire through a God-centered framework, Brice allowed it to dominate him. He looked to his marriage as the means of validation. And when things didn’t go his way, his fragile sense of worth began to fracture.
Brice grew up in a quiet, rural environment. His early years were shaped not by nurturing or encouragement but by mere survival. His parents rarely spoke with warmth or affection, and their constant discord created a tense, uncertain atmosphere. His home wasn’t a place of peace; it was a place to endure. With minimal attention given to his mental or spiritual development, he drifted through childhood with no clear sense of purpose or value. His education suffered because his parents showed little interest in his schooling. They neither supported his learning nor helped him envision a life beyond the limitations of their circumstances. By the time he reached adulthood, he was only moderately literate and had no real skills, dreams, or direction.
Eager to escape the dysfunction of his home, he married at a young age, believing that starting a family would bring him the stability and significance he had long craved. For a brief season, this new life seemed promising. Then he encountered Jesus Christ. He was genuinely converted, and for the first time, his life had spiritual meaning. The local church took notice of his sincerity and hunger for the Word. They encouraged him to share, to serve, and eventually to teach. These affirmations ignited a fire within him. This new season was new ground. He had never been affirmed, encouraged, or entrusted with a leadership role.
Soon after, he received an opportunity to attend a Bible school. What a joy! The structure of learning, the morality of his new community, and the love of God’s people gave him a life he had never imagined. Clean living. Clear direction. An environment marked by kindness and shared vision. He had longed for these things, and now they were his. He was, in his own words, “finally becoming someone.” For the first time, he felt alive. He described his experiences in terms of ministry, but underneath was something deeper—an intense craving for significance. He thought he had found it, and on the surface, his story appeared to be a transformation.
However, beneath this spiritual veneer was a heart still guided by self-centered motivations. His “ministry” had become more than service; it had become the very thing that gave him identity. His desire for meaning and value, shaped by years of neglect and insignificance, was now being met, but not by God alone. His service to God was being used unknowingly as a means to fill a self-interpreted emotional void. And like any idol, this pursuit demanded more and more of him.
His home life began to suffer. His wife—already navigating her own challenges—was becoming increasingly invisible to him. He did not abuse her with his hands, but offended her with his neglect. Her heart grew weary from being overlooked, emotionally dismissed, and relationally abandoned. When she voiced concerns, he dismissed her. He had no room for criticism—this ministry was how he found meaning, and anyone who questioned it, even lovingly, became a threat. Slowly, his affections hardened, his tone sharpened, and his presence at home diminished.
He felt disrespected and criticized by the one person he most wanted to affirm him—his wife. When she didn’t give him the admiration he was receiving at church, his frustration grew. He responded by becoming manipulative and harsh, using Scripture not as a balm but as a weapon. He sought to force change rather than love through service. In time, his anger and control escalated. He couldn’t name it, but the truth was clear: he believed he needed to feel significant, and his wife’s refusal to play into that belief became intolerable. Eventually, she could bear no more and left.
His story is not unique. It is a sobering example of how good things—like ministry and biblical learning—can become soul-damaging idols when pursued with man-centered motives. The need for meaning and significance, when not rooted in Christ and His finished work, becomes a destructive force, even in the most religious of settings.
At the heart of this young man’s failure was his perspective. He was trying to interpret the world—God’s world—through a lens that prioritized his happiness, his desires, and his spiritual fulfillment. He saw marriage, ministry, and even God as tools to secure the life he believed he deserved. His theology was correct in many areas, but his worldview was still man-centered. His expectations were not anchored in God’s purposes but in a hidden belief that life should serve his need for peace, affirmation, and personal success. While none of these desires are inherently sinful, they become dangerous when they rule us. What this young man lacked was the humility to see life through God’s lens. A God-centered worldview recognizes that we were not created to have our needs met but to glorify our Creator. When desires become demands, and demands become needs, they begin to define us, and eventually, control us.
Let’s imagine the contrast. Picture yourself standing in the middle of a wheat field. You feel the breeze on your face. You hear birds singing and see the golden heads of grain swaying in the wind. Everything is vibrant, full of life, close, and real. This view is how we often interpret life—up close, personal, and through the lens of our immediate experience. Now imagine being transported thousands of miles above the Earth, nearer the sun. From this vantage point, the wheat field disappears. You no longer see the birds or feel the breeze. The grandeur of space consumes your perspective, the curve of the earth, and the immensity of God’s creation.
What once seemed so large and important becomes minuscule from this distance. This shift in perspective highlights the distinction between interpreting life from a man-centered perspective and a God-centered one. From God’s vantage point, the meaning of life is not in our pleasure but in His purpose. The trials, disappointments, and relational struggles we experience in marriage are not evidence of divine neglect; they are tools in the hands of a sovereign God, shaping us into the image of His Son.
Unfortunately, over fifty percent of new marriages do not begin with this God-centered view. Most couples enter marriage thinking primarily about what they want—companionship, happiness, security, and sexual fulfillment. The idea that God might use suffering or unmet expectations to sanctify them rarely crosses their minds. And when trials come, they interpret them as signs of failure rather than instruments of grace. A biblical view of marriage understands that suffering is not a detour from God’s plan; it is the plan. Through the pressures of two sinners learning to love, serve, and forgive one another, God is doing His refining work.
The goal is not ease or perfection, but holiness and a display of the gospel. Only when couples begin to interpret their marriage through God’s perspective will they find the hope and endurance needed to persevere.
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
