Being Spirit led

I have learned something I can’t unlearn, and I’m not going back to the old way of living. Just because something feels strong doesn’t mean it’s God. Just because my emotions rise like a wave doesn’t mean the Holy Spirit is moving. Just because I feel peace for a moment doesn’t mean I have direction. And just because I feel anxious doesn’t mean I’m in danger. There is a kind of inner intensity that can feel spiritual, but it isn’t always the Spirit—it can be my own soul trying to seize control of the moment. And many believers are exhausted right now not because they’re rebellious, but because they’re being driven. Driven by pressure. Driven by fear. Driven by the need to fix things quickly. Driven by the need to feel better. Driven by the need to be understood. Driven by the need for certainty. And the Spirit of God did not come to make me driven. He came to make me led.

“For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.” (Romans 8:14)

That verse does not describe a life of panic, impulse, and reaction. It describes a life of sonship—steady, surrendered, responsive, and secure. So I say this over my life, and I speak it over yours: I will not let emotions sit on the throne. I will acknowledge them, but I will not obey them. I will feel what I feel, but I will not follow what I feel. Because emotions are real, but they were never meant to rule.

God is not the author of confusion. (1 Corinthians 14:33) Confusion is not His handwriting. Chaos is not His tone. Manipulation is not His method. His leading carries a signature—clarity, steadiness, and peace that can survive changing circumstances. The Lord is not trying to hide His will behind riddles. He is not asking me to guess my way through life. He desires to lead me as a Father leads a son, as a Shepherd leads a sheep, as a Spirit leads a yielded heart.

“My sheep hear My voice… and they follow Me.” (John 10:27)

Not “My sheep guess My voice.” Not “My sheep chase emotional highs until they feel spiritual certainty.” They hear. They recognize. They follow. That means discernment is not reserved for a select few. It’s a relationship skill. It’s the fruit of walking close enough to God to recognize the difference between His voice and my internal noise. And I’m learning that the more I live in surrender, the clearer His leading becomes—not because my life gets easier, but because my spirit gets sharper.

One of the first differences I’ve learned is this: when emotions are leading me, they rush me. When God is leading me, He steadies me. Emotions love speed. They sound urgent. They make everything immediate: say it now, respond now, decide now, fix it now, confront now, withdraw now. And if I’m not careful, that urgency can feel like faith. But urgency is not the same as guidance. Pressure is not the same as peace. A surge of emotion is not the same as a word from the Lord. Some people call it “discernment,” but it’s actually adrenaline. Some people call it “boldness,” but it’s actually fear trying to regain control. Some people call it “wisdom,” but it’s actually anxiety looking for a quick exit.

Scripture warns me about haste in a way that’s painfully practical. “He who hastens with his feet sins.” (Proverbs 19:2) That means speed can look spiritual while being spiritually off. That means I can be moving fast and still be moving wrong. And I’ve had to learn this the hard way: sometimes the rush isn’t faith—it’s emotional discomfort demanding a sacrifice. It’s not that I’m hearing God clearly; it’s that I’m trying to calm myself quickly. And action can become a false god when I use it to soothe inner tension.

I’ve had moments where I wanted to answer a message while my heart was hot. I could have written the perfect paragraph—the kind that sounds reasonable, even righteous—but deep down I knew it would not bring life. It would bring heat. And heat can feel powerful, but it rarely produces righteousness. “The wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” (James 1:20) So I have learned to practice what I call a holy pause. A pause is not fear. A pause is maturity. A pause is dominion. A pause is me refusing to let my soul become the steering wheel.

“Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath.” (James 1:19)

That’s not just manners. That’s spiritual strength. That’s God teaching me to stop letting my emotions hijack my obedience. Because the Holy Spirit is not intimidated by silence. He actually often speaks best when I stop filling every space with my own noise. “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10) Stillness is not passivity; it’s authority. It’s me placing my inner world back under the Lordship of Jesus.

And I’ve learned to pray very simply in those moments: Lord, if this is You, You can confirm it without my rush. If this is just my emotion, give me clarity. Then I breathe. I wait. And I pay attention to what grows. Because when God is leading, peace deepens, even if the path is not easy. When emotions are leading, pressure builds. I feel like I have to do something to feel okay. But I do not have to be driven. I am allowed to be led.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” (Psalm 119:105)

God often leads me like a lamp for the next step, not a spotlight for the whole road. Emotional leadership hates that. Emotional leadership wants certainty now, closure now, the entire map now. But Spirit leadership trains me to trust. It trains me to obey with one step at a time.

And then the Lord began to show me something else: emotions pull everything inward toward me, but God widens my view. When I’m emotionally led, my world shrinks. My prayers revolve around me: Lord, fix this. Lord, change them. Lord, make it easier. Lord, take this feeling away. And God is compassionate—He listens. But when the Spirit begins to lead me clearly, my questions shift, and the shift reveals who is truly in charge. I begin to ask: Lord, what is true here? Lord, what is right here? Lord, what is loving here? Lord, what honors You here? Lord, what is wisdom here? Lord, what is the kingdom response here?

Because emotional decisions often feel justified. I tell myself, “Anyone in my place would do this.” And maybe that’s true. But God asks a quieter question: what does faithfulness look like here? Even if no one sees it. Even if no one applauds it. Even if it costs me comfort. God is not dismissing my feelings when He widens my perspective—He is dignifying me. He is treating me as someone capable of love, wisdom, patience, and growth—not just survival.

And this is where my life becomes very revealing: emotions measure success by comfort, but God measures success by fruit. The Holy Spirit is not just directing my decisions; He is forming my character. He is shaping me into Christ. “For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son.” (Romans 8:29) So sometimes God doesn’t answer my prayer by changing my circumstance; He answers my prayer by changing me. My reactions soften. My pride loosens. My listening deepens. My need to be right weakens. The situation may remain, but I am not the same person standing in it anymore. That is not punishment. That is formation.

And I need to say this because it matters: when God is leading, He is not only guiding me away from wrong choices—He is guiding me into who I am becoming. “Walk in the Spirit, and you shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh.” (Galatians 5:16) Walking implies steps—daily, ordinary, consistent steps. Not just big spiritual moments, but quiet obedience in the mundane.

That is why Spirit-led living is not only about prophetic words, dreams, visions, and major decisions. It is also about tone. Timing. Restraint. Love. Patience. It’s about whether I yield my inner world to the Lord or let my emotions dictate my behavior. It’s about whether I let the Spirit govern my mouth, govern my reactions, govern my motives. Because emotions can be sincere and still be wrong. Sincerity is not the proof of truth. The Spirit is.

And the Lord burned this into me through something as ordinary as a haircut—something so everyday that it took me a moment to realize heaven was teaching me.

A number of years ago, I was in a season of running hard and writing one of my first books. A friend wanted to bless me and asked if I would come write while staying at their condo in Hawaii. So for two weeks I was on the island of Oahu, and during the second week I was deep into the writing—locked in, focused, processing, praying, trying to get the words out. One day I realized I needed a haircut, so I drove to a barber shop close by.

I walked in. There was only one barber in the shop and one man already in the chair. The barber looked up at me and said, “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” But while he cut that other man’s hair, his attention kept drifting toward me. His eyes kept coming back to me. His words kept coming toward me. His hands were on the other customer’s head, but it was like his heart was reaching for someone else in the room.

And within minutes, he began sharing things with me that you don’t usually share with a stranger who just walked into your shop. It wasn’t small talk. It wasn’t surface-level conversation. It was deep. It was intimate. It was heavy. It was the kind of sharing that normally takes time, trust, and relationship. But it poured out of him like a dam breaking.

Part of his story was why he had moved to Hawaii. And the reason shocked me to such an extent that I still remember the moment clearly. He said, “I had to move here because I witnessed two murders in Chicago, and the mob were after me.” And then he added, “I didn’t feel they would find me here.”

When he said that, something in me froze for a second because one thought hit me like a flash: I could have been one of those mob guys. He had no way of knowing who I was. I was a total stranger. Yet he opened his life to me like I was safe.

And the Lord began to show me something right there: sometimes the Spirit of God will mark you in a room, and people will start talking to you—not because you’re impressive, but because they’re desperate. Sometimes they don’t even know why they’re sharing. But heaven knows. The Spirit knows. God is searching for a vessel, and people are searching for relief, for truth, for someone safe enough to hold their pain.

“Conduct yourselves wisely toward those who are outside… Let your speech always be with grace…” (Colossians 4:5–6)

So while that other man was still in the chair, I began to speak to him about Jesus. I began to share the gospel—not like a performance, not like a lecture, but like living water offered to a thirsty soul. And it became immediately obvious: he knew nothing. He didn’t just lack church background—he lacked the whole framework. He didn’t know Christianity in general. He didn’t understand the cross. He didn’t know the nature of God. He was living with trauma, fear, and survival, but he didn’t know there was a Savior who could cleanse the conscience and heal the soul.

And in that moment I realized again: the Holy Spirit does not need a pulpit to preach. He does not need a sanctuary to save. He can turn a barber shop into a mission field. He can turn a normal appointment into a divine intersection. Jesus lived this way. A well became an altar when He met the Samaritan woman and revealed the Father’s heart. (John 4:7–26) A road became a revival when Philip was led by the Spirit to meet one man, and a whole nation was touched through that encounter. (Acts 8:26–39) Spirit-led living is God arranging moments that look ordinary, but carry eternity.

So I shared the good news with him—not only for the time the other person was getting his haircut, but for the time I was in the chair as well. The barber shop became a place of witness, not because I planned it, but because I was positioned.

And when I left, I didn’t know what he did with it. I didn’t lead him in a sinner’s prayer. I didn’t see some dramatic moment where he fell to his knees. I walked out with unanswered questions. I got in my vehicle and started driving back to the condominium.

And on that drive, the presence of the Lord came into my car so strongly that it overtook me. It wasn’t mild. It wasn’t gentle. It was weight—the overwhelming nearness of God. It hit me so deeply that I had to pull over to the side of the road. And there, sitting on the shoulder, I began to cry—real tears, deep tears, overwhelming tears. Not the kind of tears that come from emotional fragility, but the kind of tears that come when the Spirit touches something in you that words can’t reach.

And then I heard the Spirit of the Lord speak to me.

He said, “Peter… do you really care?”

That question wasn’t condemnation. It was exposure. It was the Lord putting His finger on the center of what Spirit-led living actually is. It was like He was saying, This is what I’m after in you. Not your productivity. Not your output. Not your ministry activity. Do you care? Do you care about people? Do you care about souls? Do you care enough to be interrupted? Do you care enough to slow down? Do you care enough to notice the one I’m putting in front of you?

And at that moment I realized something that shifted how I see everything: being led by the Spirit of God, not only in the big things but in the little things—even daily—is one of the most significant and important ways to touch the world for Christ. Spirit-led living is not simply an advantage so my life runs smoother. Spirit-led living is kingdom partnership. It is God moving through a yielded believer so that the kingdom of God goes forward on the earth and people are touched with the heart of Christ.

That story also taught me a key discernment point: emotions are unstable because they’re tied to circumstances, but God’s leading remains steady underneath changing weather. Emotions rise when things go well and sink when things go wrong. And that’s human. But it becomes dangerous when I use emotional weather as spiritual guidance. I can feel confident one day and uncertain the next, not because God changed His mind, but because something changed around me or someone questioned me or a delay happened and my emotions reacted.

But God’s leading does not disappear every time the conditions shift.

“The peace of God… will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:7)

That guarding implies pressure. It implies attack. It implies that peace is not just a feeling—it’s protection. God’s peace can stand in a storm. It can remain in delay. It can remain in misunderstanding. It can remain when I don’t have all the answers. And when God is leading, I may still feel things—tiredness, uncertainty, vulnerability—but there is a deeper alignment that remains.

It’s like this: emotions are like wind, but God’s leading is like a compass. The wind tells me what the moment feels like. The compass tells me where I’m going. Ignoring the wind is foolish. But steering by it will exhaust me. The mature believer acknowledges the wind but follows the compass.

So I ask myself when I’m discerning: if nothing around me changed, would this still be right tomorrow? And if things got harder, would I still know why I’m walking this path? Because God’s voice can handle time. God’s voice can handle resistance. God’s voice can handle testing. If what I’m sensing collapses the moment the emotional climate changes, it may not be the Spirit. It may be emotional momentum.

And I’ve also learned this tender difference: emotions seek relief, but God is shaping who I’m becoming. Emotions ask, How do I stop feeling this? How do I make the discomfort go away? And that question is human. It’s not sinful. But God often answers a deeper question: Who are you becoming through this? Because my destiny is not just emotional relief—it’s Christlikeness.

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control…” (Galatians 5:22–23)

Self-control is fruit. Longsuffering is fruit. Gentleness is fruit. That means some of the most Spirit-led moments of my life won’t feel dramatic. They will look like restraint. They will look like patience. They will look like quiet obedience. They will look like holding my tongue. They will look like choosing love when my emotions want revenge. They will look like not reacting when my soul wants to explode.

God is not trying to make me impressive. He is making me stable. And stability is power in the kingdom.

Then there’s one more difference I’ve learned that exposes emotional leadership quickly: emotions need to be defended, but God’s leading stands even when misunderstood. When emotions are leading, I feel compelled to convince people. I talk more. I explain more. I rehearse more. I defend more. I need others to agree so I can feel settled. But when I’m Spirit-led, there is a quiet integrity that holds me steady. I’m not secretive. I’m not stubborn. I’m simply not ruled by the fear of misunderstanding.

“The fear of man brings a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD shall be safe.” (Proverbs 29:25)

Spirit-led living trains me to seek counsel without seeking validation. Counsel strengthens discernment. Validation addiction reveals insecurity. And God is not leading me into insecurity. He is leading me into sonship.

So I bring this to a close the way I must live it—prophetically, personally, and practically. I declare this over my life, and I invite you to declare it with me:

Father, in the name of Jesus, I yield my inner world to You. I yield my emotions, my impulses, my timing, and my reactions. I renounce haste. I renounce fear-driven decisions. I renounce emotional momentum masquerading as spiritual direction. Holy Spirit, lead me. Train my ear. Guard my heart. Quiet my soul. Make Your peace loud in me and make Your wisdom strong in me. Teach me to pause. Teach me to wait. Teach me to obey without panic and to move without striving. I declare that I am a son—led by the Spirit. I declare that my steps are ordered by the Lord. I declare that confusion breaks off my mind. I declare that pressure will not rule me. I will not be driven—I will be led. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

And now I take the next step. Not the whole staircase. Not the full blueprint. Just the next faithful step. Because that is how Spirit-led people walk. And that is how I will walk—starting again today. Much love.