LORD, CHANGE MY HEART

Holy Spirit, Change What I Cannot Change in Me

There is a prayer rising in me that has become deeper than asking God to change my circumstances, deeper than asking Him to remove resistance, deeper even than asking Him to change the people around me.

It is simply this:

Lord, change my heart.

Change my heart until what flows from me looks like Jesus.

Change my heart until love is not merely something I preach about, something I believe in, or something I extend toward the people who treat me well. Change me until love becomes my first response.

When I am misunderstood—let my first response be love.

When I am disappointed—let my first response be love.

When somebody disagrees with me—let my first response be love.

When somebody wounds me—let my first response be love.

When I encounter the broken, the difficult, the angry, the addicted, the rejected, the religious, the unbelieving, the wounded and even the hostile—Holy Spirit, teach me to see them through the eyes of Jesus.

I do not merely want to behave more like Christ.

I want to carry His heart.

Paul writes in Galatians 5:22–23:

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.”

I have read those words many times, but increasingly I am struck by what Paul does not call these things.

He does not call them the achievements of disciplined Christians.

He calls them fruit.

Fruit is evidence that something living is happening inside.

An apple tree does not struggle to manufacture apples through determination. Fruit appears because life is flowing through the tree. Something invisible beneath the surface eventually becomes visible on the branches.

And I am learning that this is exactly what the Holy Spirit desires to do in me.

I can modify behavior temporarily.

I can suppress anger.

I can bite my tongue.

I can force myself to smile.

I can make myself appear patient while frustration is burning inside me.

But Jesus did not die merely to make me behave better.

He came to give me a new heart.

God promised through Ezekiel:

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you.”

That means the Gospel reaches deeper than behavior.

God wants the source.

He wants the heart.

And increasingly my prayer has become, “Holy Spirit, do not merely restrain what is wrong in me. Transform the place from which it comes.”

If irritation keeps rising, show me the root.

If pride keeps appearing, expose it.

If insecurity makes me defensive, heal it.

If rejection has taught me to protect myself rather than love people, touch that place.

If disappointment has hardened some hidden chamber of my heart, enter it.

If I have learned to categorize people according to whether they deserve my love, dismantle that system completely.

Because Jesus did not command me to love only those who deserve it.

He told me to love.

And when I ask, “Lord, whom should I love?” I already know the answer.

Everyone.

Not because everyone will treat me well.

Not because everyone will understand me.

Not because everyone will agree with me.

Not because everyone will honor me.

But because every human being I encounter is someone for whom Christ died.

I want the Holy Spirit to bring me into such surrender that I stop asking whether a person deserves love and begin asking, “Jesus, how do You want to love this person through me?”

That changes everything.

There was a time when I could easily pray, “Lord, change them.”

Change their attitude.

Change their behavior.

Change the way they speak.

Change how they treat me.

Change their thinking.

And sometimes God does need to work profoundly in another person’s life.

But there comes a moment in spiritual maturity when the prayer changes.

“Lord, before You change them, search me.”

David prayed:

“Search me, O God, and know my heart… and see if there be any wicked way in me.”

That is a dangerous prayer.

Because when I genuinely invite the Holy Spirit into my heart, He will begin touching things I have learned to justify.

He will touch my reactions.

He will touch my motives.

He will touch the conversations I replay in my mind.

He will touch the resentment I renamed “discernment.”

He will touch the pride I called “conviction.”

He will touch the impatience I blamed on somebody else’s behavior.

He will reveal places where I wanted justice for others while wanting mercy for myself.

And He does this not to condemn me.

He does it because He loves me too much to leave me unchanged.

The Holy Spirit is forming Christ in me.

That is the goal.

Not merely ministry.

Not gifting.

Not influence.

Not preaching.

Not prophecy.

Not miracles.

Not recognition.

Christ formed in me.

I can carry tremendous gifts and still respond carnally.

I can preach powerful messages and still carry offense.

I can prophesy accurately and still be impatient with people.

I can operate in supernatural power and still fail to love.

Paul makes this painfully clear in 1 Corinthians 13. I can speak with the tongues of men and angels. I can prophesy. I can understand mysteries. I can possess remarkable faith.

But if I do not have love, I have missed the very nature of the One whose power I claim to represent.

That sobers me.

Because the greatest evidence that the Holy Spirit is working in me is not simply what happens when I stand behind a pulpit.

It is what happens when somebody irritates me.

It is what happens when somebody disappoints me.

It is what happens when I am tired.

It is what happens when I am misunderstood.

It is what happens when nobody is watching.

Patience is easy to preach until I have to wait.

Gentleness is beautiful until somebody speaks harshly to me.

Forgiveness sounds glorious until I have actually been wounded.

Love sounds wonderful until God places somebody difficult in front of me.

And suddenly I discover whether love is merely part of my theology or whether Christ is truly forming His heart within me.

This is where I desperately need the Holy Spirit.

Because there are things in me I cannot change simply by deciding to change them.

I have tried.

Every one of us has.

We have said, “Next time I will respond differently.”

Then next time arrives.

The same button gets pushed.

The same wound gets touched.

The same frustration rises.

The same reaction comes out.

And afterward we wonder, “Why am I still responding like this?”

That is when I have to remember the words of Paul:

“Walk in the Spirit, and you shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh.”

He does not say, “Become strong enough that you no longer need the Spirit.”

He says, walk in the Spirit.

That is relationship.

That is dependence.

That is moment-by-moment surrender.

Spiritual maturity is not reaching a place where I no longer need the Holy Spirit’s help.

Spiritual maturity is learning to reach for His help sooner.

Sometimes the most spiritual prayer I can pray in the middle of a difficult moment is only four words:

“Holy Spirit, help me.”

Before I send that message—Holy Spirit, help me.

Before I answer that accusation—Holy Spirit, help me.

Before frustration becomes anger—Holy Spirit, help me.

Before disappointment becomes bitterness—Holy Spirit, help me.

Before wounded pride takes control of the conversation—Holy Spirit, help me.

There is a sacred space between what happens to me and how I respond.

And I want that space to belong to God.

I may feel anger, but anger does not have to become my master.

I may feel disappointment, but disappointment does not have to define my response.

I may feel misunderstood, but I do not have to retaliate.

I may feel hurt, but pain does not have to determine how I treat another person.

There is another voice.

There is another nature.

There is another kingdom.

The Spirit of the living God dwells within me.

And He can teach me another way.

I want to become so sensitive to Him that in the moment when my flesh wants to react, I hear His whisper:

“Not that way.”

“Stay gentle.”

“Listen.”

“Do not defend yourself.”

“Forgive.”

“Speak truth, but speak it in love.”

“Let it go.”

“Pray for them.”

“Remember how I have loved you.”

That is transformation.

And sometimes transformation looks much smaller than I expected.

Maybe something that once disturbed me for three days now troubles me for thirty minutes.

That is growth.

Maybe I still feel the irritation, but I do not speak the words I once would have spoken.

That is growth.

Maybe I realize halfway through a conversation that my attitude is wrong and immediately humble myself.

That is growth.

Maybe I apologize faster than I once did.

That is growth.

Maybe I recognize offense before it has time to build a house inside me.

That is growth.

Sometimes I am waiting for God to completely eradicate a struggle while He is teaching me to surrender one response at a time.

Fruit often grows quietly.

The Holy Spirit may be changing hundreds of small reactions before I realize how profoundly my heart is being transformed.

But I must let Him work.

That is important.

The Holy Spirit changes me, but I must stop resisting His hands.

I cannot pray, “Lord, change my heart,” and then defend every attitude He exposes.

I cannot ask for transformation and then argue with conviction.

I cannot ask Jesus to make me more loving while insisting upon my right to hold onto bitterness.

I cannot pray for the heart of Christ while protecting the very things that prevent His heart from being formed in me.

There is a surrender involved.

When the Holy Spirit puts His finger on something, I must say yes.

“Yes, Lord.”

Even when it hurts.

Even when my flesh wants justification.

Even when I believe I am right.

There are moments when I can be factually right and spiritually wrong.

I can win an argument and lose the heart of Christ.

I can prove my point and wound a person God wanted me to love.

I can speak truth without carrying the spirit of truth.

And I no longer want to settle for being right if being right makes me unlike Jesus.

Jesus was full of grace and truth.

Not grace without truth.

Not truth without grace.

Both.

This kind of love does not mean I become passive.

Love does not mean approving everything.

Love does not mean allowing abuse.

Love does not mean ignoring sin.

Love does not mean trusting everybody equally.

Jesus loved everyone, but He did not entrust Himself to everyone.

There are boundaries that are wise.

There are conversations that must happen.

There are moments when truth must be spoken clearly.

But even boundaries can be established from love.

Correction can come from love.

Distance can sometimes be created without hatred.

I can refuse destructive behavior without refusing to love the person.

Jesus said:

“Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you.”

That may be one of the most supernatural commandments He ever gave.

Because my flesh knows how to love people who love me.

I do not need the Holy Spirit for that.

Jesus Himself said even sinners do that.

But loving someone who has wounded me?

Blessing someone who has spoken against me?

Praying sincerely for someone who has treated me unjustly?

That requires another nature.

That requires Christ.

And this is where I want to live.

I want my first response to become love.

Not suspicion.

Not retaliation.

Not self-preservation.

Not judgment.

Love.

When I walk into a village, a church, a restaurant, an airport, a home, a hospital, or a ministry meeting, I want to look at people through the eyes of Jesus.

The person serving my food.

The struggling addict.

The wealthy businessman.

The broken mother.

The rebellious teenager.

The lonely elderly person.

The religious leader.

The atheist.

The person who agrees with me.

The person who completely rejects what I believe.

Every one of them carries eternal value.

Every person represents someone God desires to reach.

What would happen if the Church became known again for that kind of love?

Jesus said:

“By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

He did not say the world would primarily recognize us because of our buildings.

Or our conferences.

Or our titles.

Or our theological vocabulary.

He said love.

I long to see a Church so possessed by the heart of Christ that people encounter Jesus before we ever finish explaining Him.

A Church where the broken are not afraid to come near.

Where sinners encounter holiness without humiliation.

Where truth is uncompromised but compassion is unmistakable.

Where the wounded discover that God’s people do not run from brokenness.

Where our first question is not, “What did this person do?” but, “Lord, how do You see them?”

We need revival.

But revival must reach the heart.

It is possible to desire fire while still protecting bitterness.

It is possible to cry for awakening while refusing reconciliation.

It is possible to pray for nations while carrying hostility toward the person sitting across the room.

So my prayer for revival increasingly begins with me.

Lord, revive my heart.

Burn away whatever does not resemble You.

Remove the hardness.

Remove pride.

Remove bitterness.

Remove the need to defend myself.

Remove the labels I have placed on people.

Remove the judgments I formed without knowing their story.

Remove the fear that keeps me from loving freely.

Pour Your love into my heart by the Holy Spirit.

Paul says in Romans 5 that “the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit.”

That means I am not being asked to manufacture divine love.

I am being invited to receive it.

The love I need for people flows first from the love I receive from Him.

When I know how deeply I have been forgiven, I become more willing to forgive.

When I understand how patiently He has dealt with me, I become more patient with others.

When I remember how often God has shown me mercy, I become slower to demand judgment.

When I remember how many times Jesus has restored me, I become willing to believe that He can restore somebody else.

I love because He first loved me.

So today my prayer is not, “Lord, make me impressive.”

It is not, “Lord, make me successful.”

It is not even first, “Lord, increase my ministry.”

My prayer is:

Jesus, give me Your heart.

When You look at the lost, let me feel what You feel.

When You look at the broken, let compassion rise in me.

When You look at the rebellious, keep me from writing them off.

When You look at those who have wounded me, teach me to pray for them.

When You look at the forgotten, let me notice them.

When You look at the rejected, let me move toward them.

And when You look at me, let me never forget the mercy with which You have loved me.

Holy Spirit, change what I cannot change in myself.

Work beneath the surface.

Transform the hidden places.

Interrupt my old reactions.

Challenge my motives.

Heal my wounds.

Expose my pride.

Soften what has become hard.

Teach me to pause.

Teach me to listen.

Teach me to forgive quickly.

Teach me to repent quickly.

Teach me to love freely.

I surrender my heart again.

I give You permission to interrupt me.

Correct me.

Convict me.

Redirect me.

If I am becoming harsh, stop me.

If I am becoming proud, humble me.

If I am becoming cynical, restore tenderness.

If disappointment has made me guarded, open my heart again.

If ministry has made me busy but not loving, bring me back to Jesus.

I refuse to say, “This is just the way I am.”

No.

Who I have been does not determine who the Holy Spirit can still make me.

I am not finished.

God is still forming Christ in me.

And tomorrow, I want to love more deeply than I loved today.

I want to forgive faster.

Listen better.

Judge less.

Serve more freely.

And when I fail, I will not surrender to condemnation.

I will return to Jesus.

“Holy Spirit, help me.”

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until His responses increasingly become my responses.

Until His compassion becomes my compassion.

Until His gentleness becomes my gentleness.

Until His patience becomes visible in me.

Until His love becomes the atmosphere I carry.

I want people who encounter me to encounter something of Jesus.

Not merely my preaching.

Not merely my beliefs.

Not merely my ministry.

His heart.

And perhaps this is one of the greatest prayers I can ever pray:

Lord, change my heart until my heart looks like Yours.

Change me until love becomes my first response.

Change me until I no longer ask who deserves my love.

Change me until I can look at every person and remember: Christ died for them.

Change me until surrender becomes easier than resistance.

Change me until the fruit of the Spirit is not something I merely quote but something people taste when they encounter my life.

Holy Spirit, keep working.

Do not stop where I am comfortable.

Do not leave hidden places untouched simply because I have learned how to disguise them.

Take me deeper.

Make me tender without making me weak.

Make me truthful without making me harsh.

Make me courageous without making me proud.

Make me discerning without making me suspicious.

Make me holy without making me self-righteous.

And above everything else, make me like Jesus.

Lord, I surrender my heart to You.

Change what I cannot change.

Heal what I cannot heal.

Remove what I cannot remove.

Produce what I cannot manufacture.

And let the fruit of Your Spirit grow in me until love is no longer simply something I do.

Let love become who I am because Christ lives in me.

Then send me into the world.

Send me to the broken.

Send me to the hurting.

Send me to the difficult.

Send me to those who believe.

Send me to those who do not.

Send me to the ones others have forgotten.

And wherever You send me, let my first response be love.

Because Your first response toward me was love.

Lord, change my heart.

And do not stop changing it until the heart people encounter in me is unmistakably the heart of Christ.

Peter Nash