The Quiet Cost of Saying "Yes" to God

“And He was withdrawn from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt and prayed, saying, ‘Father, if it is Your will, take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done.’ Then an angel appeared to Him from heaven, strengthening Him. And being in agony, He prayed more earnestly.” (Luke 22:41–44)

I am currently facing my own “nevertheless, not my will but Yours be done” moment, and at times the pain of it feels overwhelmingly intense. As an out-loud processor, naming what is happening often brings relief. Still, there is a sobering reality I cannot ignore: even the most understanding person cannot fully grasp pain that is not theirs to carry. Because of that, truth-telling is often misunderstood. Vulnerability is misread. Grief is mislabeled.

It is easy to misinterpret what we do not fully understand. It is easy to call someone a complainer or a bitter person when they are simply voicing their frustration. After all, if we have never stood where they stand, what else could it look like to us? I, too, have been guilty—I sometimes still am—of assumptions that led me to extend less grace than was needed.

“Then an angel appeared to Him from heaven, strengthening Him. And being in agony, He prayed more earnestly.” (Luke 22:43–44)

This is the grief that often accompanies obedience.

I have lived through similar seasons before, but many of those moments were shaped by peacekeeping—at least externally. Time and again, I silenced what I felt in an effort not to "ruffle any feathers". Other times, I gathered the courage to act, only to flee afterward. In two consecutive seasons, I have chosen differently. After the last time, I obeyed sooner. This time, instead of fleeing, I stayed. I'm facing the pain head-on, and it's sobering to say the least. I thought the pain would be more bearable however, I was sadly mistaken.

Some days, I feel strong enough to carry it. Other days, I do not.

Like Jesus, strengthened by an angel yet still required to endure the agony, I am learning that obedience does not require cheerfulness. God does not need my "yes" wrapped in ease or comfort. Often, the discomfort of obedience tempts me to backtrack. But as my roots have grown deeper in Him, so has my desire not to wound His heart. Trials will come. Obedience does not prevent them, but it does anchor me through them.

“Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love Him.” (James 1:12)

And as James reminds us:

“Consider it pure joy… whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” (James 1:2–3)

So I am learning to sit with the tension—grief and obedience existing side by side. Perseverance does not mean the absence of pain; it means staying present while God completes His work. If joy is found here, it is not the loud kind. It is the quiet assurance that I am not abandoned in the pressing, that strength will come as needed, and that obedience—though costly—is never wasted.

This is my nevertheless season.

Not easy.

Not painless.

But faithful.

Call to Action

If you find yourself in a nevertheless season of your own, I invite you to pause—not to fix it, not to explain it away, but to name it honestly before God. Allow yourself to grieve what obedience costs while still choosing it. Resist the urge to rush healing or justify pain. Ask only for the strength you need for today, trusting that tomorrow’s grace will meet you when it arrives.

Stay.

Pray.

Persevere.

God is faithful in the pressing.