I have been thinking about how easy it is for me to become critical—of certain situations, of people, and sometimes even of things that really have nothing to do with me.
What surprises me is how quickly it can happen.
I can be close to the Lord, genuinely love Him, and sincerely want my life to reflect Him, and yet suddenly notice a thought in my mind that I don’t like. Sometimes it is only there for a few seconds. Nobody hears it. Nobody sees it. I don’t say anything, so no one else even knows it happened.
But I know.
And more importantly, God knows.
That is what makes me stop and think.
I don’t like being critical. I am disappointed when I realize that my mind has gone somewhere I don’t want it to go. It reminds me that, even though I love the Lord and want to follow Him, there are still parts of me that need to be surrendered to Him.
Paul described this struggle so honestly 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.”
I can relate to that more than I would like to admit.
There are things I don’t want to think. There are attitudes I don’t want to have. There are reactions I don’t want to make. Yet sometimes they appear so quickly, almost before I realize what is happening.
And that is why I am learning again about being intentional.
Recently, I had been thinking about how important it is to be intentional with the people closest to us—to intentionally show love, appreciation, and care rather than simply assuming they already know how we feel.
But this experience made me think about another kind of intentionality.
I also need to be intentional about not becoming the person I don’t want to be.
I need to pay attention to what is happening in my mind.
I need to notice when concern starts turning into criticism, when observation starts turning into judgment, and when I begin focusing on what is wrong instead of what is good.
The Lord showed me this through something that happened with my son.
My son told me that someone had asked him to do some work because that person didn’t know how to do it. My son knew how to do it, so he agreed to help.
He wasn’t going to receive anything in return.
He simply agreed because someone needed help, and he was able to help.
When I heard about it, my first reaction was concern.
That particular day, he would have to drive about four hours to get there, do the work, and then drive another four hours back home.
Four hours there.
The work itself.
Then four hours back.
I knew it was going to be a very long day, and I knew he would probably be exhausted by the time he came home.
So I asked him why he had to do it and expressed my concern.
Part of me was thinking, Why does he have to go through all that?
I was also concerned that someone might take advantage of his kindness. He was giving his time, his energy, and his skills. He was making that long drive, doing the work himself, and he wasn’t asking for anything in return.
As his mother, I wanted to protect him.
I didn’t want people to see his kindness and think they could keep asking him for things simply because they knew he was willing to help.
My concern came from love.
But then, in the middle of that moment, I felt the Lord ask me:
“Why do you want to stop him from being generous?”
I stopped.
That question changed the way I was looking at the situation.
Yes, my concern was understandable. It was a long drive. He would be doing the work himself, and he wouldn’t receive anything for it.
But my son knew that.
He knew what he was agreeing to.
He knew the distance.
He knew he wasn’t getting paid.
And he still wanted to help.
Maybe he wasn’t being taken advantage of.
Maybe he was simply being generous.
That thought humbled me.
I realized that I was so focused on protecting him from what could be negative that I was overlooking something beautiful about his heart.
He was willing to give his time.
He was willing to give his skills.
He was willing to spend an entire day helping someone simply because he could.
And instead of first seeing the generosity in that, I was questioning the decision.
The Lord wasn’t necessarily telling me that my concern was wrong. He was showing me that I needed to see the situation from another perspective.
I could have said, “That’s going to be a long day. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” And if he said yes, I could have trusted his decision and been proud of him for being willing to help.
Instead, I was beginning to discourage something that was actually good.
I was seeing the eight hours of driving.
God was reminding me to see his generosity.
That moment stayed with me because I realized how easily I can do the same thing in other situations.
Sometimes I observe people and immediately notice something I don’t like.
I may notice the way someone talks or behaves and think, They shouldn’t be doing that.
Sometimes I think someone is acting differently from how I believe they should act at their age. Sometimes I question someone’s choices in my mind.
And then I have to stop and ask myself, Why am I doing this?
What am I looking for?
Am I trying to understand the person?
Or have I simply started looking for what is wrong?
That is the part of myself I don’t like seeing.
I can become more focused on what is negative than what is good. I can notice one thing that doesn’t meet my expectations and allow it to become the main thing I see.
But people don’t have to meet all of my expectations.
They don’t have to do things the way I would do them.
They don’t have to see every situation the way I see it.
And I certainly don’t know everything that is happening in someone’s life.
There may be a reason behind something that I know nothing about. There may be a struggle I cannot see. There may be a story I don’t know.
Or maybe the person is simply different from me.
Either way, I don’t want to become someone who is always searching for what is wrong.
I want to learn to see differently.
That doesn’t mean ignoring wisdom or pretending that everything is good when it isn’t. It simply means I don’t want my concerns to become the lens through which I see everything.
I want wisdom without becoming critical.
I want discernment without becoming judgmental.
I want to be able to recognize something that concerns me without allowing that concern to become an opinion about someone’s character.
And most of all, I want to learn to notice the good.
This experience also reminded me that not every thought that comes into my mind needs to be entertained.
A thought may come, but I can pause.
I can ask God to help me see the situation differently.
I can choose not to build a whole story around that first thought.
Sometimes all I need to say is, “Lord, help me see what I am missing.”
Because sometimes I am missing something.
That is what happened with my son.
I wasn’t necessarily wrong to be concerned. But my concern was taking up so much space that I was missing the generosity right in front of me.
And perhaps this happens more often than I realize.
Maybe I see a person’s weakness and miss their kindness.
Maybe I notice something I disagree with and overlook the good they are doing.
Maybe I focus on how someone is different from me instead of remembering that God is working in their life just as He is working in mine.
That is humbling.
Because I know there are many things about me that other people could criticize if they chose to focus on them.
I know the parts of myself that people don’t see.
I know my thoughts.
I know my weaknesses.
I know the things I have struggled with.
And yet God doesn’t look at me only through those things.
He sees me with grace.
He is patient with me.
He continues working in me.
So I want to learn to give that same grace to other people.
This is also why Galatians 2:20 continues to mean so much to me:
“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”
Christ lives in me.
I believe that.
And yet I still see parts of myself that don’t look like Jesus.
I still see criticism.
I still see impatience.
I still see moments when I focus on what is wrong instead of what is good.
But perhaps recognizing those things is not a reason to become discouraged. It is a reminder that I still need Him.
I cannot transform myself.
I can try to control my thoughts. I can tell myself to be more positive. I can try harder to be less critical.
But real transformation is God’s work in me.
He is the One who changes my heart.
He is the One who renews my mind.
He is the One who teaches me compassion.
He is the One who makes me more like Jesus.
So when God shows me something in myself that I don’t like, I don’t want to hide from Him.
I want to listen.
I don’t want to become defensive and say, “But I had a good reason.”
Maybe I did have a good reason.
I had a good reason to be concerned about my son.
But having a good reason doesn’t mean my perspective is complete.
I can be concerned and still need compassion.
I can want to protect someone and still need to trust their decision.
I can see something that concerns me without allowing it to become criticism.
That is something I am still learning.
And I am grateful that God can correct me gently.
He didn’t condemn me.
He simply made me stop.
He made me look at the situation again.
And when I did, I saw something I hadn’t been seeing before.
That is why Psalm 139:23–24 has become especially meaningful to me:
“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
I love this prayer because it goes deeper than simply asking God to help me behave better.
It is asking Him to search my heart.
To know my thoughts.
To reveal what is happening inside me.
That is what I want too.
I want God to search not only what I say and do, but also what I think.
Show me the things I don’t notice.
Show me when I am becoming critical.
Show me when my concern becomes judgment.
Show me when I am focusing on someone’s weakness instead of seeing their good qualities.
Show me what needs to change in me.
And when He does, I want to be willing to listen.
I know there will be other moments like this.
There will be other situations I don’t understand.
There will be other people who don’t behave the way I think they should.
There will be other times when a critical thought comes into my mind.
But now, when I notice it, I hope I will remember this experience.
I hope I will pause before making a judgment.
I hope I will remember that I may not see the whole picture.
And I hope I will ask God to help me look again.
Maybe there is something good I haven’t noticed.
Maybe I need to give someone grace.
Maybe I need to remember that their choices are not mine to control.
Maybe I simply need to love.
I am learning that being intentional is not only about intentionally loving the people closest to me. It is also about being intentional about the person I am becoming.
I don’t want to become someone who automatically looks for what is wrong.
I want to become someone who notices what is good.
I don’t want to be quick to judge.
I want to be quick to give grace.
I don’t want my standards to become a measuring stick for everyone around me.
I want to learn to see people through the eyes of Jesus.
And I know I won’t always get it right.
But I also know that I am still being changed.
The conversation with my son was simple. Nothing dramatic happened. He simply told me he was going to help someone, and I became concerned about the long drive and the possibility that his kindness might be taken advantage of.
But God used that simple conversation to show me something about my own heart.
My son saw someone who needed help, and he knew he could help.
He was willing to give his time, his ability, and his energy without expecting anything in return.
I saw the four-hour drive there, the work, and the four-hour drive home.
God reminded me to see something else.
The generosity.
The willingness to help.
The goodness.
And perhaps that is what I need to do more often—not only with situations, but with people.
To pause before I judge.
To remember that I don’t know the whole story.
To notice what is good.
To give grace.
And when I find myself becoming critical, to ask a simple question:
What am I missing?
Maybe I just need to look again.