It’s a Heart Thing

Proverbs 4:23.

Guard your heart with all vigilance,

for from it are the sources of life.

There’s a passage in Acts 28:26–27 that has been sitting heavy on my heart this week. It talks about people who hear but don’t understand, who see but don’t perceive—people whose hearts have grown dull over time. And if I’m being honest, I don’t read that as a distant warning meant for someone else. I read it as a mirror.

Acts 28-26-27. Go and say to this people: When you hear what I say, you will not understand. When you see what I do, you will not comprehend. For the hearts of these people are hardened, and their ears cannot hear, and they have closed their eyes—so their eyes cannot see, and their ears cannot hear, and their hearts cannot understand, and they cannot turn to me and let me heal them.

How often do I hear truth… but hesitate to actually receive it?

Lately, this has become very personal for me, especially in light of my back surgery. Recovery isn’t just physical—it’s deeply mental and spiritual. There are moments of progress, but also moments of doubt. Moments where pain or fear tries to speak louder than faith.

And right in the middle of all that, this question keeps rising up in me:

Am I open and willing to believe the truth of God’s promise He has healed me from my back surgery?

That question isn’t easy. It cuts deeper than surface-level belief. It challenges what I really trust when things don’t feel resolved yet. It asks whether I’m living from what I see—or from what I believe God has spoken.

Acts 28 reminds me that it’s possible to be close to truth and still resist it. Not because I’m rebellious in some obvious way, but because my heart can quietly drift into caution, doubt, or self-protection. Sometimes it feels safer to brace for struggle than to fully embrace hope.  Especially when there is constant pain involved. 

But what if healing—real healing—requires more than just physical recovery? What if it also requires a softened heart? A willingness to believe before everything looks or feels complete?

I’m realizing that faith isn’t pretending everything is perfect. It’s choosing to trust God’s promise even while I’m still walking it out. It’s allowing His truth to go deeper than my current experience.

And maybe that’s the invitation here.

Not to force belief. Not to ignore reality. But to gently, honestly ask myself:

Am I closing my heart because I’m afraid of being disappointed?

Or am I willing to stay open—to trust that healing is not just possible, but already unfolding in ways I may not fully see yet?

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: I don’t want a hardened heart. I don’t want to hear truth and miss it because I’ve grown cautious or numb.

So today, I’m choosing openness. Even if it feels fragile. Even if it’s a process.

I’m choosing to believe that God’s promises are not empty words.

And I’m learning—slowly—that healing might begin in the heart before it’s fully realized in the body.

Exodus 15:26 I am the Lord who heals you.