Growing up, we had a dog named Pebbles. She was a miniature Yorkie and five pounds of spastic yippiness. Even into her old age, the second you let her out of her crate, she would sprint circles around the living room, rolling on her back and snorting in between laps.

There are days when Pebbles perfectly portrays my internal state – frantic and anxious. I’m busy yet aimless. Desperate to be purposeful and in control, I find myself chasing the wind of my shifting desires. Mentally I’m circling. I jump compulsively to reach elusive standards I’ve set for myself based on comparison and Instagram.

For months, I’ve been praying that God would sharpen my focus, strengthen my spiritual muscles. I prayed: Lord, let me be obedient. Let me run quickly when I hear Your voice. Like an elite hunting dog, train me to be a spiritual athlete—fast and strong.

The image of an attentive, powerful animal seemed noble to me. At my core I desire to make a difference for God. I long for my days to be purposeful, marked by meaningful, kind words and steady steps of obedience. I want to cultivate courage, to be known for my grit. I aspire to have unwavering endurance that yields fruit and faithfulness.

Yet, mixed up with those virtuous ambitions is a primal desire to be self-sufficient and in control. I aim to be strong and capable simply because it is uncomfortable to feel weak.

But over the past few months, the reality of my lack of control and utter vulnerability as a human, has never been in clearer focus. I’ve realized that God never asked me to be capable or strong. He asked me to come to Him and abide.

The Gospels echo with Jesus’ heartfelt yet simple message, “come to me.” To tax collectors perched in trees, to women hiding out at wells, and to little children giggling loudly while He taught, he said, “come near.” To the weary, to the burdened, to the broken, He holds His arms open wide, asking little in return. (Matthew 11:28; 19:14.)

The most consistent metaphor for Christ-followers in Scripture is not a grand German Shepherd or even a powerful stallion, but a sheep. Not a muscular, tactical animal but one that is fluffy, clumsy, and needy. God doesn’t need us, like a hunter needs a Retriever. He loves us.

Though He undoubtedly has plans and a purpose for our lives and destinations for our giftings (Jeremiah 39:11, Eph. 2:10), I’m coming to terms with the fact that there may never be a day when God unfolds the map and shows me where to run. For that would mean He is sending me out ahead of Him, alone.

God is not a faceless GPS, He is the Good Shepherd. He takes the thirsty, the fearful, the aimless and gently, patiently leads us along paths of righteousness through dark valleys to rest in green pastures and by quiet waters. He doesn’t bark orders or point to far away destinations, expecting us to travel there alone. Instead, He “gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them” (Isaiah 40:11). Though our pride desires capability and control, our souls were created for dependence.

Notably the action verbs in Psalm 23 are all attributed to the Shepherd, rather than the sheep. She is simply the grateful recipient, the trusting follower. Because in the end, while the destination is glorious, all the glory goes to Him—not her intelligence in discerning the map or strength to traverse the valleys. She arrives at the destination because of His daily, loving guidance. No turn or step is wasted. Not even this season of uncertainty.

The profile of a spiritual athlete still involves focus, strength, and grit (1 Timothy 1:7). But that power is fueled by an understanding of our own great need, rather than a clinging to the façade of our capability. Following the Good Shepherd through the valleys develops true perseverance, courage, and endurance. Waiting patiently with Him by quiet waters—even when the rest of the world seems to be passing us by—develops character. Stepping and re-stepping after a stumble, increases agility. Listening for His voice in the fog, cultivates faithfulness (John 10:27).

Lately, my new prayer is simply this: Lord, I trust you with today. Let me follow you faithfully.

And I can feel my spiritual muscles strengthening.