I’m not on it. Again. Today’s no different. They’ve got their “artists,” “icons,” “leaders,” and “titans,” but apparently, I don’t fit the bill. Worse, I barely recognize half the names on there—except for the ones in the photo I tossed in. And no, I don’t know any of them personally.
But here’s what’s actually worth talking about: Easter weekend is coming, and all my kids are headed home. If reincarnation were a thing, I’d sign up to be my wife’s kid in a heartbeat. Mary’s already in full prep mode—real food, Peeps, games, the works. She’s not just feeding them or keeping them busy; she’s crafting the kind of weekend that leaves them grinning ear to ear. That’s parenting done right. We don’t just want our kids to scrape by; we want them thriving, soaking up the best life has to offer. If I made my own “most influential” list, they’d be at the top. Their joy is my joy.
So why do I struggle to believe God wants that same kind of flourishing for me? Why do I second-guess whether I can expect His best?
It’s not Him—it’s me. I know myself too well. I know God knows me even better, and let’s be real: I don’t deserve His blessings on my own merits. Sure, I get that God is love (1 John 4:8), so He loves me because of who He is, not who I am. Logically, that love means He wants me to have the basics. But asking for more? Expecting His best? That feels like a stretch for a holy God who sees every corner of my messy heart.
Then there’s my gut-level rejection of the “health-and-wealth” gospel that’s everywhere these days. You know the one—preachers promising that enough faith guarantees a fat bank account and perfect health. I can’t buy it. I think of Jesus on the cross, the apostles martyred for their faith, the man born blind who didn’t even know who healed him yet got his sight. I think of the millions of Christians—more in the 20th century than the 19 before it—who died for their faith. I think of friends in Cuba suffering for Christ, or believers in communist or Muslim countries facing brutal persecution. If they’re enduring that, what right do I have to expect a cushy life, let alone to “flourish” in this broken world?
And yet, the Bible keeps saying God wants to bless us. Paul’s crystal clear: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 1:3). John prays, “Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, as it goes well with your soul” (3 John 2). We’re told God can “do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think” (Ephesians 3:20). Look at Joseph of Arimathea, a Jesus follower rich enough to loan out his tomb, or Nicodemus, dropping 75 pounds of pricey spices for Jesus’ burial. Or the women who bankrolled Jesus’ ministry “out of their means” (Luke 8:3).
Money’s not the problem—the Bible never calls it evil. It’s the love of money that’s “a root of all kinds of evils” (1 Timothy 6:10). Big difference. And the rich? They’re told to “do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share” (v. 18).
Here’s one way to square the tension between persecution and prosperity: sometimes, suffering is the path to blessing. Jesus said it himself: “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you…on my account” (Matthew 5:11). It doesn’t feel like a blessing when you’re in it—ask Paul, beaten and jailed in Philippi (Acts 16:23). But Jesus follows up: “Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven” (Matthew 5:12). That’s why Paul and Silas were singing hymns at midnight in their cell (Acts 16:25).
I’ve got missionary friends in places I can’t name for their safety. One told me to stop praying for less persecution in their country. I was floored. He said, “Persecution’s purifying us, making us who God wants us to be.” Then he added he’s praying for more persecution in the U.S. for the same reason. Wild.
So yeah, God can want our best and let us walk through pain. If suffering leads to eternal reward or shapes us for His purpose, it’s worth it. Another angle? Prosperity’s often a tool to bless those who are suffering. I’ve heard missionaries in Dallas say, “God blessed America so America’s Christians can bless the world.” In the Old Testament, the Jews were meant to be conduits of God’s blessing, not hoarders of it (Genesis 12:3). They messed up when they acted like they were better than everyone else. We can’t fall into that trap. If God prospers us, it’s not because we’re special—it’s because He loves us like a Father and wants to bless others through us.
Success isn’t what you’ve got; it’s what you give. Holy Week screams that truth. God sent His Son to die for us—to bear our sin, pay our debt, and rise from our grave. If you were the only sinner on earth, Jesus would’ve done it all just for you. He’d do it again. As Billy Graham put it, the cross shows how ugly our sin is—but it also shows God’s insane love for us.
Next time you doubt God wants your best, go back to the cross. That’s where the answer lives.