Soul…

How the sense of self cracks under the pressure of becoming “more.”

I found myself scrolling late last night, and what I saw felt like something heavy on God’s heart. As the world grows darker, we’re witnessing the manifestation of patterns that have been quietly forming for years. We — the entertained — sit in awe of talent, influence, and fame, and begin to fantasize about how someone becomes so powerful. That awe gives birth to ambition. A desire to become greater than who we are.

The desire to be powerful, wealthy, and successful.

But what is the cost?

The higher we climb, the more hollow we become. Not just physically — but spiritually. Do we notice? The light in their eyes fades. The soul disappears — often exactly as intended.

We begin to ask dangerous questions:

“How can I gain this kind of power?”

“Oh, the soul?”

It doesn’t seem that valuable here on earth. Surely, once I reach the top, I can fix that before it matters in the world to come… but what if the exchange was sealed? What if there were no chances for redemption once the deal was done?

“What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”

— Mark 8:36

A cunning enemy already knows the answer.

It takes me back to the Garden of Eden.

Eve didn’t just reach for fruit. She reached for knowledge and the desire to be as God and not like God — she wanted power without yielding, control without relationship. And in that moment, something in humanity died. The fall of mankind wasn’t only about sin entering the world; it was about humanity’s hunger for power and the fracture of relationship with God.

She did not want to rely on God. She wanted to be like God — powerful and in control. A control she didn’t understand we were never meant to carry.

We chase success in exchange for the very things that matter. We sacrifice our families. We sacrifice our authentic selves. We lose rest, self-respect, and spiritual grounding just to be seen, validated, and elevated.

We call it “ambition.”

But sometimes it’s just quiet self-destruction dressed in gold.

What’s even more alarming is how visible it becomes.

Artists who once looked full of life begin to look drained. Actors who once carried light in their eyes begin to look disconnected. You can see it — the emptiness, the fatigue, the silent war behind their expressions.

It’s not always about demons or conspiracies.

It’s about spiritual starvation.

When your soul isn’t being fed by truth, peace, alignment, and purpose, it desperately searches for substitutes. That’s where addictions are born. That’s where numbness lives. That’s where people lose themselves trying to become something more powerful than God.

The conflict is this: we were created for connection with God. Once that connection is severed, our life source is disrupted, and who we are becomes lifeless, hollow, and empty.

I felt this clearly when I took my children to see Wicked.

I didn’t experience it as just a musical. I saw symbolism. I saw the blurring of light and darkness. I saw good being questioned and evil being humanized. And while I could take away positive lessons, I also felt the subtle tension — the spiritual confusion that art can quietly plant in hearts.

And I wanted to be honest about that.

We don’t have to be afraid of the world, but we do have to be discerning.

We don’t have to reject art, but we do need spiritual clarity.

We don’t have to panic — but we should pay attention.

Because not everyone who looks powerful is peaceful.

Not everyone who looks successful is whole.

And not everyone who reaches the top still has their soul.

We’ve watched some of the greatest fight desperately to recover their souls after reaching what the world calls ultimate success. But they couldn’t — because their souls had already been sold.

Not metaphorically.

Not dramatically.

But spiritually and emotionally.

In moments of desperation, they made exchanges:

Shortcuts.

Compromises.

Deals fueled by instant gratification.

This reminds me of Esau.

In his desperation, he sold his birthright to Jacob for a bowl of stew — trading what was eternal for what was immediate. And Jacob, operating in deception, took advantage of Esau’s weakness to claim something that wasn’t rightfully his. One brother driven by hunger. One driven by ambition. Both scarred by the decision.

That story never stopped being relevant. We are still watching people trade long-term purpose for short-term relief every single day.

Once something sacred is traded for something fleeting, it is not easily reclaimed. Their regret didn’t bring peace; it brought guilt. And the guilt became unbearable.

So they reached for numbness.

More drugs.

More escape.

More silence.

Their fight to feel whole again didn’t lead to healing.

For many, it led to death.

True success isn’t elevation without God.

It isn’t fame without peace.

It isn’t wealth without wholeness.

Real success looks like this:

You can rise without losing who you are.

You can grow without selling your soul.

You can be seen without being empty.

And to me — that is the greatest success of all.

Join the conversation!

If this resonated, feel free to join the conversation in the comments. Let’s keep this space respectful, thoughtful, and rooted in curiosity and grace.