Trapped by your enemy called ‘self’: You can’t defeat what you still crave
Let me tell you a story. Years ago, I sat across from a friend who kept circling the same destructive habit — swearing it’d be his “last time.” Each relapse left him baffled. “I want to stop,” he’d say, fists clenched. But wanting wasn’t enough.
Many people have been there too — clinging to good intentions while secretly nursing a desire for what they claimed to hate. Maybe you’ve felt that tug-of-war deep inside of you too.
Here’s the raw truth I’ve learned:
Good intentions don’t heal bad desires.
You can scribble “quit” on your calendar, swear off a sin, or stack up resolutions like firewood. But if a part of you still aches for that thing — if your mouth waters at the thought of it, your resolve will crumble every single time.
James, the apostle, has made it clear: “Each one is tempted when he is drawn away by his own desires and enticed” (James 1:14, NKJV). Notice that?
It’s not the devil’s fault. Not your circumstances. Not even your “weakness.”
Temptation digs its hooks into the desires we refuse to bury and surrender to God.
I used to blame my failures on stress, loneliness, or spiritual attacks. But, to be honest, deep down? I knew. The real battle was the quiet whisper in my heart that still said, “But what if I just… one more time?”
Let’s get brutally honest. Have you ever snapped at someone who said, “I couldn’t help it! The devil tempted me to sin”? I’ve said that before. But James won’t let us hide:
Do not be deceived, my beloved brethren (James 1:16, NKJV).
Deception isn’t just Satan’s lie — it’s the story we tell ourselves. “I’ll handle it later.” “This isn’t really that bad.” Meanwhile, the craving grows roots.
THINK OF IT LIKE THIS:
If a stranger approached you and offered a plate of rotten fish, how would you react? And what would you think of it? You’d gag and walk away. But if you were offered a promotion, a high leadership position at work, an easy job with a high salary, or a life of comfort, that would be a different story. You would likely react differently because you might be craving those offers. That’s when the trap springs.
Temptation only works when it whispers to a hunger already inside you.
Here’s where it gets gritty. My friend didn’t find freedom until he admitted the ugly truth: part of him still loved the high of his addiction to cigarettes. Not the consequences — just the rush. And that’s the paradox.
We beg God to “take the desire away,” but Scripture flips the script:
Those who are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with its passions and DESIRES (Galatians 5:24, NKJV).
But let’s be honest—crucifying the flesh isn’t a one-time event. It’s a daily battle. Jesus said, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross DAILY, and follow me” (Luke 9:23, KJV).
That means every morning, we wake up and make a choice: Will we feed our worldly desires, or will we put them on the Cross again?
Some cravings don’t die easy. They beg for attention, whispering lies of comfort, pleasure, or escape. But every time we choose Christ over the craving, we weaken its grip.
Little by little, our desires shift—until one day, we realize we’re no longer slaves to what once ruled us.
The word used in Galatians 5:24, the one I mentioned above, is very clear — ‘crucified.’ Not negotiated with. Not managed. Nailed to a cross, gasping for air. Now, the question is: have you crucified all of your worldly desires?
This isn’t a divine magic trick. God doesn’t force our hands. I’ve had to drag certain cravings, kicking and screaming, to the foot of the Cross. It’s messy. It hurts.
Some days, I’ve white-knuckled my way through prayers, tears blurring the words. But grace meets us there. Paul didn’t muse, “I intend to follow Jesus.”
He declared, “The world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Galatians 6:14, NKJV).
The word “crucified” from the verse above is in past tense. Done deal.
So, here’s my question for you — and it’s one I still wrestle with: What secret hunger have you been feeding?
- Not the thing you “struggle” with, but the craving you coddle.
- The resentment you rehearse.
- The fantasy you fuel.
Until we starve those appetites — until we let them die — they’ll keep steering our lives.
Freedom isn’t found in trying harder.; it’s found in surrendering to Christ. In letting grace dig up the roots we’ve protected.
It’s brutal, holy work. But on the other side? There’s air to breathe.
I’d love to hear your story. No platitudes. No shame. Just real talk about the cravings we’re learning to crucify. You’re not alone in this.
