I keep waiting for life to calm down.

You probably do too. After this project. After the school year. After soccer season. After vacation. After we recover from vacation. After the holidays. After the kids get older. After work settles down. After we move. After I finally get my act together.

Then I’ll have time to… fill in the blank. Rest. Spend more one-on-one time with the kids. Start doing date night again. Or worse: pray more consistently, read Scripture like I know I should, deal with that sin, join a group, serve somewhere, have people over, share my faith, repair the relationship…

After [whatever present thing is eating my calendar] is over, I’ll finally have time to become the kind of deeply rooted, emotionally healthy, spiritually mature person that I long to be. Future Jake will get there. Future Jake will have the time, discipline, and perseverance to make it happen.

Future Jake is impressive.

He wakes up early without complaining. He never loses patience with his kids. His inbox is empty, his house is clean, and nobody interrupts his quiet time to ask what’s for dinner. I think Future Jake must live in a cabin…in the woods…by himself…with no internet signal.

Unfortunately, Future Jake doesn’t exist.

Here’s what I’ve learned waiting on that future era of spiritual and emotional bliss to arrive: every season promises to hand me a quieter life when it leaves, but then the next one walks in carrying its own calendar, problems, and excuses. Every. Single. Time.

The life I’m waiting for is always right around the corner. The problem is, my life is more like a roundabout: I’m forever curving left. It’s nothing but corners.

That’s because the life I’m waiting for isn’t real. There’s no future version of you with unlimited energy, perfect discipline, no distractions, no wounds, no demanding people, no bills, no responsibilities, and a completely open calendar.

And Jesus didn’t call a future version of you. He called you, here and now.

There’s a scene near the end of Luke 9 that has always felt unusually harsh to me. Several people walk up to Jesus and express a desire to follow Him, and at first it sounds great. These are new disciples stepping forward. But each conversation exposes something.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” (Luke 9:57-58)

That’s Jesus-speak for “I doubt it.” He’s telling the man that following Him will cost more comfort than the man is ready to give up.

To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, let me first go and bury my father.” And Jesus said to him, “Leave the dead to bury their own dead. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:59-60)

Ouch. They said they’d follow Jesus after they took care of burying their father and Jesus basically said, “It’s now or never.”

Yet another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:61-62)

“I’ll follow You, but first…” I bet that’s one of the most common prayers Christians pray. And never realize they’re praying it.

Jesus, I’ll go all-in with You, but first let me get through this season.

I’ll obey You, but first let me feel more confident.

I’ll forgive, but first let them understand how badly they hurt me.

I’ll confess, but first let me see if I can get it under control myself.

I’ll give, but first let me get the promotion…so it doesn’t cost as much.

I’ll tell someone about You, but first give me an opportunity where there’s no possibility of awkwardness, rejection, or them asking a follow-up question I don’t know how to answer.

I’ll follow You, Lord. But first.

The uncomfortable thing is that the reasons these people give Jesus in Luke 9 don’t sound evil to me. That’s what makes the passage seem harsh. Because it’s not like Jesus is only confronting drunkenness, greed, sexual immorality, or open rebellion. He’s confronting delayed obedience.

I don’t think He’s condemning responsibility. I say that because I know you’re thinking, “But I can’t just quit my job, stop taking care of my kids, and move to a monastery to pray all day, can I?” Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but…no. You can’t. So go make dinner, set your alarm tonight before you go to bed, and make sure you take a shower. You got big-kid stuff to do tomorrow.

Jesus isn’t condemning responsibility. Family matters. Work matters. Grief matters. Some seasons really are brutal. Sometimes the baby’s up six times a night, your dad’s health is getting worse, and your job is acting like every email is an emergency. Sometimes getting through the day takes everything you have.

Jesus knows the weight you carry better than anyone. But His knowledge of your limits doesn’t mean His invitation has been postponed.

He calls you here. In this life. With these people. With this schedule. With this amount of energy.

We imagine that saying no to Jesus would sound dramatic. We picture shaking our fist at heaven and announcing that we refuse to follow Him. And we think, I would never do that! But what if we just found a more respectable way to say no?

“Not yet.”

“Not yet” lets us feel spiritual because we still intend to obey eventually. We haven’t rejected Jesus. We’ve simply rescheduled Him. But delayed obedience has a way of becoming permanent disobedience. In other words, we give it to Future Jake and Future Jake never shows.

Future You gets blamed for a lot. Future You is supposed to get serious about Scripture, finally deal with the hidden sin, become generous, repair the marriage, join the group, start serving, invite the neighbor, and become more intentional at home.

You keep handing that imaginary you the list, but here’s the harsh truth: imaginary you can’t obey Jesus for real you.

So what should we do? I’ll tell you what we can’t do: overhaul our entire lives before bedtime. That would just become another impossible spiritual project for us to feel guilty about not finishing. No, let’s try something different.

Let’s just stop using our fear of the distance we have to travel to avoid the next clear step.

You may not know how you’ll follow Jesus faithfully for the next twenty years. Or how you’ll ever manage to get to where you want to be. You don’t need to. You just need to respond to what He’s asking today.

Maybe today’s obedience is sending a text. Or admitting the truth. Or opening your Bible before opening your feed. Maybe it’s apologizing without explaining why your sin was understandable. Maybe it’s praying with your spouse or child instead of continuing to just say you want your home to move towards Christ.

You’re not disqualified or excused because your life is complicated, so where are you saying, “I’ll follow You, but first…”? What act of obedience have you assigned to tomorrow because obeying today feels too costly?

The life you’re imagining may never arrive, but Jesus’ invitation to abundant life already has.

Follow Him in the life you have.