I recently began journaling again after a decades-long hiatus. In my teens and 20s, I chronicled my thoughts and prayers regularly. Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living,” and I believed him.

Until I didn’t.

When I was 27, my then-fiancee ended our relationship, upending the life trajectory I had so carefully planned — college, seminary, ministry, marriage, children. A Christian therapist my father recommended diagnosed me with clinical depression, which lasted a year.

During this period, I journaled frantically. No thought went unrecorded, no feeling unexamined. I emptied a pen or two of ink and filled a journal or two with agony.

My words overflowed the pages and flooded my everyday conversations with family, friends, and co-workers. There were countless late-night conversations with my dad and sister. A friend listened to me for hours at a time, often during long walks near his house.

And then, one day, I woke up and drew two columns on a yellow notepad. The left column listed everything going wrong in my life, starting with the breakup. The right column listed everything going well. It was much longer than the left.

Gratitude for the good things in my life broke the spell of depression, though I still had occasional bouts of it in the months following.

That day was also the last time I journaled with any consistency until now. I tried a few times, but my heart just wasn’t in it.

A relentless focus on myself — my thoughts, my feelings — led me to ignore what was happening in my relationships with others. It also blinded me to ways I could help others through acts of service. When I turned my focus outward, I began to heal.

Socrates is right about the unexamined life. As a former philosophy major, I feel I would be letting down my side if I didn’t say that. But Socrates’ dictum needs to be balanced with another: The overexamined life is not worth living either.

There is a Goldilocks zone in the Christian life between introspection and action that is just right, including neither too much nor too little of either quality. We should strive to live in that zone.

Take introspection. Paul writes, “Examine yourselves to see whether you are in the faith; test yourselves. Do you not realize that Christ Jesus is in you — unless, of course, you fail the test?” (2 Corinthians 13:5).

I have been in church all my life. My dad preached, and my mom played the piano. My sister and I attended every event for kids and youth.

As a staff pastor, I served in almost all ministry capacities from janitoring to starting a women’s Bible study. The only exception was youth ministry, but even there I led worship as a student.

When you grow up in the church, religious routine can crowd out spiritual authenticity if you’re not careful. Too much action, not enough introspection.

That is also true for congregations. We become so accustomed to the order of service that we lose the wonder of worship.

How many times have we droned through a hymn without paying attention to the lyrics we’re singing? Or taken Communion without conviction? Or listened to a sermon without repentance? Or heard a message in tongues without thinking, The Holy Spirit has spoken?

When those kinds of things happen, we need to stop and remember, “Christ Jesus is in you.” Then we need to consider, Am I in Jesus? Or is He knocking on the door of my Laodicean heart, longing for my fellowship (Revelation 3:20)?

If introspection is the antidote to thoughtless religious routine, action is the antidote to an overweening focus on self.

Years ago, I was asked to speak at a church in Southern California where I had once served on staff. My text was Matthew 25:40: “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

People said my sermon was really good. I enthusiastically agreed.

Then God weighed in.

After everyone, including the pastors, had left, a young homeless man approached me. He needed a place to stay — it was storming that night — as well as a bus ticket to his mom’s home in Arizona.

It was as if God was saying, “Put up or shut up. I don’t care about your exegetical thoughts or self-congratulatory spirit. I want obedience.”

So, the young man stayed on my couch that night, and in the morning I squared him away for the ride home.

In the spiritual life, introspection that doesn’t lead to action is blind, and action that doesn’t spring from thought is deaf. We need both faithful thought and thoughtful obedience to follow Jesus well.

How to do that in the specifics of your own life sounds like a great topic for journaling.

This article appears in the Summer 2026 issue of Influence magazine.