Called Beyond Our Nature

“For it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” – Philippians 2:13 (ESV)

I used to be the woman who couldn’t speak.

Not wouldn’t—couldn’t. I was so introverted and anxious that even the thought of raising my voice in a group made my stomach twist into knots. I remember sitting on my hands in Bible study, not out of reverence, but to hide how badly they trembled. Just being present felt like an act of courage. I had to leave the room and go outside to breath a couple of times, my anxiety level hit so high those first few months I attended church. It took months before I could speak aloud, even to offer a much needed personal prayer request, and even longer before I could string together a full thought in front of others.

But I kept going. I knew studying God’s Word mattered. I knew that fellowship, as awkward and stretching as it felt, was part of obedience. And so I kept showing up. Quietly. Fearfully. But faithfully.

And over time, the Lord met me there. Something began to change…I began to change. That little Bible study became a greenhouse for transformation. I found safety and encouragement among those ladies, and slowly, fear began to lose its grip of control where faith took the lead in my life directing me to follow truth and love alone. A few years later, I found myself co-teaching that very class, then later speaking at women’s retreats we organized. My voice still initially shook, and you would often find me up awake all night studying and praying before I went to “the cross” for Christ to teach which was still miles outside my comfort zone, but I felt compelled with importance of the worthiness of the message that welled up within me, looking for an outlet, the gospel, it lifted my eyes off myself and fixed them firmly on Christ and on the needs of others.

Where I was weak, He was strong.

God began to show me that He is not a God of isolation or avoidance, He is relational, deeply and personally so. He created people, not just ideas. He came to dwell with us. And as followers of this relational God, we are called not merely to know truth but to embody it in love, through the awkward, courageous, sometimes uncomfortable work of engaging others.

I had to learn that my fear of humiliation had to be crucified on the altar of obedience. It wasn’t about me anymore. Little by little, I leaned into small, painful acts of courage, going out to lunch, initiating a conversation, asking someone, “How is it with your soul?” I began to love people more than I feared them. And somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t think about the fear anymore. God had transformed me.

I’m still an introvert. I still come alive with books and quiet hours of research and writing. But I am no longer bound by fear. By His grace, I can stand in front of a room and teach or train with joy, not from a place of natural confidence, but from a deep, abiding awareness that the Word of God has transformed me, and it is still transforming me. Sometimes I stop and wonder about the woman I used to be… and the woman I am still becoming. Only God could do this. And He’s not done yet.

That’s what led me to reflect on something deeper: how God calls us, so often, beyond our nature. We think of our personalities, our preferences, our inclinations as fixed realities, as if they are sacred ground not to be challenged. But God is not interested in keeping us within the safe boundaries of our comfort zones. He is committed to making us like Christ. And that work requires transformation, not simply affirmation.

We often use our nature as an excuse to delay obedience. But the call of God is not according to our strengths. In fact, He often calls us precisely where we are weak. He presses into those tender places, not to wound, but to heal. Not to shame, but to sanctify.

The Christian life is not a life lived in harmony with our natural inclinations. It is a life that crucifies them. It is not a comfortable, padded existence where we can rest upon our personality types or temperaments as excuses for spiritual stagnation or disobedience. Rather, the call to follow Christ is a call that confronts our very nature, that reshapes us not in our own image or comfort, but into the image of Christ, who is neither introvert nor extrovert, neither passive nor aggressive, but perfect.

It is often said, “That’s just the way I am,” as though that justifies a failure to love well, to speak up, to be still, or to draw near to others or to God. But Scripture does not hold our personalities up as sacred. It does not adjust the commandments of God around our temperaments. Instead, God often commands us precisely in those areas that are most uncomfortable, most foreign to us, areas where we must rely entirely on Him, because our natural strength fails us.

Consider the commands given to men and women. In Ephesians 5, the husband is called to love his wife “as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” The wife is called to respect her husband. These commands are not rooted in what comes naturally but in what is needed to reflect the Gospel. The average woman, shaped by emotion and connection, loves easily but may struggle with unconditional respect when love is not reciprocated. The average man, driven by honor and accomplishment, can offer respect with ease but struggles to nurture and sacrifice with tender affection. God calls each to act contrary to their natural strength so that the marriage might mirror the Gospel, where Christ humbled Himself, and the Church submits in reverent awe.

The same principle is true in our personalities. The introvert, who feels most at home in solitude, is called not to isolate, but to love the brethren, to exhort one another daily (Heb. 3:13), to bear one another’s burdens (Gal. 6:2), and to let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor (1Cor. 10:24). Community is not optional; it is essential. And love, true biblical love, is not a feeling but a command, a verb that crosses personal boundaries and seeks the good of others, even when that means discomfort or exhaustion.

Likewise, the extrovert, who thrives on movement and interaction, is called to be still and know that He is God (Psa. 46:10). To enter the inner room and close the door (Mat. 6:6), to meditate on His law day and night (Psalm 1:2), to be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger (Ja. 1:19), and to seek the things that are above in quiet contemplation (Col.3:1). The extrovert must learn not only to still the body but also to bridle the tongue, to resist the impulse to fill silence with speech, and to cultivate restraint and reverence in communication. God calls us to a holy rest, not merely a pause from labor, but a withdrawal from the noise that fills our lives, to enter the sacred quiet where He ministers to our souls, and where silence becomes the language of worship.

“The soul grows rich in silence, and fat in secret converse with God.” — John Flavel

God will always call us beyond ourselves, for the Gospel is not a sanctified personality test. It is a call to die. To deny ourselves. To take up our cross daily. And what is more intimately part of ourselves than our personality, those preferences, inclinations, and dispositions that feel so rooted in our very bones? Yet even these must be laid down. We are not called to be more of who we are, but more of who Christ is. He is our true identity. And in Him, the introvert finds courage to reach across the table, and the extrovert finds peace in quiet communion. The strong learn to stoop, the meek to speak, the fearful to trust, the proud to bend. Grace does not leave us as we are, it transforms us.

Do not shield yourself from obedience with the excuse of temperament. Christ did not spare Himself when obedience meant suffering. He who was the very Word of God spent long hours in silence with His Father. He who drew crowds sought the lonely mountains. He who had all rights submitted. He who had all power served. So must we. Not by might, not by natural strength, but by His Spirit. For in the kingdom of God, strength is perfected in weakness, not in our self-sufficiency, but in our surrender.

Let your personality be a starting point for grace, not a boundary to it. God is not interested in using you because you are a good fit for a task, He is interested in forming Christ in you. And that will cost your comfort. But it will give you joy. So whether you are prone to retreat or rush in, to speak or to listen, to lead or to follow, submit yourself fully to the shaping hand of God. Ask not, “What comes naturally to me?” but, “What glorifies Christ in me?”

This is the power of the Word made alive in us, it does not simply inform; it transforms. It presses us beyond the borders of our natural temperament and calls us into obedience that requires the strength of Another. Whether we are prone to withdraw or rush ahead, to remain silent or to speak too quickly, the Spirit of God works in us to will and to do for His good pleasure. We are not excused from obedience by our personality, nor limited by our weakness, for it is Christ in us who accomplishes the work. He calls the fearful to speak, the loud to listen, the passive to engage, and the restless to be still. And as we walk in step with His Spirit, we are shaped, slowly but surely, into the likeness of Christ Himself. May we never cling so tightly to our nature that we resist His hand. Instead, may we offer ourselves wholly, trusting that He who calls us beyond ourselves will also supply the grace to follow. For the Christian walk is a supernatural life, and it begins, always, with death to self.