We live in a world that encourages us to trust our feelings. We hear it so often that we’ve stopped questioning it and started believing it. In doing so, we have convinced ourselves that feelings determine reality.
We hear it everywhere:
“Just follow your heart.”
“Do whatever feels right.”
“Live your truth.”
The assumption is simple: if I sincerely feel something, then it must be true.
But Scripture says differently.
Jeremiah 17:9 says:
“The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; who can understand it?”
That’s a humbling description of the human heart. God says our hearts can deceive us. Our emotions can mislead us. Our feelings are real, but they are not always reliable. They prove to be poor guides for discerning truth.
I learned this the hard way some years ago in seminary.
In those days, I had to drive several times a week back and forth to class. It was over an hour each way, so naturally I tried to find ways to shave some minutes off the commute. I discovered a set of back roads that bypassed the main highways and traffic. It knocked a little time off the trip, so it became my go-to route.
One day I pulled off I-10 and started down those back highways. The road was long and wide with two lanes going each direction. I never saw a speed limit sign, but in my mind it just felt like a 55 mph road. It made perfect sense to me. Everything about it looked like 55 mph.
So I trusted my feelings.
And as the song says, “I can’t drive…55!”
Like most drivers, if the speed limit feels like 55, I’m probably pushing it over 60.
Then suddenly flashing blue lights appeared behind me.
My feelings changed immediately.
The officer walked up, took my license and insurance, and after a few moments returned with unwelcome news. While I felt like the speed limit should be 55 mph, the reality was that it was actually 45.
My opinion did not matter.
My assumptions did not matter.
My feelings did not matter.
Truth remained truth regardless of how convinced I was otherwise.
And honestly, that ticket did not become any less real because I disagreed with it.
That little moment on a back highway illustrates a much larger spiritual truth: reality is not defined by our feelings.
We live in a world that increasingly treats emotions and opinions as the highest authority. Right and wrong are often measured by personal experience and preference rather than objective truth.
If something makes us happy, we assume it must be good.
If something feels comfortable and affirming, we assume it must be right.
When truth confronts us, we often reject the truth instead of correcting ourselves.
But feelings are unreliable guides.
They change from day to day, moment to moment, circumstance to circumstance.
Truth does not.
A person can sincerely believe they are right and still be completely wrong. Sincerity does not create truth.
In the early days of COVID, not everyone reacted to the illness the same way. Some felt incredibly sick. Others, however, didn’t feel bad at all. Though the test may have read positive, the patient honestly could have said, “But I feel fine.”
Their feelings may be genuine. They may truly feel healthy. But the illness remains real whether they feel it or not.
The sickness doesn’t disappear simply because it doesn’t match their emotions.
In the same way, spiritual truth stands independent of our feelings.
There are days we may feel confident in walking down certain roads or making certain decisions.
There are days we may feel correct in choosing what we will love or reject.
There are days we may feel justified in bitterness, anger, pride, or compromise.
But feelings do not redefine righteousness.
There are days obedience feels too costly and sin feels appealing. But right and wrong are not measured by whether something affects us positively or negatively in the moment.
Sometimes the right thing doesn’t feel good.
Yet discomfort does not make something wrong.
Nor does comfort make something right.
Sin often feels good for a season. That is part of its deception. Satan rarely packages rebellion in ways that appear immediately destructive. More often he wraps lies in feelings, desires, and emotional reasoning.
That is why believers must anchor themselves to something more stable than emotion.
Feelings make terrible foundations. They are notoriously unstable.
One hard day can alter them.
One disappointment can shake them.
One fearful moment can distort them.
Then the walls come tumbling down.
But the Word of God remains steady.
Jesus said in Matthew 7:
“Therefore everyone who hears these words of Mine and acts on them, may be compared to a wise man who built his house on the rock.” — Matthew 7:24 NASB95
The storms came.
The winds blew.
The rain fell.
But the house stood because it was anchored to something solid.
That is the difference between feelings and truth.
Feelings shift like sand.
Truth stands like rock.
Mature faith learns to ask a different question. Not “What do I feel?” but “What has God said?”
Those are not always the same thing.
Sometimes truth comforts us.
Sometimes truth corrects us.
Sometimes truth convicts us.
Sometimes truth calls us to difficult obedience and uncomfortable decisions.
But truth remains truth either way.
That day on the highway, my feelings changed the moment I saw those flashing blue lights in my mirror. Suddenly the road no longer felt like a 55 mph road anymore. Truth is, the road had always been 45 mph.
Spiritually speaking, many people spend their lives driving according to feelings rather than truth. But eventually reality catches up.
One day emotions fade.
One day excuses run out.
One day every life is measured against the truth of God.
And in that moment, feelings will not matter nearly as much as whether we trusted what was true.
The good news is that God has not left us guessing.
He has given us His Word.
He has revealed His truth.
He has shown us the way, the truth, and the life in Jesus.
So when your heart shifts, when emotions fluctuate, when feelings become unreliable, anchor yourself to something stronger than emotion.
Anchor yourself to truth.
Because feelings change.
Truth does not.
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