The Final 10% and the Faith Behind “And”

The past eighteen months began as intentional time set aside—what I thought would be a pause. Yet it slowly became a rhythm, a way of gathering the constant thoughts circling my mind and placing them onto paper. In that space, I gave myself permission to sit—to be still. That stillness became its own kind of progress, shaping me into someone more grounded and whole. It brought clarity, closing the distance between striving and finally walking in peace—with the Prince of Peace.

If I told you that the last eighteen months felt like I was walking on clouds—that I heard God clearly every day, never doubted, never became angry, never argued with my wife, and never sinned—I would be lying. Life is hard. We fall short daily, and when our cup is almost full, we often reach for another, forgetting the one still brimming beside us.

A small confession: I have a thing for the Yeti product. Something about the white ones—their endless variations for every kind of drink, trip, or need—fascinates me. But somewhere along the way, I realized my collection was not just about mugs and cups. It mirrored how I sometimes live.

I believe we can all relate. We live life like this sometimes—always reaching for the next container, the next thing to hold what we think we are missing or need. We chase the new, believing it will finally satisfy what feels incomplete, forgetting that God may already be pouring into what is right before us. And perhaps the prayers we call unanswered are, in truth, answered differently—by the One who knows our tomorrow far better than we who keep looking back at our past.

But living life that way—always striving, always chasing the next cup—is exhausting. It drains the joy and, almost every single time, steals the purpose.

Somewhere along the way, I began to notice how different Jesus’ rhythm was. He lived with an intentional “and” between what He saw and what He did. When He noticed the need, He moved. When He felt compassion, He acted. That small word—and—is what turned moments into ministry. It was the bridge between seeing and serving, believing and becoming.

Let us look at the Gospel of Mark:

This passage captures persistence, faith, and the power of the final moment. Bartimaeus keeps calling out even when others tell him to be silent. He presses through the noise, through the doubt—through his own final ten percent. Jesus hears him and responds. The word “and” becomes the hinge between faith and fulfillment, between the cry and the miracle.

We see this same heart of compassion again in Matthew:

Here again, and marks the turning point—the movement from seeing to doing, from awareness to action. It is not passive punctuation; it is purpose in motion. Jesus did not stop at observation or empathy. He acted. His compassion was not only felt—it was expressed through the “and”.

That same “and” is what finishing well looks like for us. It is what stands between almost and complete, between intention and obedience. The first ninety percent of any journey is fueled by vision, energy, and excitement. But the last ten percent—that is where faith steps in. It is where perseverance must outlast emotion, where calling outweighs comfort, and where obedience becomes the offering.

As I stand in the final ten percent of publishing my first book, I feel the weight and wonder of this very lesson. As I encourage you to find your “and”, so that you finish your race well, I am also reminding myself to do the same. My “and” is a continual reminder that I am merely a tool—one used to carry the good news of Jesus into the world.

But I would be remiss not to mention that spiritual warfare is real, especially when you are close to the finish line. The enemy loves to attack in the final stretch—when momentum is high and purpose is near completion. Distraction, discouragement, and doubt often increase not because you are off track, but because you are right where God wants you to be.

What is true—and deeply comforting—is that no challenge, setback, or opposition can break our spirit, for the living Spirit of God empowers us to endure and overcome.

Here are a few ways we can strengthen our “and” in the final stretch:

Before Jesus moved, He withdrew. Before He taught, He prayed. Stillness is not the absence of work—it is the grounding of the heart before the work continues. When the race feels long, pause and sit with God rather than your frustration. Let silence become sacred space, even if it is just ten minutes a day. In those quiet moments, ask Him, “What are You pouring into my cup right now that I keep overlooking?” That single act of stillness can become the very space where He renews the strength you thought was gone.

The last ten percent of any journey often tests whether we trust God’s timing or our own. The temptation in the final stretch is to force progress rather than walk in obedience. When spiritual resistance rises, stop and name it for what it is. Say out loud, “This opposition does not define me; it confirms my direction.” Then pray, “Lord, show me where I am striving instead of surrendering.” Sometimes the most courageous thing we can do near the finish line is to slow down and remember that His completion is far better than our control.

Feelings fluctuate. Faith endures. The same Spirit who began the work in you, the One that has guided you throughout your walk in obedience—will carry it to completion. Finishing well means walking through resistance with the confidence that peace is not found in ease; but in alignment. When discouragement rises, remind yourself, “No challenge, setback, or opposition can break my spirit, for the living Spirit of God empowers me to endure and overcome.” Then ask, “Where is God calling me to finish, not in exhaustion—but in faith?” That question alone can shift the focus from performance to purpose.

Thought-Provoking Questions: