A well-known adage proclaims that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. We convince ourselves we’ll rise to the occasion—praying faithfully, loving boldly, standing strong when it matters most. That vision feels inspiring, even redemptive. Yet in the quiet hours, when resolve is tested, our best-laid plans often unravel.

Each January, my church launches a 21-day corporate fast, a heartfelt call to set our spirits ablaze for God’s purpose—to intentionally deny the flesh, sharpen our spiritual focus, and draw closer to Him. It’s a vision even our youngest believers embrace, aligning heart and mind with the Holy Spirit’s leading.

Annually, I convince myself that this is a good idea. I make a realistic goal: I won’t eat from sun-up to sun-down, which feels solid in January when you only have to endure about 12 hours without food. Day one is a challenge—adjusting to no food during your prime activity hours is uncomfortable—but my body just thinks I’m playing games. Then, on day two, the biological revolt begins. Headaches set in. My resolve is tested. My intention to suffer for the sake of spiritual growth comes under serious fire.

Inevitably, I fail—whether on day three or four. I don’t think I’ve ever made it to five. This failure is disheartening because my goal was spiritual growth.

In Matthew 26:36-46, we find the familiar passage about Jesus going to pray in the Garden of Gethsemane directly after the Last Supper. He took His disciples along with Him and asked Peter, James, and John to keep watch with Him. After going away to pray for some time, Jesus returned to find His friends asleep. These disciples, who professed profound love and devotion for their Messiah, despite their greatest intentions, failed to do what He asked of them, and they failed to do what they had intended to do.

Here is where the passage speaks most powerfully to our personal lives. We often want discipleship free from Gethsemane—free from the midnight prayers, the agonizing choices, the overwhelming sorrow, or even the discomfort of a fast. But Jesus invites us to “watch and pray” with Him. The disciples failed, falling asleep not once, but three times. Their spirits were willing, but their flesh was weak. Gethsemane exposes the gap between our good intentions and our human frailty. When we feel overwhelmed, exhausted, or unable to keep watch, this passage gently reminds us that we are not the first, nor will we be the last, to struggle with the weight of commitment.

Yet, despite the disciples’ repeated failures, Jesus never abandons them—nor does He abandon us. In His own agony, He prays not just for Himself, but for all who falter, offering a model of perfect obedience born of surrender to the Father. Our good intentions may crumble like the disciples’ resolve or my fasting goals, but Jesus bridges that gap with grace. He strengthens our weakness, turning our faltering steps into faithful ones. So, as we commit to prayer, fasting, or any act of devotion, let us lean not on our own strength but on His. Watch and pray today, trusting that in Christ, our intentions find fulfillment—not in our power, but in His endless mercy.