Assignment Over Demand
Learning to Move Only Where the Father Leads
By Josh Singleton | Vision and Lead Cultivator, The Neighborhood Garden Project
I am learning that Jesus did not live His life responding to pressure, urgency, or the demands of people. He lived from assignment. He lived from the Father’s voice. He lived inside a rhythm that humanity lost in Genesis 3, and as I walk out my own journey — especially in the garden — I see that this same rhythm is what God is restoring in me. Jesus said in John 5.19 that He could do nothing on His own but only what He saw the Father doing. That single sentence has become an anchor for my life. It tells me that Jesus was never pulled by need. He was led by revelation. Everything He did flowed from alignment. Everything He refused to do flowed from alignment too.
When Adam and Eve stepped out of alignment in Genesis 3, humanity absorbed the consequences. Fear, striving, shame, self-reliance, and pressure became normal. People began trying to solve suffering with the same misalignment that caused it. I recognize this in myself, in ministry, and in the nonprofit world — where leaders burn out trying to be everything to everyone, bending under weight God never asked them to carry. I’ve lived it. I’ve felt that pull. But Jesus restored the rhythm of Eden, not just through His teachings, but by how He lived. His yes belonged to the Father first, and that yes shaped every no. That is the rhythm I am now stepping into — a rhythm where the Father leads and I respond, instead of reacting to every need that shows up in front of me.
One of the clearest moments that taught me this is the pool of Bethesda.
Bethesda: Why Jesus Healed Only One Man
John 5.1–15
When I read the story of Bethesda, I used to feel tension in it. A multitude of people were suffering around that pool. People who had been waiting for years. People who carried real pain and real need. And Jesus walked in and healed only one man. For years, I didn’t understand that. But the more I walk with the Father, the more I recognize what was happening. Jesus wasn’t ignoring the others. He was moving by assignment. John says the man He approached had been paralyzed for thirty-eight years — the same number of years Israel wandered in unbelief. His body mirrored the spiritual paralysis of an entire nation. Jesus asked him, “Do you want to be healed?” not because relief was uncertain but because willingness was uncertain. Everyone wants relief. Not everyone wants transformation.
When I look at that moment now, I see precision. Jesus bypassed the whole system the man trusted — the stirring water, the race to be first, the superstition wrapped around it — and simply said, “Get up, take your bed, and walk.” The man responded, and Jesus immediately withdrew into the crowd because the assignment was complete. Healing one man wasn’t random. It was intentional. It fulfilled the Father’s purpose for that moment. If Jesus had healed everyone, the leaders would have dismissed it as chaos. One healing, on the Sabbath, through a man carrying his mat, forced a confrontation. It revealed their unbelief. It exposed the limits of their system. It opened the door for Jesus to declare His authority.
Bethesda teaches me that God’s work is not measured by volume. It is measured by obedience. It is measured by alignment. It is measured by willingness. And it teaches me that I do not have to respond to every need placed in front of me. I need only respond to the Father.
Need Is Universal. Willingness Is Rare.
Matthew 7.13–14, Luke 18.18–23
I see now that everyone carries need, but not everyone carries willingness. This has become one of the clearest Kingdom patterns in my life. Need is loud. Need is obvious. Need fills rooms, fills emails, fills garden gates, fills nonprofit work. But willingness — willingness is quiet. Willingness is rare. Jesus said the path to life is narrow and few find it, not because God hides it but because few are willing to surrender enough to walk it. The rich young ruler had need. Real need. But when Jesus placed His finger on the one thing he wasn’t willing to release, he walked away grieved. His need was deep, but his willingness was closed.
The Pharisees needed spiritual sight, but they were unwilling to admit they were blind. Even among the disciples, all of them felt the storm, but only Peter was willing to step out of the boat. Willingness creates movement. Willingness creates encounters. Willingness opens the door to revelation. Need simply brings us close.
I see this so clearly in the garden. People come because they need something — peace, grounding, meaning, healing, community. Need brings them in. But willingness decides who stays. Willingness is what shows up without being asked. Willingness leans into discomfort. Willingness lets the soil expose what is inside. Willingness receives pruning. Need may open the gate, but willingness tells me who God is highlighting.
Jesus never chased the unwilling. He loved them deeply, but He honored their freedom. I’m learning to do the same.
How Misalignment Tries to Fix Misalignment
Genesis 3.7–10, Exodus 2.11–14, Proverbs 14.12
Ever since the fall, humans have tried to fix spiritual problems with human solutions. When Adam and Eve realized they were naked, they sewed fig leaves together — a temporary, fragile, self-powered solution to a spiritual fracture. Moses did the same thing when he killed the Egyptian. His desire for justice was real, but his method was misaligned, and it delayed his assignment by decades. Proverbs says there is a way that seems right to a person but ends in destruction, and I see this play out in subtle ways all around me.
Misalignment often dresses itself up as compassion. It sounds like, “I just want to make sure they’re okay,” or “If I don’t do it, who will,” or “They need me right now,” or “I can’t say no because they’re depending on me.” I used to say versions of these things. They feel noble, but beneath them often sits fear — fear that God won’t show up unless I step in. And that is where everything breaks. That is where I begin carrying things God never asked me to carry. That is where I start rescuing people from pressures God Himself placed in their life for formation. That is where I interfere with the very journey God is trying to lead them through.
Jesus never did this. He moved slowly when others wanted urgency. He waited when others panicked. He stepped in when the Father called Him, not when people demanded Him. When Lazarus was sick, Jesus stayed two more days because the Father was writing a different story. When crowds begged Him to stay, He moved on because His assignment was elsewhere. Misalignment tries to fix misalignment. Alignment waits for the Father.
The garden keeps teaching me this. When I overwater a plant out of fear, I harm it. When I rescue it too fast, I weaken it. But when I trust the process, respond with discernment, and listen to what the soil is actually revealing, growth comes naturally. People are the same. Formation requires pressure, and misaligned help steals that pressure away.
Assignment Returns Me to the Garden
Genesis 2.15–17, Matthew 11.28–30, John 15.1–5
Assignment is where God brings me back to Eden. It is the antidote to pressure. It is the cure for striving. In Genesis 2.15, Adam wasn’t told to tend the entire world — just the garden he was placed in. Assignment was always intended to focus me, protect me, and give me pace. When Jesus invites me to take His yoke, He is inviting me back into that same rhythm — a yoke that fits, a burden that is light, because it was designed specifically for me. It is not freedom from responsibility. It is the right responsibility.
In John 15, Jesus reminds me that fruit comes from abiding, not effort. When I abide, I stop saying yes to things the Father never asked me to do. I stop chasing people who are not willing. I stop rescuing situations God is shaping. I stop moving from urgency and start moving from presence.
In the garden, this becomes visible. The soil tells me the truth. Seeds do not respond to anxiety. Roots do not grow under pressure. Fruit does not appear because I push harder. Everything grows through alignment — the right season, the right conditions, the right pace. And as I cultivate the soil, God cultivates me. He shows me who is ready, who is willing, who is assigned to my hands. He shows me where to sow, where to wait, where to prune, where to step in, and where to step back.
Assignment is not limitation. Assignment is liberation. It frees me from being everything to everyone and frees me to be faithful to the few God has entrusted to me. It frees me from striving and roots me in clarity. It frees me from saying yes out of fear and allows me to say yes from peace. It returns me to the garden — not just the physical one I steward, but the spiritual one where God walks with me daily and shows me what He is cultivating next.
Assignment is where fruit grows.
Assignment is where identity strengthens.
Assignment is where I meet God in the quiet, steady rhythm of His voice.
And this is the life I now choose to live.
