Too Tired to Be Who You Want to Be? There's a Promise for That.
Christian, you already know how we’re called to live.
Love people well. Open your home. Stay faithful. Stop gripping money so tight. Be the kind of person who shows up, who doesn't close off, who keeps going even when it costs something, and the list goes on.
You know it, but if we’re honest…some days, knowing is the exhausting part.
Real life doesn't slow down to let you be generous. The people you love most are sometimes the hardest to love. Your marriage needs more than you have left at the end of the day. Your bank account can create a constant low-grade anxiety. And the version of yourself you want to be can start to feel unrealistic.
I’m talking about myself here, too.
Our elders meet every Monday night, and we’ve been working through Paul Tripp's book, Dangerous Calling, together. Parts of it feel like getting your teeth kicked in. It exposes where I’m falling short, where my heart is divided, where I’m more exhausted than I want to admit. But then it points me back to Jesus. Which is exactly what a good book about shepherds should do.
In our last conversation, we asked each other some hard questions. How do we worship in the regular rhythms of life when we're overwhelmed? How do we shepherd others when we're still dealing with our own sin, our own wounds, our own weariness? Tripp's observation seems obvious. You can't effectively shepherd others unless your own heart is being shepherded. It's not our strength that points people to Jesus. It's from our own intimate walk with him.
That conversation walked us right into this past week’s sermon in Hebrews 13. In six verses, the author asks his readers to continue to love sacrificially, to welcome strangers, to honor marriage, to hold money loosely, and to live without fear. Read it without context, it sounds like an impossible to-do list. Read slowly, attempt to apply it…and it might even crush you.
But Jesus…
"I will never leave you nor forsake you. So we can confidently say, 'The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?'" (Hebrews 13:5–6)
That word so…that’s where our hope comes from. You see, the commands aren't the starting point. The promise is.
The life described in the first few verses of that chapter is a picture of transformation. Notice what causes the transformation. Rehearsing the Gospel. Not, try harder or do better.
Keep love alive… in a church family, a marriage, a friendship… it requires a security that doesn't depend on how people respond to you. You can only keep opening your heart to people who might disappoint you if something deeper than their approval is holding you. The promise — He won't leave — is what makes that kind of love possible. Not easy. Possible.
Hospitality…welcoming people who can't repay you, making room for the inconvenient and the overlooked… that requires believing your resources aren't yours to hoard. You only stop guarding what you have when you trust the One who provides it.
Honor marriage…when the culture treats it as disposable, or when you've already failed and wonder if it's too late…that requires the Gospel too. Not the version that says "only the unbroken are welcome," but the real version: come to the One who makes all things new. Jesus doesn't rehearse your failures back at you. He paid for them and walks forward with you.
Contentment…real contentment, not just gritting your teeth and settling. That requires believing what you have right now is enough because who you have right now is enough. The reason money promises so much and delivers so little is that it’s trying to fill a role only God can fill.
Safety.
Peace.
Enough.
He already offers all of it… not as a feeling, but as a present, faithful person. The Lord is my helper…not resources.
This life…it doesn't make sense from the outside. Loving without guarantee of return. Welcoming without expecting repayment. Staying faithful when no one would fault you for leaving. Holding money loosely in a world that rewards grasping. People who don't know Jesus will look at your life and think you’re foolish.
Honestly? Sometimes WE think we’re foolish, too.
But that's the beauty of it. This is not a life you create. It's a life you receive…from a Savior who was forsaken so you would never have to be, who rose so the promise would hold forever, who is with you right now not as a judge waiting for you to get it together, but as a Helper.
Being tired doesn't disqualify you. Being overwhelmed doesn't mean you've lost it. Being aware of your own shortcomings isn't a sign that God is finished with you…it’s usually the first sign that He's at work in you.
You don't start with the work and hope your way to the promise. You start with the promise. You preach it to yourself, you rehearse it, you let it speak louder than the narrative of failure that haunts your mind…and the doing follows. Not perfectly. But genuinely. And that's worth celebrating.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
That's the promise. That’s the current and future hope. That’s what allows you to live an unexplainable life.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
Where have you been trying to love, give, stay faithful, or hold on? What would it look like to actually rest in His promise?
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
Love people well. Open your home. Stay faithful. Stop gripping money so tight. Be the kind of person who shows up, who doesn't close off, who keeps going even when it costs something, and the list goes on.
You know it, but if we’re honest…some days, knowing is the exhausting part.
Real life doesn't slow down to let you be generous. The people you love most are sometimes the hardest to love. Your marriage needs more than you have left at the end of the day. Your bank account can create a constant low-grade anxiety. And the version of yourself you want to be can start to feel unrealistic.
I’m talking about myself here, too.
Our elders meet every Monday night, and we’ve been working through Paul Tripp's book, Dangerous Calling, together. Parts of it feel like getting your teeth kicked in. It exposes where I’m falling short, where my heart is divided, where I’m more exhausted than I want to admit. But then it points me back to Jesus. Which is exactly what a good book about shepherds should do.
In our last conversation, we asked each other some hard questions. How do we worship in the regular rhythms of life when we're overwhelmed? How do we shepherd others when we're still dealing with our own sin, our own wounds, our own weariness? Tripp's observation seems obvious. You can't effectively shepherd others unless your own heart is being shepherded. It's not our strength that points people to Jesus. It's from our own intimate walk with him.
That conversation walked us right into this past week’s sermon in Hebrews 13. In six verses, the author asks his readers to continue to love sacrificially, to welcome strangers, to honor marriage, to hold money loosely, and to live without fear. Read it without context, it sounds like an impossible to-do list. Read slowly, attempt to apply it…and it might even crush you.
But Jesus…
"I will never leave you nor forsake you. So we can confidently say, 'The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?'" (Hebrews 13:5–6)
That word so…that’s where our hope comes from. You see, the commands aren't the starting point. The promise is.
The life described in the first few verses of that chapter is a picture of transformation. Notice what causes the transformation. Rehearsing the Gospel. Not, try harder or do better.
Keep love alive… in a church family, a marriage, a friendship… it requires a security that doesn't depend on how people respond to you. You can only keep opening your heart to people who might disappoint you if something deeper than their approval is holding you. The promise — He won't leave — is what makes that kind of love possible. Not easy. Possible.
Hospitality…welcoming people who can't repay you, making room for the inconvenient and the overlooked… that requires believing your resources aren't yours to hoard. You only stop guarding what you have when you trust the One who provides it.
Honor marriage…when the culture treats it as disposable, or when you've already failed and wonder if it's too late…that requires the Gospel too. Not the version that says "only the unbroken are welcome," but the real version: come to the One who makes all things new. Jesus doesn't rehearse your failures back at you. He paid for them and walks forward with you.
Contentment…real contentment, not just gritting your teeth and settling. That requires believing what you have right now is enough because who you have right now is enough. The reason money promises so much and delivers so little is that it’s trying to fill a role only God can fill.
Safety.
Peace.
Enough.
He already offers all of it… not as a feeling, but as a present, faithful person. The Lord is my helper…not resources.
This life…it doesn't make sense from the outside. Loving without guarantee of return. Welcoming without expecting repayment. Staying faithful when no one would fault you for leaving. Holding money loosely in a world that rewards grasping. People who don't know Jesus will look at your life and think you’re foolish.
Honestly? Sometimes WE think we’re foolish, too.
But that's the beauty of it. This is not a life you create. It's a life you receive…from a Savior who was forsaken so you would never have to be, who rose so the promise would hold forever, who is with you right now not as a judge waiting for you to get it together, but as a Helper.
Being tired doesn't disqualify you. Being overwhelmed doesn't mean you've lost it. Being aware of your own shortcomings isn't a sign that God is finished with you…it’s usually the first sign that He's at work in you.
You don't start with the work and hope your way to the promise. You start with the promise. You preach it to yourself, you rehearse it, you let it speak louder than the narrative of failure that haunts your mind…and the doing follows. Not perfectly. But genuinely. And that's worth celebrating.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
That's the promise. That’s the current and future hope. That’s what allows you to live an unexplainable life.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
Where have you been trying to love, give, stay faithful, or hold on? What would it look like to actually rest in His promise?
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
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