Maybe you’re not burnt out

What if the weariness you carry isn’t from the weight of ministry, but from the quiet, festering ache of resentment— a slow burn ignited by the very ones you were called to love?

What if the heaviness you feel isn’t from the tasks before you, but from the wounds you keep rehearsing in the silence of your mind—

a private courtroom where you are both judge and jury, where offense is re-tried again and again?

What if your soul isn’t exhausted from the labor itself, but from striving in your own strength—

digging deep into dry ground,

while the Living Water waits untouched?

What if you’re not truly ready to walk away—

you’re just tired of offering grace without a guarantee, longing for apologies that may never come?

What if what you’ve called burnout

is really the slow erosion of joy,

chipped away by bitterness unspoken,

wounds unhealed, and mercy withheld?

What if the Spirit hasn’t left you—

but you’ve tuned out His whisper beneath the roar of your offense?

This isn’t the end.

This is a holy invitation.

To release what you were never meant to carry.

To forgive in the dark what may never be acknowledged in the light.

To return—not to the work,

but to the One who called you to it.

He is not demanding more from you.

He is drawing you closer.

Not to push you harder—

but to revive what’s gone numb,

to tender what’s grown calloused,

to remind you:

You were never meant to do this alone.

You were never meant to love without being filled by Love Himself.

You were never meant to serve without resting in His presence.

So lay down the bitterness.

Let go of the offense.

Surrender the silent wars.

And come home to grace.

Maybe you’re not burnt out.

Maybe, beloved—

you’re just broken and it’s time to heal.