“Overwork makes for restless sleep. Overtalk shows you up as a fool.” (Ecclesiastes 5:3, MSG)
Leave it up to us to turn a
vice into something praiseworthy. Deep
inside our broken and dysfunctional hearts, we carry a secret pride—although we
never would admit it—in our overwork. In
our hidden places, we think of it as something noble and heroic. In fact, we tend to wear it like a merit
badge.
Yet, truth be told, overwork
always comes down to two things—fear and insecurity. Either we don’t think God can do it without us (whatever it may be), or we’re terrified that he will. And I’m not really sure which is worse.
Our tendency to overwork is
an addiction of the highest degree. It
comes from a desperate need to prove to ourselves and our world—and even our
God—that we are worth loving. It comes
from an attempt to make our name great, rather making His name great. It comes from our propensity to try and make
ourselves bigger, rather than smaller.
And, in the process, it robs us of life and health, joy and peace. It leaves us so worn down and burnt out that
we have nothing of substance to offer those to whom God has entrusted to our
care.
Maybe it’s time to “work
smarter, not harder.” Maybe it’s time to
really trust God the way we say we do.
Maybe it’s time to allow him to direct our steps and order our
days. Maybe it’s time that our lives
became about his kingdom and his glory, rather than our own. And it all starts with coming first to him.
“Using a dull ax requires great strength, so sharpen the blade. That’s the value of wisdom; it helps you succeed.” (Ecclesiastes 10:10, NLT)
Sometimes the most godly thing
we can do is just take a day off; to take some time away to renew and restore
and recharge—to sharpen the ax so that we can be more fruitful and effective in
the work God has given us to do.
But, for some reason, we
resist and refuse rest. Could it be that
somewhere along the line we have convinced ourselves that everything actually depends
on us? Breaking that mentality is a very
difficult thing to do because it requires a healthy dose of humility. And humility is not something we are drawn
to. Humility involves becoming smaller,
and most of our time and energy is devoted to becoming larger. Humility requires us to admit, or come to
terms with the fact, that it does not, in fact, depend on us at all, but on
God.
The sick part is that somehow we really want it to depend on us. Maybe that’s what keeps us from rest in the first place. For there is a terrible fear that goes along with being unnecessary. And, unfortunately, making ourselves more necessary than we really are is one of the primary occupations and temptations of the life of ministry.
O Lord, forgive me when I refuse to stop and rest. Forgive me when I have made myself so important that I have allowed the blade of my soul to grow so dull that it is simply not fit for the life of ministry you have called me to. Teach me what it means, O Lord, to sharpen the ax. Not only for my sake, but for the sake of your kingdom and your work. Amen.
“God, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing.” (Psalm 23:1, MSG)
If our deepest needs for love and impact are not being met in Jesus, we will try to have them met elsewhere. And when we need the very people we are called to love and serve, it’s a recipe for disaster. Only prayer can free us from the need to be needed.
Free me, O God, from the need to impress and achieve and perform. Free me from the need for applause and
affirmation and response. Free me to
love and serve, rather than to demand and manipulate. Help me to live my life from a place of love,
rather than a place of need. I can only do this in you. Amen.
