Fighting From a Place of Exhaustion
When Is Enough Enough?This morning, I woke up carrying more than I wanted to.
Yesterday, after another back procedure, the doctor sat with me and began talking about what comes next.
Not the next step I wanted.
Not the next step I prayed for.
The next step they offer when everything else has failed.
A procedure they once only used for cancer patients, but now use for people living with chronic pain. A tube leading directly to my spine. Medication delivered into my body for the rest of my life. Appointments every few months to refill it. Another thing to manage. Another thing to carry.
And as I lay here this morning, trying to process all of that, I found myself asking God a question I never wanted to ask.
Not “Why me?”
But “When is enough enough?”
Because the truth is, the old me—even the me from just yesterday morning—would have immediately gone into survival mode.
“Okay. What do we need to do?”
“Let’s make a plan.”
“Let’s prepare.”
“Let’s figure this out.”
But where God has me now is different.
This morning, all I could say was:
“God, what are You telling me?”
Because I do not just need a plan.
I need Him.
And if I am honest, I am struggling.
Because I keep thinking about the promises I thought God gave me.
I thought healing was coming.
And now I find myself questioning what healing was ever supposed to mean.
Did God promise me a life without pain?
Or did He promise that He would never leave me nor forsake me?
Because there are people doing the work of God from wheelchairs.
There are people still ministering while grieving.
Still loving while hurting.
Still believing while living with things they begged God to take away.
I think about the woman we are helping who is homeless, and yet somehow still full of faith.
And I ask myself:
Do I have to become one of those people?
Do I have to spend the rest of my life in pain to prove my love for God?
Do I have to keep surviving instead of living?
Because that is what this really comes down to.
I am tired of feeling like I have to fight so hard for every little piece of joy.
I am tired of feeling like every good thing comes with a battle attached to it.
I am tired of wondering when I finally get to exhale.
When do I get to live from a place of peace instead of pressure?
When do I get to wake up and not immediately feel like I am carrying something?
When do I stop feeling like happiness is always just out of reach?
And maybe those are not the “church answers.”
Maybe those are not the neat, polished things we are supposed to say.
But they are true.
And this morning, I think God is asking me for truth more than performance.
Because maybe faith is not pretending I am okay.
Maybe faith is telling the truth about how hard this is.
Maybe faith is being brave enough to say:
“God, I do not know what to do next.”
Because this morning, I do not.
I do not know what decision I will make.
I do not know what healing will look like.
I do not know what my future body will require from me.
I do not know why some prayers seem to take so long.
But I do know this:
I am still here.
I am still talking to God.
I am still listening.
And even in all of this, I still believe that He is with me.
The truth is, this morning I do not feel strong.
I feel like a little girl again.
Like the part of me that just wants somebody to say, “It is going to be okay.”
And maybe that is what I need to let God do.
Not give me all the answers.
Not show me the whole future.
Just sit with me here.
Hold me here.
Love me here.
Because maybe being held by God is enough for today.
Maybe I do not have to solve the rest of my life this morning.
Maybe I only have to trust God with today.
So this morning, that is where I am.
Not giving up.
Not walking away.
Just being honest.
I do not have all the answers.
I just have God.
And maybe this morning, that is enough.
What do you do when life is not turning out the way you hoped—and you still have to decide how to keep going?
