There is a weariness that comes from having worked so hard for so long seemingly against the grain. It settles as brittle bones, as insidious as it is quiet in enveloping your soul. It festers and spreads until, one day, you find yourself waking up barely able to move from the weight of a thousand disappointments lodged in the inner workings of your mind. A backstabbing business partner here. An unfaithful spouse there. A friend-turned-Judas or two or three. Forsaken time and time again when you needed refuge and restoration the most. Lies and falsely packaged narratives swirling in the wind around you as you walk. Motives always at the forefront of your interactions with those around you. Caution limiting your conversation for fear that your words will be used against you in some new, heartbreaking way.
The cry of “How long, O Lord?” sits permanently perched on the tip of your tongue, ready to accompany freshly embittered tears that trace the salt ladden paths of the ones which fell before them. Every wound feels fresh; every step seems heavy with the possibility of another disillusionment. You wonder–not if but what you are doing wrong.
You are weary with welldoing.
As someone coming fresh off the boat of that kind of exhaustion, I can attest to your pain. I am a living witness to the sludge of lowgrade fear in which you walk; I know your heart and the sorrow of doing right and reaping wrong. And as a member of this club, I want to personally encourage you in this your hour of decision.
And this is an hour of decision. You could stop where you are, determine that it is not worth it and simply refuse to go further forward because there is swift relief in resting where you stand. You could turn back, sure of the path you have cleared along the way if nothing else because there is safety in certainty. But you don’t want to do either of those things if you want to leave the world better than when you broke into it. You have to finish the course to obtain the crown of life promised to you.
Despite the everlasting feeling of labor without reward, the word of God never returns void. His promises do not change, thus guaranteeing that your labor will not be wasted. As with all seasons, this one (long though it may be) will end at a destination beyond what you have asked or imagined.
The time for you to beat your plow into a sword and fight for your inheritance has come. The mountain that you trudged up through trees and thistles has a valley on the other side that flows with new life. Lift up your head and see how far you have come and how close you are to the place where your victory has been assured.
Now is not the time to faint, to falter, to freeze. On the other side exists the things you have long prayed for, earnestly waited for, and diligently worked for. Your due season is upon you. All you have to do now is fight the weariness so that you can reap what has been sown.