“My cleats fell apart,” my daughter shouted as we approached the front door of our house, about to leave for the second game of her softball tournament.
Game one had ended in a 19–0 loss, so emotions were already running thin. We were pushing our kids hard to get out the door on time for game two. Now, her cleat had quite literally come unglued—the sole of the heels of her cleats were now in her hand and somehow were like a metaphor for the day we were having as a family. This was already the kind of day where nothing goes right. “Weekends are supposed to be relaxing,” which is a through that I said to myself many times throughout the day. Earlier, my wife dropped a tray of Star Wars-themed snacks she was preparing for our church’s coffee break on May 4th. That meant a quick run to the store for more supplies and replacement trays. It also rained hard the night before, and as the storm picked up, so did an apparent new, small leak in our house, one more reminder of all the repairs I can’t get to. Suddenly, all of that came rushing in, the repairs we needed to do to windows, carpet, electric, and now a leaky basement.
The Pile-Up of Pressures
The mounting to-do lists, the mess in the kitchen, the tightening budget, the tension in our schedules—it was all pressing in. I had doctoral responsibilities, responsibilities for my part-time work as a pastor of a small rural church community, and somehow, I needed rest from the week I had as well. I had been wrestling all day with high blood sugars (I wrestle with Type 1 Diabetes) and bickering kids. There I was, watching my daughter hold the sole of her cleat in one hand, while I silently held the shredded edges of my own soul in my own hands as well.
Gorilla Glue and the Limits of Control
I tried to glue her sole back on — just to get through the day. But not even Gorilla Glue could fix that mess. When the sole came off again, she absentmindedly stepped down with her glue-covered heel—right onto the carpet. Classic. And in that moment, I was reminded: the more I try to fix everything in my own strength, the more things seem to fall apart. The harder I push, the worse the mess gets. It was just one of those days. I lost my patience. I yelled. I herded everyone into the car, frustrated and frazzled, already knowing our next stop: Play It Again Sports, hoping to find a cheap, quiet pair of used cleats to limp through the rest of the tournament.
When the Calling Feels Like a Target
It’s not lost on me that I’ve made 1 Thessalonians 4:11–12 a focus of my life — this idea of leading a quiet life, minding my own business, and working with my hands so I can live dependently on no one and be a prophetic witness. That vision has shaped my prayers, my priorities, even the way I structure my week. But lately, that quiet life I long for feels more like a taunt than a calling. I’ve started to notice a pattern — how the very places where God calls us, the very values we feel led to pursue, are often the ones that come under fire by the world around us, by evil, but just the happenings of life. It’s as if an enemy — or even just the chaos of life —knows where to plan a targeted strike. The moments I set out to embrace stillness, everything gets louder. When I aim for simplicity, life gets cluttered. When I try to live quietly and faithfully, every interruption and frustration seems to test that commitment. And yet, maybe that’s part of the formation. Maybe the battle itself is evidence that the calling is real.
Everything Is Loud
In this season, everything feels loud. The chaos of three kids involved in youth groups, sports, and band keeps our calendar overflowing. Pastoring full-time and part-time demands more than just Sunday mornings, and the emotional and financial weight of ongoing medical needs never seems to let up. My wife and I do our best to sync our ever-shifting work schedules, but most days feel like survival, not rhythm. On top of it all, my own battle with Type 1 diabetes adds another unpredictable layer — especially on days when my blood sugar levels spiral, and I can least afford it. These pressures pile up, and the soundtrack in my head starts to whisper lies: You’re not doing enough. You’re not enough. You’re failing. In moments like that, I find myself before God, holding a broken cleat and quietly saying, “God, my soul is coming apart.” And yet, as much as I long for simplicity and peace, I also find the turmoil causing myself to crave more—I want greener grass, a little more money, and nicer things. I want to feel like I’m winning at something, somewhere. Even just a little.
Learning to Swim in the Deep
Life lately feels like I’ve been tossed into the depths of a stormy ocean, ready or not. And the truth is—you can’t survive the deep end if you don’t know how to swim. You might flail for a while, you might tread water for a bit, but eventually, the exhaustion sets in. The only way to stay afloat is to swim. You need the capacity to swim to survive a rocky sea — not just a little knowledge, but you must be an experienced swimmer. Writing to the church in Ephesus, Paul says he is kneeling “in the presence of the Father,” asking God to give the Ephesians a gift from the wealth of His glory (Ephesians 3:14, GW). And what is this gift? He prays they receive inner strength and power through the Spirit. In this way, God’s love becomes the ground in which we “sink [our] roots and on which [we] have foundation” (v. 17). We survive the storm when we “understand how wide, long, high, and deep his love is” (v. 18). Paul makes clear this isn’t about head knowledge — it’s about experience. His prayer is that they would experience God’s love, so they may truly know “Christ’s love, which goes far beyond any knowledge” (v. 19). If we’re going to survive the deep—if we’re going to keep from sinking in seasons like this—we need that kind of love to hold us up. God’s love becomes the foundation we sink our roots into. It’s through experiencing God’s love that we learn to float, it is the strength we draw from when everything else gives out. I don’t need to be perfect at swimming—I just need to stay rooted in the depths of God’s love. And maybe that’s how we’re filled, even when we feel empty.
The Strength to Stay Present
Healing isn’t found in polished prayers or perfectly cleaned cleats. I think it is found in the raw honesty of a worn-out parent and pastor saying, “This is where I’m at.” Perhaps we need more people willing to do this. And maybe that’s true for you too. This morning, I don’t have a solution. I’m not writing from the other side of the struggle. But I am choosing to be present. I’m praying to resist the drift into apathy, the bitterness that can come with disappointment, and the short fuse that flares under constant pressure. I’m naming the weariness and handing it to God. Honestly, part of me wants to throw in the towel in a lot of areas of my life – from pastoring to being a homeowner. If I rent, repairs are someone else’s job, if I pastor, I can be “normal” is the lure. Let me tangent, pastoring is hard — whether it’s full-time ministry with those experiencing homelessness, where spiritual hunger often feels faint, or part-time shepherding in a small church where responsibility feels unevenly carried and obstacles often outweigh creative momentum. And yet, in the middle of mayhem, I want to believe that the truest story isn’t how broken I feel—it’s that I’m being made whole. That even when I want to throw in the towel—or the cleat—God is still at work.
A Prayer for the Worn-Out
“God, my soul fell apart,” I say as I sit here with it in my hand.
We often pray for easier paths. But maybe what we really need are softer hearts and harder feet. Hearts that stay open to grace, and feet that can walk over rocky terrain without giving out. Our ability to stay afloat in the deep end of life depends less on avoiding hardship and more on trusting the God who swims with us.
So today, if you’re holding the ripped sole of a shoe—or a soul that feels like it’s unraveling—know you’re not alone.
Even Now, God Has Not Stopped
This is my prayer for you right now – Paul’s prayer from Ephesians 3:16-18. It is a prayer that you would be rooted—anchored in love, even when everything around you feels unstable.
“I’m asking God to give you a gift from the wealth of his glory. I pray that he would give you inner strength and power through his Spirit. Then Christ will live in you through faith. I also pray that love may be the ground into which you sink your roots and on which you have your foundation. This way, with all of God’s people you will be able to understand how wide, long, high, and deep his love is.”
Perhaps you can pray this for me today too. There is grace for tired hands and worn-out hearts.
There is still strength to be found.
And even now, the God who began a good work in you has not stopped (Philippians 1:6).
Of Course…
…and wouldn’t you know it, the cleats I picked up at Play It Again Sports are already starting to come unglued too.
A Final Note
You may notice that I quoted a lot in this post from the GOD’S WORD Translation. This is a translation of the scriptures that I use with the guests at Water Street Mission, and often in my own devotional reading, rather than for in-depth study. GOD’S WORD (GW) is a clear, readable Bible translation that aims to faithfully communicate the original meaning of the scriptures in natural, everyday English. Developed by a team of biblical scholars and English experts, GW balances accuracy with accessibility, making it especially helpful for devotional reading and public teaching. Its focus on meaning-based translation helps readers grasp both the heart and depth of the biblical message.
Also, thanks for reading my blog. I look forward to getting to know you as you get to know me. If you’d like to have a conversation or connect for any reason, feel free to reach out by email.
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