The Weariness of Well-Doing

✦ Mantra

“Let us not be weary in well-doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.”
—Galatians 6:9

And yet, Friends—
we do grow weary.
And that is ok.

✦ Centering Thought

Paul’s invitation to “not grow weary in well-doing” has been cherished by generations. It has reminded the oppressed that harvest is coming, that endurance is blessed, and that well-doing is not without its reward. But we must also tell the truth: for many of us living in this age—this epoch of climate crisis, calloused indifference, and sedimented cruelty—the exhortation not to grow weary can feel impossible, even unkind.

Because many of us already are weary.
And not because we lack faith.
But because we’ve carried too much, for too long, with too little rest and almost no recognition.

Weary are the scholars who pour themselves into labor-intensive research while navigating unpaid bills and the theft of a stable, sustainable future.
Weary are the parents who wake up at 2:00 AM in fear—not for their soul, but for their child’s dental surgery they can’t afford because healthcare is tethered to employability.
Weary are the organizers sounding alarms about a burning planet while watching policies crafted to protect capital, not creation.
Weary are the caregivers, the teachers, the seers, the quietly faithful—doing good with no guarantee of thanks, restitution, or rescue.

Paul’s words may have sufficed for his first-century communities—but 2,000 years of brutality, systemic indifference, and soul-splintering labor have re-articulated the conversation. We cannot always tell the weary to not be weary. Not when the weariness is true.

So I offer you this:

Do not deny your weariness.
Do not suppress it.
Do not obscure it with a deluge of sacred texts or productivity hacks.

Let your weariness be heard. Let it speak. Let it teach you.
Because weariness is not a liar.
Weariness is the sign to a Way.

Sometimes it tells us it’s time to rest.
Sometimes it tells us the thing we’re doing needs to change.
Sometimes it simply wants to be held, not solved.

And perhaps that is what Brother Paul was trying to say—not “pretend you’re not tired,” but “don’t let the tiredness become the only story.” Maybe his call to not grow weary was not an order, but a reframing:

Let your weariness be real—but do not let it rule you.

That’s what I want for you. That’s what I want for myself.

As a father, husband, son, friend, and educator who is often deeply weary from well-doing, I want to say clearly:
You are not failing when you feel worn down.
You are not weak because you can’t keep going.
You are not faithless for questioning the cost.

But let us also be careful:
Weariness, left unexamined, can become hegemonic—a word that means "dominant to the point of silencing other truths."
We must not allow our tiredness to become the final author of our lives.
We must not let exhaustion become the language we raise our children in.
We must not allow burnout to be the defining emotion of our classrooms, pulpits, studios, or dreams.

If you have access to mental health resources—use them.
If you can rest—rest without guilt.
If you can walk outside—let the world re-enchant you.

Because the wind is still tickling the branches.
The birds are still composing morning harmonies.
The spring is still giving softness to the land.
And children are still laughing on playgrounds, still seeing visions, still dreaming dreams.

Let us remember:
The principalities and powers do not just want your labor.
They want your capacity to imagine.
Your weariness is not accidental—it is an incendiary tool of warfare, designed to convince you that dreaming is dangerous and rest is disloyal.

But we refuse.
We reserve the right to be tired.
And we refuse to let tiredness become truth’s final word.

Truly I say to all of us, one day, under the branches of a tree so giving it refuses a name,
a little child will sit in the shade of their own well-doing.
Not offended by it.
Not exhausted by it.
But restored.

Anchored. Alive. Truly, deeply, fearfully, and wonderfully alive.

✦ Affirmation

I honor my weariness as truth,
but I will not let it become my tormenter.
I am allowed to rest.
I am allowed to feel what I feel.
And I will rise again—not to perform, but to live.

My dreams are still alive.
My presence still matters.
The wind still knows my name.

And the work of healing—slow, sacred, and unfinished—
is still worth doing.