This week’s message is for the ones who keep showing up.
Not people looking for shortcuts.
Not people demanding applause.
Just… faithful people, doing the best they can, as they walk through difficult times.
The daughter making another long drive to care for an aging parent.
The grandmother raising grandchildren when she thought that season of life was over.
The mother who spent decades pouring herself into her children only to feel forgotten.
The man who goes to work every day, pays the bills, keeps his promises, and wonders if anyone would notice if he stopped.
The volunteer who quietly serves every Sunday while carrying grief no one sees.
Friends, I’m here to proclaim what we all know and try hard not to say:
There is a particular kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from working too hard. It comes from loving hard. And wondering if it mattered.
I’m realizing that it isn’t simply that people are tired.
It’s that they’re beginning to question whether faithfulness is worth it.
Not because they expected a parade.
But because after years—even decades—of doing what was right, they secretly hoped there would at least be fruit.
A grateful child.
A healthier marriage.
A restored relationship.
A little acknowledgment.
They were patient; knowing full well that planted seeds take time to bring forth fruit. So, they’ve waited and waited… and waited.
But Instead of fruit…
They’ve been greeted by silence.
Distance.
More responsibility.
Another problem to solve.
Another person to carry.
And eventually the enemy begins whispering that age-old question:
“What was the point?”
I don’t think that question is asked nearly enough in Christian circles because it feels almost shameful.
But it is profoundly human. And our humanity is not shameful. It’s simply … frail.
It needs Validation. Hope. Reminders!
So here’s where it gets real:
Jesus never measured results the way we measure them.
We count followers.
God counts obedience.
We count gratitude.
God counts sacrifice.
We count visible fruit.
God sees seeds buried in soil that hasn’t broken open yet.
That’s incredibly difficult for hearts that are hurting because we long to know that our pouring out actually mattered.
I keep coming back to the Old Testament idea of the tithe.
A tithe wasn’t valuable because the OT church needed to pay their electric bill.
It was valuable because it declared: “This belongs to God.”
***Sit with that thought a minute!***
What if every unseen act of service is like that?
Every meal cooked.
Every diaper changed.
Every elderly parent cared for.
Every difficult conversation handled with grace.
Every bill we worked hard to pay.
Every prayer whispered over children who never knew.
Every lonely shift at work.
Every sacrifice no one thanked you for.
Not wasted.
Offered.
A living tithe.
Placed in God’s hands before anyone else’s opinion ever gets to evaluate it.
Maybe that’s what faithfulness really is.
Not performing until someone notices.
But laying another day’s offering on the altar even when no one says thank you.
Because God has never confused hidden with insignificant.
There’s another thought I can’t shake:
The world tells us that our value is determined by what comes back around to us; what we “manifest”.
The Kingdom has always worked differently.
Love first.
Serve first.
Give first.
Forgive first.
Plant first.
Sometimes harvest comes much later.
Sometimes someone else gathers the fruit from seeds we planted.
Sometimes we won’t see the full harvest this side of heaven.
That doesn’t make the planting meaningless.
Maybe today you’re carrying responsibilities that no one applauds.
Maybe you’ve spent years loving people who no longer call.
Maybe you’re wondering if all the giving, serving, praying, working, sacrificing, and simply showing up has made any difference at all.
Hear this, friend:
God has never overlooked a single offering you’ve laid before Him.
Not one meal.
Not one mile.
Not one tear.
Not one prayer.
Not one unseen act of love.
The world may reward performance.
Heaven remembers faithfulness.
Your service has never been invisible.
It has always been worship.
One final thought: There’s a temptation, when we’re wounded by the lack of gratitude or visible fruit, to conclude that the value of our service depended on the response we received.
But what if its value was established the moment we offered it to God?
That doesn’t erase the grief. It doesn’t make estranged children less painful, caregiving less exhausting, or lonely faithfulness any easier.
It does, however, move the weight of our worth from human hands back into God’s hands.
And perhaps that’s where weary servants finally find enough strength to offer one more day.
Until Next Time–
Keep Becoming!
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Today as I was having my morning coffee and watching the squirrels rob my bird feeders, I was startled by a loud “Thud” at my sliding glass doors. I looked out the door and was grieved to see this beautiful young cardinal flopping around on the patio below. 