Something Changed!
After the Pandemic, I had been running on the fumes of obligation. As a dedicated ministry leader, my life had become a perpetual checklist; my days were measured not by meaningful connections but by tasks, volunteers managed, and events executed. The joy that once fueled me, Jesus, was replaced by a weary cynicism. I was burned out—my identity dangerously tied to my performance.
And so, I was sent on another ministerial assignment, this time to the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist at Lafayette, Louisiana. When the Be Healed Retreat was proposed for me to attend, I dragged myself there, viewing it less as a refuge and more as a mandatory item on a very long spiritual to-do list.
The initial hours were difficult. Surrounded by well-meaning, energetic people, I felt isolated, a spiritual imposter whose charge was utterly dead. I spent the first session taking notes and writing a retreat proposal to present to my Pastor. I should be more diligent and less focused on the speaker's words. How could this possibly apply to someone as deeply entrenched in duty as I was? My prayer life, which had devolved into frantic, anxious bargaining, felt hollow and empty. I realized then that my exhaustion wasn't just physical; it was a profound spiritual poverty rooted in the belief that my continued success in ministry was solely dependent on the success of my volunteer events.
The turning point wasn't a sudden, dramatic vision, but a quiet, almost embarrassing moment of stillness during the second session. As the music faded, Bob Schuchts suggested we sit in silence for ten minutes and "allow God to speak to the hurting places." In that silence, the constant, demanding voice of performance that had driven me for so long finally quieted. What replaced it was a simple thought: You are loved, regardless of what you accomplish, this year, or ever. I didn't need to earn my rest or my renewal. The hurt I had been carrying—the belief that I was not good enough for ministry—lifted, replaced by the startling realization that I was merely a participant in a much larger, graced, supernatural work.
The renewal wasn't a rush of adrenaline; it was a deep, sustaining peace.
That weekend was less about exploring a new ministerial opportunity and more about receiving healing and forgiveness for my life. I left the retreat fundamentally changed, not because I scored a new ministerial strategy, but because I rediscovered the core truth I had lost: my worth is inherent, not manufactured.
Since returning, the changes in my leadership have been profound. I've set ministerial and personal boundaries, not as acts of selfishness, but as necessary acts of stewardship over the energy I receive from God. Volunteers are viewed as gifts, not solutions. Lectio Divina is a four-out-of-seven-day practice that has strengthened my prayer life.
Ministry work is still challenging, but now it flows from a place of being—a renewed relationship—rather than a desperate need to do something to prove my value. That one weekend gave me back my life, redefining it as a gift sustained by grace, not a race fueled by anxiety.
Now, during this moment, invite God to speak to your heart, focusing on the truth of your inherent worth beyond your achievements. You might also consider reaching out for a prayer request or to talk. 