Tag: burnout

Three Things that Really Helped Me

A man who falls alone stays down longer. A man with a brother nearby gets up faster — not because the brother fixes anything, but because the brother is there, in the actual moment, saying I’ve got you instead of here’s what you should do.

THIS WEEK

I have an entire shelf of books that focus on how a man can rebuild his life after experiencing burnout and drifting. These books explore the journey of returning to God, reconnecting with his marriage, and rediscovering himself in the second half of life. Many of them offer structured approaches, such as the seven habits, the five disciplines, or the twelve steps, to achieve a renewed spiritual life.

Some of it is good. I’ve recommended a few of those books myself.

But if I’m honest, most of those lists weren’t what helped me. They were good ideas I read and quickly forgot.

This week, I want to share what helped me rebuild. Not the polished version, but the true one.

There were three things. That’s it. No twelve-step plan. Three things that were simple enough to do, and true enough to matter.

· · ·

The first one was small, and it changed everything. I stopped performing.

For years, I presented a version of myself to others that was capable and steady—the guy who seemed to have it all together and didn’t face the same problems as others. Maintaining that image took more energy than I ever acknowledged, even to myself.

What broke it open wasn’t a retreat or a sermon. It was one conversation. I sat across from a friend I trusted, and instead of giving him the version of my life that sounded fine, I told him the actual thing. The thing I was usually embarrassed to talk about.

I remember how it felt afterward. Lighter. Not because anything was solved that day. Lighter because for the first time in years, I wasn’t carrying it by myself.

“The thing that lives only in silence has power over you. The moment you say it out loud to one other person, that power starts to break.”

That single conversation didn’t fix my life. But it was the hinge on which everything else turned.

· · ·

The second thing was finding one man who could say “me too” instead of giving advice.

I didn’t expect this when I started. The most helpful support I received wasn’t from a counselor using a specific framework—although I recognize that counseling has its value. What made the biggest difference was a man who had experienced the same things I was going through and could simply say, “Me too.”

Advice can often feel overwhelming when you’re facing something difficult. Everyone seems to have their own theories to share. But what I really needed wasn’t another theory. I wanted someone who had genuinely experienced this kind of darkness and emerged on the other side. I needed someone who could calmly assure me, without any guarantees, that there is indeed a way through to the other side.

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. — Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 (NIV)

A man who falls alone stays down longer. A man with a brother nearby gets up faster — not because the brother fixes anything, but because the brother is there, in the actual moment, saying I’ve got you instead of here’s what you should do.

I didn’t go looking for a mentor. I just found one man who’d been through something like what I was going through, and I let him know me. That relationship did more for me than anything I ever read.

· · ·

The third thing is harder to explain, so let me try.

For years, I read the Bible the way a preacher reads the Bible. Every passage, some part of my brain was already asking how it would preach. Where the illustration was. What are the three points?

I had turned the Bible into material for something I delivered on Sundays.

What helped was learning to read a passage and let it speak to me. Not mine it for material. Not manage it. Just sit with it.

“The road back wasn’t more discipline. It was the strange, uncomfortable practice of needing God again, instead of just managing my relationship with him.”

I still catch myself slipping back into the old habit more than I’d like. But every time I catch it and choose differently, something in me settles that nothing else touches.

· · ·

That’s it. Three things: I stopped performing, found a friend who said “me too,” and allowed the Bible to be honest with me again, instead of just being useful.

None of it is complicated. It’s really one decision, made three different ways — stop managing your life from a distance, and actually let yourself be in it.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. — Galatians 6:2 (NIV)

Not carry your own burden well. Not manage it quietly so nobody has to see it. Carry each other’s.

The question for this week: Who is actually carrying anything of yours right now? And if the honest answer is nobody — what’s the smallest step you could take this week to change that?

THE REBOUND · FREE 30-MINUTE CONVERSATION

If you read this and realized you don’t have a man who can say ‘me too’ — I’d like to be that conversation, even if just for thirty minutes. No pitch. Just two men talking honestly about where you are.

Book your free Rebound Call →

— Ron

What God Does with Broken Men

The thing that happened to you — the failure, the loss, the transition, the season that felt like exile — is not disqualifying you. It is equipping you.

There is a pattern in Scripture nobody told you about. It will change how you read the season you are in.

In recent posts, I have been candid about the reality facing many men in the latter half of life—feeling depleted, adrift, operating on empty, and trying to build on a foundation that was never meant to support the weight they place on it.

This honesty is important. It continues to matter.

However, this week I want to share something different. I believe this new perspective can change how you view the current season of your life—whether it feels like stagnation, loss, failure, or simply the quiet drift of a life that seems to have lost its direction.

Here it is, as plainly as I know how to say it:

“God has never used a man without first breaking him.”

Not just occasionally or in some cases, but every time. In every significant story within the biblical narrative, there is a period of hiddenness between the calling and the assignment. This season may feel like being forgotten from the inside.

You are not forgotten; you are being formed.

The Pattern Scripture Keeps Repeating

Think about Moses for a moment.

He grew up in Pharaoh’s house. He has a position, education, and what looks like a clear path to doing something significant for his people. Then, in one impulsive moment, he kills an Egyptian soldier and flees into the desert. The dream dies. He ends up in Midian — tending sheep, married to a shepherd’s daughter, completely invisible to the world he was supposed to change.

For forty years.

Not forty days. Forty years.

And then, on an ordinary day in that wilderness, a bush catches fire and doesn’t burn up. And God speaks. And Moses — the fugitive, the man whose best years seemed to be behind him — becomes the instrument of the most dramatic act of national liberation in human history.

The forty years were not a detour; they were the necessary curriculum. The man who entered Midian as a prince emerged as a shepherd. Ultimately, what God needed to guide people through the wilderness wasn’t a prince; it was a shepherd.

The breaking made him exactly right for what came next.

· · ·

David is another one.

He was anointed king as a teenager — oil poured on his head, the prophet of God speaking the word over him. And then almost immediately, everything goes sideways. He spends the next decade running for his life from the man he was chosen to replace. Caves. Deserts. A band of broken men following him through the wilderness. The promise of God has no visible path to its fulfillment.

Years of that. Years.

But here’s what happened in those years. David learned things about God — about being sustained when everything is stripped away, about finding the presence of God in places where no sane person would look for it — that he never could have learned on a throne. The Psalms came from that wilderness. The songs that have carried broken people for three thousand years came from a man who was living inside the breaking when he wrote them.

His suffering became his language, and that language has spoken to the human condition ever since.

· · ·

Peter denies Jesus three times on the worst night in human history. He doesn’t just distance himself — he curses and swears he never knew the man. And then Jesus is crucified, and Peter goes back to fishing. Back to the lake. Back to the nets. Back to life before, as if the three years never happened.

Can you imagine carrying that? The specific weight of having failed the one person you most wanted to be loyal to, at the exact moment it mattered most?

There’s a beach, a charcoal fire, and Jesus—risen and alive—doesn’t begin with an accusation. Instead, he starts with breakfast. Then, gently, he asks three times, “Do you love me?” Each question corresponds to one of Peter’s denials. It’s not to reproach him, but to restore him.

The man who preached at Pentecost and saw three thousand people come to faith in a single afternoon was the same man who had failed in the most public way imaginable six weeks earlier. The brokenness didn’t disqualify him. It prepared him. A man who knows what it is to be restored from the inside is exactly the right man to lead a movement of people who need to know that restoration is real.

· · ·

Paul — before he was Paul, when he was still Saul — held the coats while Stephen was stoned. He spent years hunting down the early church with a warrant and a fury. Then he meets Jesus on the road to Damascus, and the entire foundation of his life collapses in an instant. He goes blind. He fasts for three days. And then he disappears into Arabia for three years.

Three years of silence. Nobody hears from him. No letters. No churches planted. No sermons recorded.

We don’t know exactly what happened in Arabia. We know that the man who emerged from it went on to write half the New Testament and plant the gospel across the known world. Whatever the three years were, they were necessary. The formation that happened in the hiddenness produced something that the earlier version of him couldn’t have carried.

What This Means for You

I’ve spent a lot of time with men who are in the hidden season. Men who feel like they are in the wilderness between what was and what’s supposed to be next. Men who can’t see the path forward, who wonder if they missed their window, who carry the weight of past failure or current stagnation, and quietly assume that the best of their life is behind them.

Hold on to this promise:

“The hidden season is not the end of your story. It is the part before the part that matters most.”

The thing that happened to you — the failure, the loss, the transition, the season that felt like exile — is not disqualifying you. It is equipping you. Not despite the breaking, but through it. Exactly the way it worked for Moses, David, Peter, and Paul.

Your road to this point is not wasted. It is the specific, hard-won knowledge that only comes from living through what you have lived through. And somewhere, someone younger is in the middle of exactly what you have been through — and they need what you know.

The only way that knowledge gets from you to them is if you stop treating this season like a sentence and start treating it like a school.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”— Isaiah 43:18–19 (NIV)

Do you not perceive it?

That question is not rhetorical. It is an invitation to look at the season you have been enduring and ask a different question than the one you’ve been asking. Not why is this happening to me? But what is being built in me that couldn’t be built any other way?

The question worth sitting with this week: What has this season given you that you could not have received any other way?

You have not missed your window. That is not a conclusion Scripture allows. The men who went through the hidden seasons were not early — they were exactly on time, arriving at their assignment with precisely what the assignment required. The road is longer than you expected. That does not mean you are lost.

If this is landing somewhere real for you, leave a comment. I would genuinely like to hear your story.

THE REBOUND LETTER — FREE · EVERY TUESDAY

Know a man who is in the wilderness right now?

If this issue put words to something you’ve been living, there is almost certainly a guy in your life who is in the same season — and has no framework for what it means. Forward this to him. Sometimes the right letter at the right time is what turns the page.

The Real Reason You Burned Out

It’s not what you think. And the distinction changes everything.

Many people assume that burnout, a drifting marriage, or midlife emptiness is simply a result of overwork. They suggest solutions such as getting more rest, setting better boundaries, taking vacations, seeking help from a good counselor, or practicing self-care.

I held this belief for years and tried many of these approaches. Some provided temporary relief, but none offered a lasting solution.

Ultimately, the issue wasn’t about capacity; it was about identity.

Here’s what I mean.

The Engine Underneath the Exhaustion

Many men who experience burnout are not simply those who work too hard; they are often those who have worked from the wrong mindset for too long.

There is a type of work that flows from one’s identity—a deep understanding of who you are before God that is independent of your output. This kind of work can be challenging and demanding, but it does not drain you. It draws from an account that does not rely on your performance to remain full.

On the other hand, there is a type of work that defines one’s identity—where what you produce becomes the proof of your significance, God’s approval, and your worth. This kind of work is always exhausting because it draws from an account that requires constant replenishment through your output. If you stop producing, that account runs empty, and when it does, you feel empty as well.

Most Christian men I’ve worked with are in the second category. Not because they are faithless. Because the culture they were formed in — church culture, achievement culture, Christian masculinity culture — told them, implicitly and explicitly, that their value was tied to what they produced.

The good husband. The reliable provider. The faithful elder. The man who shows up, delivers the goods, never complains, and keeps the whole thing running.

There is nothing wrong with any of those things. The problem is what happens when they become the foundation of your worth rather than the overflow of it.

The Sequence That Changes Everything

As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.” — Mark 1:10–11 (NIV)

I want you to notice something easy to read past.

The Father speaks before Jesus has done a single thing.

No sermon. No miracle. No healing, no teaching, no confrontation with the Pharisees. No proof of anything. Jesus has just come up out of the water — and before the ministry begins, before a single act — the Father speaks.

“You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”

Approval before performance. Identity before assignment. Son before servant.

“The Father’s declaration does not say: perform well and then you will be loved. It says: you are loved. Now go.”

Most men I know have this completely reversed. They feel like sons on the days they’ve performed well — as fathers, as husbands, as providers, as leaders. They feel like a disappointment on the days they haven’t.

The exhaustion of living that way is not a spiritual failing. It is the completely logical result of building your sense of worth on a foundation that shifts every time your output does.

Until you live as a son first — until the Father’s declaration becomes the thing you stand on rather than the thing you strive toward — you will keep performing for an approval you already have.

And you will keep burning out. Not because you are weak. Because you are building on sand.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! — 1 John 3:1 (NIV)

Our identity is declared, not earned. It is given to us generously and unconditionally, before we have done anything to deserve it.

Consider this thought for the week: If your worth were truly untouchable—if nothing you did today could add to it or subtract from it—how would that change the way you show up?

Your answer reflects the distance between where you are now and where you want to be.

This gap—between understanding something theologically and living it out personally—is something I frequently see in men who come to Rebound. While their theology may be correct, the foundation is often grounded in performance.

The process of rebuilding begins with addressing that gap. If you find yourself in this situation, please feel free to reply. I would like to hear about where you are.

THE REBOUND · 8-WEEK TRANSFORMATION

Son before servant. That shift is what Rebound is built around.

The 8-week Rebound program exists to take a man from performance-based identity to son-based identity — not as a theological exercise, but as a lived transformation that holds. This is the hinge on which everything else turns.

Learn about Rebound →

— Ron

YOU’RE NOT WEAK. YOU’RE EXHAUSTED

The man who is always performing cannot afford to admit exhaustion. Admitting it means admitting he has limits. And if he has limits, then the foundation that his sense of worth is built on — his output, his usefulness, his role — starts to crack.

THIS WEEK

The most dangerous lie in Christian men’s culture is that exhaustion is a character flaw.

I believed it for years.

I pushed through. I called it faithfulness. I looked at the men around me doing the same thing and told myself this was just what it meant to be a man who takes his responsibilities seriously.

I was running on empty, mistaking my exhaustion for a spiritual issue while ignoring the physical and emotional reality. I was spent.

“Not weak. Exhausted. There is a difference that matters enormously.”

The man who is always performing cannot afford to admit exhaustion. Admitting it means admitting he has limits. And if he has limits, then the foundation that his sense of worth is built on — his output, his usefulness, his role — starts to crack.

So he pushes through. He calls it discipline. He looks at the men around him doing the same thing and calls it normal.

It is normal. It is not healthy. Those are not the same thing.

THIS WEEK’S TEACHING

The Word Jesus Actually Used

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

The Greek word translated weary here is kopiaō. It does not mean casually tired. It does not mean I could use a vacation. It means to labor to the point of exhaustion. To have worked until nothing is left.

Jesus is not talking to men who need a long weekend. He is talking to men who have been running so hard for so long that they have nothing left in the tank — and are somehow still moving on willpower alone.

His invitation to those men is not: try harder. Dig deeper. Show more discipline.

His invitation is: come.

Don’t come when you have something to offer. Don’t come when you have cleaned yourself up. Not, “wait until you have figured out what went wrong.”

Come now. As you are.

“The exhausted man is not a failure. He is the specific man Jesus is looking for.”

Here is what I want you to notice: the invitation does not come with a plan. It does not say, “Come to me, and I will give you a strategy for rebuilding your life.” It says I will give you rest. Rest before anything else. Rest is the first movement of recovery.

Most men in the second half of life skip this step. They go from exhaustion straight to planning. They book the retreat, start the accountability group, and launch the new system. They do all the right things — and six months later, the old hollow feeling settles back in. Because they skipped the rest. You cannot build on an empty foundation.

THE DISTINCTION WORTH MAKING

Weak vs. Exhausted

Weakness is a character issue. It means something is wrong with the man — his faith, his discipline, his commitment.

Exhaustion is a capacity issue. It means a man has given more than he has taken in, for longer than his body and soul were designed to sustain.

The treatment for weakness is discipline. The treatment for exhaustion is rest — followed by nourishment, followed by direction. That is the sequence God uses with Elijah. That is the sequence Jesus invites in Matthew 11.

If you have been treating your exhaustion as a discipline problem, you have been diagnosing yourself incorrectly. Incorrect diagnoses lead to treatments that make things worse.

The first step is not a better plan. The first step is honest acknowledgment:

“I am not failing. I am exhausted. And exhausted men need rest before they need a plan.”

THE ANCHOR VERSE

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. — Isaiah 40:29 (NIV)

Notice what Isaiah does not say. He does not say; he gives strength to the disciplined. He does not say: he increases the power of the consistent.

He gives strength to the weary. He increases the power of the weak.

The condition for receiving what God offers is not spiritual performance. It is an honest acknowledgment of your actual state.

The question worth sitting with this week: What would change if you stopped calling your exhaustion a character flaw and started treating it as a condition that requires a specific kind of care?

THIS WEEK’S TOOL

The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry — John Mark Comer

If the distinction between weakness and depletion landed for you, this book is the natural next step. Comer makes a comprehensive, theologically grounded case for why the pace most men are living at is spiritually incompatible with the life Jesus described. I’ve recommended it to more men in the second half than any other book in the last two years.

Find it on Amazon →

Affiliate link — I earn a small commission if you purchase, at no cost to you.

WHAT I’M READING THIS WEEK

Also worth your time: Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Pete Scazzero. Find it here →

Affiliate link — I earn a small commission if you purchase, at no cost to you.

If you’re sitting with something this week and this newsletter hits home — hit reply. I read every message.

THE REBOUND · 8-WEEK TRANSFORMATION

Ready to stop diagnosing yourself incorrectly?

The Rebound 8-week program begins exactly here — with an honest inventory of what depleted you and a clear framework for what comes next. Not a motivational lift. A real rebuilding.

Learn about Rebound →

— Ron

The Man Under the Tree

God’s first response to Elijah’s collapse wasn’t a rebuke. It wasn’t a five-step plan for getting back on track. It wasn’t a vision of the next assignment or a call to greater faithfulness. It was a nap and a meal.

Why God’s first response to a depleted man wasn’t a mission — and what that means for you.

THIS WEEK

In 1 Kings 19, there is a man sitting under a juniper tree, asking God to let him die. This man is not weak; he is not faithless. He has called down fire from heaven, outrun a chariot, and killed 450 false prophets in a single afternoon. By any standard—whether it’s ministry output, courage, or theological conviction—Elijah is the most impressive person in the room.

Yet there he is, under a tree, feeling spent and asking, “Is it enough?”

I understand that feeling. Not because I’ve called down fire from heaven, but because I know what it’s like to give everything to a calling. I know what it feels like to run so hard for so long that you find yourself realizing your energy has been depleted for longer than you thought. You didn’t notice because you were moving too fast to feel it.

I’ve sat under that tree, and I believe many men reading this have too.

God’s Response to a Depleted Man

He lay down and slept under a bush, and behold, an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.” He looked, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. So he ate and drank and lay down again. — 1 Kings 19:5–6 (NIV)

Read that carefully. God’s first response to Elijah’s collapse wasn’t a rebuke. It wasn’t a five-step plan for getting back on track. It wasn’t a vision of the next assignment or a call to greater faithfulness.

It was a nap and a meal.

An angel touches him. “Get up and eat.” He eats. Goes back to sleep. The angel comes a second time. Touches him again. “Get up and eat — for the journey is too great for you.”

That phrase stops me every time. Not: “Get up and get back to work.” Not: “Real men push through.” Not: “This is a season of discipline.”

“The journey is too great for you.”

God names the reality without shame. This man has been carrying something heavier than he was designed to carry alone. And the response — the divine, sovereign, all-knowing response — is rest, nourishment, and then the gentle whisper. In that order.

Most men I know are trying to go from exhaustion straight to mission. They want the gentle whisper. They haven’t had the nap and the meal. God’s sequence doesn’t work that way.

The Greek word Jesus uses in Matthew 11:28 — “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened” — is kopiaō. It means to labor to the point of exhaustion. Not casual tiredness. Not “I could use a vacation.” To have nothing left. Jesus isn’t talking to mildly fatigued men. He’s talking to men who have been running on empty and calling it faithfulness.

His invitation is not: try harder. His invitation is: come.

Here is what I want you to sit with this week:

“What if the thing you think is wasting time is actually the preparation?”

What if the hidden season — the slow Tuesday, the empty prayer, the sitting in the driveway not wanting to go inside your own house — isn’t a failure? What if it’s the juniper tree, and the angel is already on the way?

Elijah didn’t do anything to earn what came next. He just stopped running long enough to receive it.

THE ANCHOR VERSE

After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. — 1 Kings 19:12 (NIV)

God wasn’t in the wind. Wasn’t in the earthquake. Wasn’t in the fire. He was in what came after the drama.

The question worth carrying through the week: Where have you been looking for God that he isn’t — and what would it look like to be quiet enough to hear what comes after?

THIS WEEK’S TOOL

Emotionally Healthy Spirituality — Pete Scazzero

If what you read above lands with any weight, this book will feel like someone put your experience into words. Scazzero makes the case that most of us have developed a spiritual life built on an emotional foundation that was never healed — and that the exhaustion many men feel isn’t a discipline problem. It’s a depth problem. One of the books I recommend most often to men in exactly this season.

Find it on Amazon →

Get it here…

Affiliate link — I earn a small commission if you purchase, at no cost to you.

FROM THE COMMUNITY

“I’ve been in ministry 22 years, and I can’t remember the last time I felt like anything I did actually mattered. I keep showing up. But something is gone that I don’t know how to get back.”

That sentence arrived in my inbox, and I sat with it for a long time. If that’s you — or close to you — I want to hear from you. Just hit reply. I read every response.

THE REBOUND · 8-WEEK TRANSFORMATION

If you recognize the man under the tree, this is for you.

The Rebound is an 8-week coaching program for Christian men in the second half of life who are ready to stop performing and start rebuilding. One hour a week, the journal to work through, and a mentor who has been through the same fire walking alongside you.

Learn about Rebound →

From Burnout to Confidence: Living as a Son

You don’t have to wait until you “feel” like a son. Start acting like one—speak it, thank Him for it, and pray from that place—and the feelings will catch up.

If you’re feeling worn out, like you’re carrying a weight you can’t quite name, and no matter how hard you try, you still feel like you’re coming up short in your own eyes, I need you to hear me clearly:

You are not an orphan trying to earn your way back into the family. You are a son. Right now. Today. You are fully loved, fully accepted, and fully pleasing to the Father—not because of what you’ve done, but because of what Jesus has already done.

I see this every single day with men just like you. They’re good guys—they go to church, provide for their families, and stay faithful—but deep down, they’re living as though they still have to prove their worth. And that lie is exhausting.

Here’s the truth: the moment you trusted Christ, the Father looked at you just as He looked at Jesus when He came up out of the water, saying: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). That’s not just a nice; that’s your new legal identity. It’s locked in and non-negotiable.

When you start living from this place, everything shifts. You stop performing for approval. You stop snapping at your kids out of insecurity. You stop withdrawing from your wife because you feel like a failure. Instead, you start to lead from a place of rest rather than striving.

This is precisely what we focus on in Week 2 of Rebound—rebuilding your identity in Christ.

Here are four things you can do today to start living like the son you already are:

☑Say it out loud first thing in the morning: “I am God’s beloved Son. There is no condemnation for me. Christ lives in me.” Say this until your soul begins to believe it more than your feelings do.

☑The moment you notice yourself trying to “earn” God’s love, stop and say: “Father, thank You that I already have Your full approval because of Jesus. I rest in that right now.” Gratitude counters the performance trap every time.

☑Next time you pray—even if it’s just in the car—start with “Abba, Father…” (Romans 8:15). Talk with Him the way a secure child talks to a dad who loves him deeply. No need to grovel; just engage in honest, confident conversation.

☑When the enemy whispers, “You’re failing again,” “You’re not enough,” or “God’s disappointed,” don’t let those thoughts dominate. Respond with: “No. I’ve been crucified with Christ. The old me is dead. I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave Himself for me” (Galatians 2:20). Speak truth louder than the accusation.

💯You don’t have to wait until you “feel” like a son. Start acting like one—speak it, thank Him for it, and pray from that place—and the feelings will catch up.

I’ve seen men go from feeling burned out to becoming confident leaders in just weeks once this understanding clicks. Your wife will notice the change, your kids will see it, and you’ll feel it.

You’re not an orphan anymore; you are a son. Start living like it today.

Drop a comment below if you’re choosing sonship right now. Share this with friend who needs to hear this—he might be carrying the same weight you once did.

And if you’re ready to go all-in and rebuild every part of your life—marriage, family leadership, purpose, strength, brotherhood, mission—just comment “REBOUND,” and I’ll send you the full roadmap.

You’re Disappointed in Ministry Because You’re Burned Out.

We’ve been taught to focus on outcomes. The outcome defines personal and ministry success. And if we don’t achieve the expected outcome, we begin to devalue ourselves. Too many failures and we end up in the pit of despair.

A recent post on PositivePsychology.com provides substance to my statement.

“Employees who experience burnout will initially primarily complain of exhaustion. This exhaustion may be referred to as fatigue, tiredness, or feeling low on energy. It appears unshakeable. The fatigue is chronic (i.e., long-term) and continuous.

Next, employees suffering from burnout will appear pessimistic about their work. Their pessimism can manifest in various ways. For example, they may adopt an overtly negative view of their work. Their pessimism can be less overt and more subtle; for example, they may appear unmotivated, disinterested, or uncommitted.

As a result, employees will report feeling despondent about their performance and output in the workplace.”[1]

The phrase that stands out to me in this excerpt is “pessimistic about their work.” This is a great way of describing disappointment. Where have you been disappointed in ministry lately?

Because the Christian ministry leader works with people, there is always an opportunity to be disappointed or let down. We should expect those moments. But, sometimes, the one you’re most disappointed in is yourself. Or, maybe God.

For me, I’ve most often struggled with disappointment when those I led did not live up to my expectations. The outcome was not what I wanted, so I spiraled down into disappointment, frustration, and loneliness, eventually doubting my calling and ability to lead.

I wonder how many other Christian ministry leaders can identify with this.

We’ve been taught to focus on outcomes. The outcome defines personal and ministry success. And if we don’t achieve the expected outcome, we begin to devalue ourselves. Too many failures and we end up in the pit of despair.

Ministry becomes all about what you can do and achieve! If you’re successful in what you do, that just feeds the machine. You stack your successes, and you look like a genius until the wrong Jenga block is pulled out. Everything falls, and you don’t know what to do.

Outcome-based ministry is destroying good Christian ministry leaders.

We need a different ministry model. A model that orbits around Jesus and who he is making you as his follower and as a leader of his people.

Joseph Stowell has some great insight into all of this when he writes that we need Character-driven leaders “whose exemplary lives influence and empower those within the sphere of their authority to achieve great outcomes personally, spiritually, communally, and organizationally…The power behind their leadership is leveraged by their moral authority that comes from the credibility of their lives.”[2]

Character-driven leadership can break the cycle of disappointment and burnout among Christian ministry leaders. Why? It’s a leadership model that is focused on your discipleship.

In short, you’re not building the kingdom. Jesus is building his kingdom by building you. Your task as a leader is the same task of every follower of Jesus: allow the Holy Spirit to produce his fruit in you (Galatians 5). There are multiple ways for this to happen, but it begins with submission to the Spirit and not CEO strategies.

Matthew gives us insight into all of this when he writes about a parable Jesus taught (Matthew 25:14-30). Stowell comments on this,

Consistently, Scripture calls us to choose character-driven leadership. In the story of the ten talents, those who successfully stewarded the master’s estate were rewarded with this character-affirming declaration: “Well done, good and faithful servant.” While outcomes are not unimportant in the story, the affirmation is about the character of the steward that produced the outcomes – affirmation about who the steward is (good and faithful) and an affirmation about how the steward leads (servant).[3]

Leadership is, first and foremost, about character. The leader’s character drives the ministry.

So, Christian ministry leader, if you’re spiraling down into the pit of disappointment and despair, use it as a time of retreat and healing. Take care of your relationship with Jesus. Hear him speak these words of life into your spirit – “well done good and faithful servant.”

Break out of the American trap of trying to build your spiritual empire. This trap leads to disappointment. Instead, let the Holy Spirit produce his fruit in you and transform you from the inside out. The character transformation will be evident to those you are called to lead. They’ll most likely respond to your leadership because you have a new authority that comes from the credibility of your life. And, if they don’t respond, you’re still secure with Jesus, and maybe Jesus will start working in their lives differently.

If you’re disappointed in ministry, redefine your leadership!

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If this article has been helpful, let me know. If you’re a Christian ministry leader struggling with burnout, frustration, or disappointment and reconsidering your call, reach out to me before making any big decisions. I help burned-out Christian ministry leaders discover their next assignment in life.

[1] Alicia Nortje, “What Is Burnout? 16 Signs and Symptoms of Excessive Stress,” PositivePsychology.com, February 27, 2021, What Is Burnout? 16 Signs and Symptoms of Excessive Stress (positivepsychology.com).

[2] Joseph Stowell, Redefining Leadership: Character-Driven Habits of Effective Leaders (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing, 2014), 24.

[3] Ibid., 27.