It started with a sink full of crusty plates and ended in a meltdown.
My sweet husband David stood stunned as I—suds flying, voice raised in snarky commentary, sanity slipping—suddenly realized that this wasn’t about the dishes. It was a warning. I was one dirty casserole dish away from a breakdown. Between work, ministry, and life, I was coming unglued. Fast.
A caring friend gave me a reality check: “Christina, you have a lot going on. When do you rest?” She suggested I might be experiencing burnout—not the kind fixed by a bubble bath and a scented candle, but the kind that makes you want to smash your phone and escape to a chocolate-filled island with no Wi-Fi.
Even simple situations had been triggering extreme reactions from me, while complex ones felt impossible. It wasn’t just fatigue—I was depleted.
The depletion didn’t happen dramatically; it was subtle, like a slow leak in a tire. I kept showing up, smiling, saying yes. But inside, I was running on fumes, and I didn’t know how to stop. Saying no felt like failure. Rest felt like weakness.
Admitting I was burned out felt like letting everyone, including God, down. How had I gotten there?
My days were filled with good things—family, work, and ministry. I wasn’t running from God; I was serving Him. But my friend was right. It was time to ask myself some serious questions—What am I doing? Why am I doing it? Who am I doing it for?
Once I admitted burnout, I turned to scripture—not to be super spiritual but because I was desperate. There, in the pages I’d read before, I found fresh comfort. Verses like “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28 NIV) didn’t just speak to my exhaustion, they gave me permission to stop striving and just be still (Psalm 46:10).
Jesus didn’t want me to push through or try harder. He was inviting me to lay it all down. From ministry to dirty dishes, I needed to surrender it all and let Him help me. God was not disappointed in my weariness; He was inviting me into restoration. Isaiah 40:29–31 reminded me that strength doesn’t come from pushing harder, it comes from hoping in the Lord. I didn’t need to earn rest. I needed to receive it.
Scripture gently unraveled the lie that rest equals weakness. Even Jesus withdrew to quiet places and slept through storms (Mark 6:31–32; Mark 4:36–41). If the Savior of the world made time for rest, shouldn’t we?
Burnout isn’t failure; it’s a signal to return to the Source of true rest.
If you’re snapping over small things, feeling emotionally drained, or physically deteriorating, it might be time to ask: Am I burned out? Pause and evaluate—not with guilt, but with grace (2 Corinthians 12:9). God’s Word offers comfort, renewal, and an invitation to rest, reconnect, and be restored by the One who never asks you to jump through hoops for His love.
If you’re reading this from a prison cell, this invitation for rest is for you too. The soul grows weary in confinement, I know. The weight of guilt, shame, regret, and unresolved pain, as well as the consequences of poor decisions can bring burnout as well. But the promise of rest in Jesus isn’t restricted by the walls around you. It’s available to every heart that turns to Him.
So how do you recognize burnout before it breaks you? Start by checking in with yourself regularly before you’re in crisis mode. Notice patterns of irritability, fatigue, or emotional overreaction. Say no to anything that costs you peace. Allow yourself quiet time with the Lord and keep a prayer journal (Psalm 62:1–2). Look for more suggestions on page 32.
Like grace, rest isn’t earned—it’s a gift from a God who loves you deeply. Stop running on empty and receive rest and renewal today.
Christina Kimbrel develops content for use on VL’s many platforms. Once incarcerated, she now ministers hope to those held captive by their past and current circumstances while sharing the message of healing she found in Jesus.
