If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses? If you stumble in safe country, how will you manage in the thickets by the Jordan? Jer. 12:5
These are challenging and difficult days. Not because everything is terrible all the time, but because there’s a constant heaviness in the things of our world. The pace is relentless. The volume is loud. The pressure to react, to keep up, to stay informed, to stay outraged, to stay relevant, it seems to never lets up.
I see many people exhausted. Not just in their physical bodies, but in their souls. They are tired of running, tired of sorting through noise, tired of feeling like faith is something we’re trying to hold onto while the current keeps speeding up. Even good people, doing good things, for good reasons, feel worn down.
The Prophet Jeremiah lived in a moment like that. Political instability. Spiritual confusion. A sense that everything solid was starting to shake. And in that moment, God asked him a piercing question: if running on foot with other men has already left you worn out, what makes you think you’re ready to run with horses? If you’re stumbling when the ground feels relatively safe, how will you stand when things grow tangled, dense, and dangerous?
It’s not a rebuke as much as it is a reality check. God isn’t shaming Jeremiah for being tired. He’s naming the moment. He’s saying, this is training ground. The strain you feel now isn’t meaningless. It’s preparation.
That’s a hard word for us, because we’d much rather God remove the pressure than use it. We pray for relief, for calm, for the noise to quiet down. And sometimes God gives that. But often, He does something deeper. He strengthens our legs. He deepens our roots. He teaches us how to run at a different pace, with a different power source.
The invitation here isn’t to run harder, it’s to run wiser. To stop trying to keep up with every voice, every outrage, every manufactured emergency. To let go of the illusion that we have to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. That was never our job.
Following Jesus has never been about frantic striving. It’s about faithful endurance. About learning to walk closely enough with Him that when the terrain changes (and it will), we’re not relying on adrenaline, but on trust and hope. Not on our own strength, but on His.
These are challenging and difficult days. But they are not wasted days. God is at work in the middle of them, forming a people who can stand firm, love deeply, and keep moving forward, even when the path gets thick.
And the good news is this: we do not run alone.
Peace,
Nick
Image: Derek Redmond, 1992 Olympics; by Robert Deutsch, USA TODAY
These are challenging and difficult days. Not because everything is terrible all the time, but because there’s a constant heaviness in the things of our world. The pace is relentless. The volume is loud. The pressure to react, to keep up, to stay informed, to stay outraged, to stay relevant, it seems to never lets up.
I see many people exhausted. Not just in their physical bodies, but in their souls. They are tired of running, tired of sorting through noise, tired of feeling like faith is something we’re trying to hold onto while the current keeps speeding up. Even good people, doing good things, for good reasons, feel worn down.
The Prophet Jeremiah lived in a moment like that. Political instability. Spiritual confusion. A sense that everything solid was starting to shake. And in that moment, God asked him a piercing question: if running on foot with other men has already left you worn out, what makes you think you’re ready to run with horses? If you’re stumbling when the ground feels relatively safe, how will you stand when things grow tangled, dense, and dangerous?
It’s not a rebuke as much as it is a reality check. God isn’t shaming Jeremiah for being tired. He’s naming the moment. He’s saying, this is training ground. The strain you feel now isn’t meaningless. It’s preparation.
That’s a hard word for us, because we’d much rather God remove the pressure than use it. We pray for relief, for calm, for the noise to quiet down. And sometimes God gives that. But often, He does something deeper. He strengthens our legs. He deepens our roots. He teaches us how to run at a different pace, with a different power source.
The invitation here isn’t to run harder, it’s to run wiser. To stop trying to keep up with every voice, every outrage, every manufactured emergency. To let go of the illusion that we have to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. That was never our job.
Following Jesus has never been about frantic striving. It’s about faithful endurance. About learning to walk closely enough with Him that when the terrain changes (and it will), we’re not relying on adrenaline, but on trust and hope. Not on our own strength, but on His.
These are challenging and difficult days. But they are not wasted days. God is at work in the middle of them, forming a people who can stand firm, love deeply, and keep moving forward, even when the path gets thick.
And the good news is this: we do not run alone.
Peace,
Nick
Image: Derek Redmond, 1992 Olympics; by Robert Deutsch, USA TODAY