Restore Me To Joy

There is a difference between being lost and being tired.

And if we don’t recognize that difference, we will keep speaking the wrong word to the wrong people.

Many people in church today are not lost.

They are not rebellious.

They are not angry at God.

They are not trying to run away.

They are simply tired.

They believe.

They attend.

They give.

They serve.

They show up.

Something in them has grown quiet.

The joy that once carried them has faded into duty.

The delight that once drew them has thinned into habit.

They still say the words, but they no longer feel the warmth behind them.

And because they are faithful people, they often assume the problem must be them.

They think, “I should feel more.”

“I should want this more.”

“I should be stronger by now.”

So they keep going — but they go tired.

One of the strangest things about church language is how often we talk about worship as if it were exhausting.

People say, “I’m just too tired to go to church today.”

Think about what that implies.

It implies that worship will drain what little strength they have left.

That it will cost more than it gives.

That it will take from them rather than restore them.

We don’t talk that way about the things that actually excite us.

No one says, “I’m worn out — I better skip the game, it might energize me.”

No one says, “I’m exhausted — I probably shouldn’t go see my grandchildren.”

When something feeds the soul, fatigue becomes a reason to go, not a reason to stay away.

So what has happened?

Why is it that so many sincere believers associate faith with depletion instead of renewal?

Part of the answer lies in what we have come to expect faith to do.

For a long time, we have measured spiritual health by intensity.

By urgency.

By effort.

And when intensity fades — as it naturally does over time — we assume something has gone wrong.

Perhaps the question is not, “Why aren’t you trying harder?”

Perhaps the question is, “What have you been carrying?”

Tiredness is not the same as disobedience.

A tired soul doesn’t need to be scolded.

It needs to be welcomed.

There is a difference between a call to repentance and an invitation home.

Repentance says, “Turn around.”

Home says, “You’re still wanted.”

For many in the church today, what they are longing for is not instruction, or correction, or motivation.

They are longing for reassurance.

Reassurance that God is not standing with crossed arms.

Reassurance that they have not disappointed Him beyond repair.

Reassurance that the door they once entered has not quietly closed.

This message is for the person who still believes — but no longer feels alive.

For the one who remembers joy but cannot summon it.

For the one who is faithful, but weary.

The kingdom of God does not advance because churches are full of people.

It advances because people are full of God.

And fullness does not come from pressure.

It comes from presence.

Revival does not begin when we become more serious.

It begins when God becomes more real.

Not louder.

Not harsher.

Not more demanding.

Just nearer.

At its heart, revival is not about doing more for God.

It is about remembering who God is — and who we are to Him.

The oldest story in Scripture is not a story about people searching for God.

It is a story about God calling people home.

And the most powerful word a tired soul can ever say is not,

“I will try harder.”

It is simply,

“Yes, Lord… I am coming home.”

That is where we begin.

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When we talk about revival, we often imagine something dramatic.

We imagine crowds.

We imagine emotion.

We imagine intensity — raised voices, raised hands, raised expectations.

And because of that, many tired believers quietly disqualify themselves.

They think, “Whatever revival is, it’s probably not for me.”

“I don’t have the energy for that.”

“I don’t have the fire I once had.”

But Scripture presents revival very differently.

Revival does not begin with noise.

It begins with vision.

Revival begins when we see God again — not as an idea, not as a doctrine, not as an obligation — but as a living presence.

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One of the most important truths we often overlook is this:

Your spiritual experience cannot rise above your view of God.

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If God feels distant, faith becomes mechanical.

If God feels demanding, obedience becomes exhausting.

If God feels disappointed, worship becomes heavy.

Many believers are not struggling because they lack commitment.

They are struggling because their image of God has slowly narrowed.

Without realizing it, God becomes smaller.

Not smaller in theology — but smaller in lived experience.