#im exausted

There’re moments in life when exhaustion settles so deeply into the soul that even prayer feels impossible. Not because we no longer believe. Not because we no longer love God. But because disappointment has drained us, grief has hollowed us out, anxiety has worn us thin, and spiritual burnout has left us sitting quietly in the dark wondering if we have anything left to say at all.

Some people know the exhaustion of unanswered prayers. Others know the ache of losing someone they loved so deeply they cannot imagine life without them. Some are carrying private battles nobody sees—crippling anxiety, depression, fear about the future, shame from past mistakes, loneliness that echoes through every room they enter. And sometimes the hardest part isn't even the pain itself, but the pressure to keep pretending we’re okay while carrying it.

There are seasons where faith doesn't feel triumphant. It feels tired. Maybe you still go to church, but your heart feels numb. Maybe you still read your Bible, but the words seem distant. Maybe you still try to pray, but all you can manage is silence… or tears… or a whisper, “Lord, help me.” And if that is where you are today, I want you to know something with all tenderness and certainty: God hears exhausted prayers too.

Romans 8:26 says, “Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” Notice what that verse does not say. It does’nt say God only hears polished prayers. It does not say He only listens when we’re spiritually strong, emotionally composed, or full of faith-filled words. Sometimes we don't even know what to say. Sometimes all we have are groanings, tears, trembling breaths, and silence.

And still, Heaven listens.

One of the cruelest lies discouragement whispers is that struggling Christians are failing Christians. But Scripture paints a very different picture. Again and again, God drew near to weary people. Elijah, after witnessing one of the greatest miracles in Scripture, collapsed beneath a juniper tree and asked God to let him die. David wrote psalms soaked with grief, fear, and confusion. Job sat in ashes overwhelmed by suffering he could not understand. Even Jesus Himself, in the Garden of Gethsemane, prayed in agony until His sweat became “as it were great drops of blood” (Luke 22:44).

The Bible is not a story about unbreakable people. It is a story about a faithful God carrying broken people. Sometimes we imagine prayer must sound beautiful to matter. But some of the most powerful prayers in Scripture were painfully short. “Lord, save me.” — Matthew 14:30. “God be merciful to me a sinner.” — Luke 18:13. “Lord, help me.” — Matthew 15:25.

That last one may be one of the most honest prayers a person can pray. “Lord, help me”.

Help me get through this grief. Help me quiet this fear. Help me survive this loneliness. Help me trust You again. Help me when I cannot feel You. Help me when I am too tired to keep pretending.

And God does not despise those prayers. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” Not distant from the brokenhearted, near to them.

There’s something deeply comforting about knowing God does not demand strength from exhausted souls before He offers compassion. Jesus said in Matthew 11:28, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” He did not say, “Come unto me when you have everything together, “Come back when your faith is stronger,” and not “Fix yourself first.” He simply said, “Come.” Even weary, even doubting, even barely holding on.

The Scottish preacher Robert Murray M’Cheyne once wrote, “For every look at yourself, take ten looks at Christ.” That matters deeply when discouragement turns our eyes inward and convinces us our weakness disqualifies us from God’s love. The Gospel reminds us that our hope was never rooted in our strength to begin with. It rests in His mercy. His mercy does not run out when we’re exhausted.

Sometimes spiritual burnout comes quietly. Not through rebellion, but through prolonged pain. You keep enduring heartbreak after heartbreak until your soul simply becomes tired. Tired of trying. Tired of hoping. Tired of hurting. Tired of waiting for answers that never seem to come. But exhaustion is not abandonment. Feelings can be powerful, but they are not always truthful. There will be days where God feels silent, distant, or absent. Yet Scripture says in Hebrews 13:5, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”

Never.

Not when anxiety keeps you awake at night. Not when grief steals your appetite. Not when depression numbs your heart. Not when disappointment makes prayer feel empty. Not even when your faith feels fragile.

The beautiful thing about God’s love is that it’s not sustained by our emotional energy. If it were, many of us would’ve lost it long ago. His faithfulness rests in His character, not our stamina. Sometimes surviving the day while whispering, “Lord, help me,” is an act of faith greater than we realize. And maybe that’s where you are today. Maybe you don’t have any eloquent prayers left. Maybe all you have is a tired heart and a few trembling words.

That is enough. Because the God who heard Peter sinking in the water still hears desperate cries. The God who stayed with David in caves still stays with weary hearts. The God who collected Israel’s tears in the wilderness still sees yours too. Psalm 56:8 says, “Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?”

Not one tear unnoticed. Not one exhausted prayer ignored. Not one weary soul forgotten.

So if all you can pray tonight is, “Lord, help me,” then pray exactly that. And rest in this truth:

Remember, kids! Cardiac arrest is an electrical problem, Heart attack is a plumbing problem.

I have spent the last couple of weeks updating my certifications for meds delegation, cpr/first-aid, and a rundown on diabetic care...

Trauma-dump and bullshit below this line because I can, and it does not matter:

Fabiana Dias ✍🏻