Break free from the exhausting cycle of overthinking and anxiety by turning to faith and prayer. Discover how specific Bible verses can offer comfort, peace, and the strength to overcome anxious thoughts.

7 Things to Consider When You’re Frustrated with God

10 Things Never to Say to Your Adult Children

In Friedrich Nietzsche’s provocatively titled 1895 treatise, The Antichrist, the German philosopher sets the stage for the modern world’s obsession with strength: What is good? Whatever augments the feeling of power, the will to power, power itself, in man. What is evil? Whatever springs from weakness. . . . The weak and the botched shall perish: first principle of our charity. And one should help them to it. What is more harmful than any vice? Practical sympathy for the botched and the weak—Christianity. Reading this 130 years later, it’s easy to dismiss it with a shudder. The 20th century bears witness to the horrific consequences of ideologies that viewed “the weak and the botched” as dispensable—from gas chambers to gulags. Yet Nietzsche wasn’t saying anything new. H. L. Mencken was right to call him “a Greek born two thousand years too late.” Indeed, this worldview is as old as the Canaanite fertility cults. And we still valorize the powerful. But the apostle Paul, writing to the church in Corinth, offers a counternarrative that cuts through centuries of human bravado. In 2 Corinthians 12:1–10, he introduces a theology of weakness that’s as countercultural now as it was then. Inoculation Against Pride Suffering will either break us or humble us. It’ll either turn us bitter or turn our hearts to the Lord in greater dependence. Paul is clear that this unnamed suffering was given to him by God to keep him from being “puffed up.” After all, Paul had experienced extraordinary visions. Such high spiritual privileges come with a lurking threat: spiritual pride. Suffering will either break us or humble us. Theologians have speculated for two millennia about what Paul’s “thorn” actually was. Was it poor eyesight? Malaria? Epilepsy? A specific persecutor? I believe the vagueness is by design. By remaining nonspecific, the principle becomes universally applicable. If Paul had specified his ailment, we might conclude, “I’m not like Paul,” and move on. But the ambiguity allows us all to see our struggles in his story. We’re all susceptible to pride, and we all experience the discipline of a loving Father. There’s mystery here too. Paul refers to his suffering as both ordained by God and “a messenger of Satan” (v. 7). That seems odd, until we think back to Job, where Satan torments Job but does so only by God’s permissive will. The suffering was meant to test Job. There’s mystery in this, but nothing that enters our lives, not even the most excruciating agonies, does so apart from God’s sovereign control. And because of who he is and how he demonstrates his infinite love for us, he can be trusted in those seasons and moments. How do we know that? The purpose reveals it. This suffering isn’t intended to torture Paul but to protect him, to keep him from conceit, to keep him close to God. God’s love for us is often proven not simply in delivering us from threats. It’s proven when he uses suffering to turn us away from pride and toward deeper dependence on him. Sufficiency of Grace Paul repeatedly pleads for the removal of the thorn. He doesn’t get the answer he wants, but he receives the assurance he needs: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (v. 9). This is the great exchange. The way of the Christian is the way of weakness. It’s among those who know themselves as they truly are—frail and dependent—that God’s power is most vividly on display. And that’s why Paul then turns the whole theme of boasting upside down. His suffering, his weakness, isn’t a blemish on his ministry or his Christian walk—it’s a gift. Paul’s calculus is upside down: More suffering in my life means more of Jesus at work in me. This logic collides with our culture’s instincts. We’re obsessed with bravado, with bullying, with pathetic claims to power that must look so small to the God of the universe. Suffering is hard to post on Instagram with a #blessed hashtag. But God isn’t impressed by our posturing. More suffering in my life means more of Jesus at work in me. Our churches aren’t immune to this either. We prize and make heroes of pastors of the biggest churches with the biggest budgets and the biggest platforms. We track podcast downloads, conference invitations, book deals, and social media engagement as if they were measures of spiritual authority. That’s how we identify the strong ones. But we seem blind to those who are faithful and true, even if they serve in anonymity. This is nothing more than baptized paganism. The old Canaanite religions were obsessed with power, strength, virility, and fertility. The Greco-Roman gods weren’t much different. And tragically, we have the potential to fall into this pattern of thinking, too, if we take our eyes off the gospel. Boast in the Limp Some are well acquainted with the sort of suffering Paul describes. They may have hardship they’ve pleaded with the Lord to change. But he hasn’t. The diagnosis remains. The anxiety and depression always seem to be there like a shadow. The prodigal child hasn’t returned. The loneliness seems inescapable. Those are forms of weakness. For others, weakness shows up in constant failures: susceptibility to temptation, the failure to live up to our own standards, and the nagging guilt that haunts us for stumbling. We may look strong, but we feel ourselves to be so weak. Yet this feeling of weakness should be normal for Christians. As J. I. Packer puts it, Paul “demonstrates a sustained recognition that feeling weak in oneself is par for the course in the Christian life and therefore something one may properly boast about and be content with.” Nietzsche was wrong. It’s in our weakness that God’s strength shows up in the most powerful ways. The gospel message isn’t one of human conquest but of divine condescension. The crucified and risen Christ, who still bears the nail marks on his hands and feet, promises that his power rests on us in our suffering. When we feel our failures and frailty, the empty tomb testifies to God’s power to raise Jesus from the dead as a testimony that his sacrifice was enough. As we limp along, bruised and mangled by this life, we can return to the simple truth many of us learned as children. It’s a truth with deeper theology than many volumes by venerable scholars: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong; they are weak, but he is strong. We don’t belong to Christ because we’re strong. We belong to him because he loves us. Our weakness isn’t a disqualification. It’s the place his strength is perfected.

I work on a team at my office. I think I’m doing good work—at least, my reviews are always positive. But that’s about the only nice feedback I get all year. No one is mean, but I don’t receive compliments or “good jobs.” I know I’m ultimately working for the Lord, but I’m starting to feel pretty discouraged. It’s hard to keep going on pure inner motivation alone. What should I do? I get it. I’ve been there. Earlier in my career, I worked for an advertising agency where the partners seemed interested only in promoting themselves. They barely acknowledged my contributions—sometimes I wondered if our clients ever saw my work, much less knew it was mine. These days, as cofounder of the Bay Area Center for Faith, Work & Tech, I regularly hear from people whose projects go unnoticed, whose managers don’t seem to care, and who absorb additional responsibilities without recognition or reward. It’s disheartening, discouraging, and just plain wrong. So, before I offer some thoughts, please know this: The longing to be seen and valued isn’t weakness. It’s deeply human. After all, God created us to work and intends for our work to matter. Your Work Is Part of Something Bigger This perspective has anchored me through seasons of feeling invisible at work: Our labor isn’t just for our employers—it’s part of God’s ongoing renewal of the world. God created us to work and intends for our work to matter. When Jesus lived, died, and rose again, he inaugurated the return of his kingdom—the renewal and restoration of all things to the good and beautiful state God intended in Genesis 1–2, before the fall shattered it in Genesis 3. He’s doing that work through us and through our work. Whether you’re developing a product, providing customer service, repairing equipment, or fixing spreadsheets, you’re stewarding his creation; working for beauty, order, justice, and human flourishing; and, often, contributing to his kingdom. This means your work matters to God even when it doesn’t seem to matter to your manager. The doctrine of vocation reminds us that God works through ordinary human labor to sustain and renew the world. Your unnoticed work is never actually unseen. Work for the Lord and Await His Reward God promises rewards to those who work faithfully for him. In Colossians 3:23–24 (NIV), the apostle Paul writes, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward.” And in Galatians 6:9 (NIV), he urges us to “not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” God is our ultimate Boss. We work for his pleasure, and we can bring glory to him through our work. If we trust in Jesus as Lord and Savior, our eternal destiny is secure—our wholehearted work doesn’t earn our salvation. But Scripture does teach that there will be degrees of reward for believers in the life to come, corresponding to our faithfulness in this one (1 Cor. 3:12–15). So, let’s work with those greater rewards in mind. And the reward isn’t only future. There’s a present joy in working with integrity—and a growing intimacy with God as we bear his image through the work we do. As you work wholeheartedly for him, even in obscurity, that work is already an act of worship. Here are a few practical suggestions to help you remember that: Use prayer to reorient yourself throughout the workday. Tell the Lord: “I know you see my work and call it good.” Or set a daily alarm at 3:23 p.m.—a reminder of the Colossians verse—and pause to pray and notice where God was present in your work that day. These small practices can increase your awareness of God’s presence with you at work and his pleasure in your work. Humility Doesn’t Mean Hiding With your work grounded in stewardship and faithfulness, you can take concrete steps to improve your situation. These suggestions are based on something the Christian instinct toward humility can sometimes obscure: Seeking recognition for your work isn’t necessarily pride—it can be wise stewardship of the gifts and opportunities that God has given you. Start by talking with your manager. Proactively share what you’re working on and ask for regular feedback conversations. Make sure your boss knows what you’re contributing and that you genuinely want to understand the influence you’re having. Document your track record. Identify how your work contributes to team, department, and company goals, and keep a running record of accomplishments in concrete, quantifiable terms. This will serve you well in performance reviews and equip you to have an honest conversation about whether your contributionas are being appropriately recognized. Seeking recognition for your work isn’t necessarily pride—it can be wise stewardship of the gifts and opportunities that God has given you. When it comes to sharing achievements publicly—say, announcing a promotion on LinkedIn—the Christian call to humility doesn’t require silence. It requires a particular posture. Before you post, ask yourself, Whom am I seeking to lift up? What or whom am I drawing attention to? Does the post honor God, love my neighbor, and seek the flourishing of others? Rather than broadcasting personal achievement, you can share an announcement about an accomplishment or milestone in the spirit of 1 Corinthians 4:7—“What do you have that you did not receive?”—so you give credit to God, acknowledge colleagues, and genuinely invite others into the celebration. Tim Keller describes humility as “self-forgetfulness”: not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less. That’s exactly the disposition a well-crafted LinkedIn post can model. You Aren’t Laboring in Vain God sees the dataset you’re slogging through. He sees the monotonous calls you’re fielding. He sees the extra hours, the work no one says thanks for, the contributions absorbed without acknowledgment. That work—done with integrity and directed toward him—is already recorded in the only ledger that lasts. Let me close with the words of Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:58 (NIV): Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain. You are seen. Keep going.