On Not Growing Weary in Well-Doing

A passage of Scripture well-suited as a theme verse for this time of the school year is Galatians 6:9 – “And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.”

We are two-thirds of the way through the year, and we grow weary. So many trips to school. So many math problems. So many schedules to figure out. So many drives to the gym, the field, the lesson. So many conversations about school, friends, teachers, and feelings. And all this on top of work, church, family commitments, and the burdens we always bear and the adversities that inevitably come our way.

Of course, it’s all worth it. It’s all for His glory. God is good, and, as they say, He never gives us more than we can bear. If He does, He shows Himself sufficient in all things. Remember St. Paul’s words: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. […] For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2Cor 12:9-10).

Parenting is hard work. Marriage is hard work. The Christian life is hard work. We fight a spiritual battle for faithfulness daily. But God is sufficient, and He sends His Holy Spirit to be our strength.

So I urge us all to rely on Him and the all-sufficient grace of His cross during this spring season when we’re tempted to grow weary in well-doing. Let’s persist together with love and patience, with perseverance in prayer and longsuffering, with joy and peacemaking.

I leave you with the words of poet Christina Rossetti (1830-1894). Her poem “Weary in Well-Doing” hits the right note for parents and teachers tempted to grow weary of doing good this time of the year.

I would have gone; God bade me stay:

I would have worked; God bade me rest.

He broke my will from day to day,

He read my yearnings unexpressed

And said them nay.

 Now I would stay; God bids me go:

Now I would rest; God bids me work.

He breaks my heart tossed to and fro,

My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk

And vex it so.

I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me;

Day after day I plod and moil:

But, Christ my God, when will it be

That I may let alone my toil

And rest with Thee?