Dear Friends,
If your calendar feels like a mirror where every commitment reflects what you hope to be true about yourself, you're not alone. Many of us say yes not from clarity but from a quiet panic—afraid that if we stop performing, we'll disappear. But what if your exhaustion isn't from doing too much, but from building an identity that your schedule cannot sustain?
David asked the question that unravels this whole performance: "Where can I flee from your presence?" (Psalm 139:7). The answer reverberates through every boardroom and bedroom: nowhere. Not in your most productive sprint, not in your most unproductive slump. "If I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me" (Psalm 139:9-10). Your worth isn't a subscription service that renews with each achievement. It's anchored in a presence you cannot outrun, out-earn, or out-produce.
Yet we schedule our lives as if we must justify our existence. God turns to Job with a different question: "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation... while the morning stars sang together?" (Job 38:4, 7). Before you answered a single email, the cosmos celebrated your unborn worth. Your limits—those 24 hours, that need for rest, that finite energy—aren't design flaws to overcome. They're divine architecture. When you treat them as obstacles, you don't just get tired; you forget you're a creature, not the Creator.
This is where identity hijacks time. What do you believe about yourself when you're productive versus unproductive? If your sense of belovedness rises and falls with your output, your calendar has become your salvation. Where does fear of missing out or comparison hijack your schedule? Every yes born from "they're getting ahead" is a no to the pace God marked for your soul. And what would you keep doing even if it didn't move revenue this month? That answer reveals your true name beneath the performance.
The psalmist reminds us that God "made the moon to mark the seasons, and the sun knows when to go down" (Psalm 104:19). Paul echoes this: God "marked out... the boundaries of their lands" (Acts 17:26). Your boundaries aren't restrictions; they're revelation. They show you who you are when you're not proving anything.
This week, try a simple practice: Before you say yes, pause and ask, "Who am I if this fails?" If the answer feels like death, it's not a commitment—it's an idol. Track one day and simply notice where you say yes from anxiety versus yes from peace. Not to fix it. Just to see it. You might discover you're living as if God's presence is a prize for efficiency, when it's actually the ground beneath your feet.
The goal isn't shame—it's remembering. When you know you cannot flee from love, you can finally stop running. You can say no to what diminishes you because you've said yes to who you already are.
God bless,
Fredy
P.S. Take 15 minutes with Psalm 139. Ask God: Where am I performing for a love You've already given?
If you’re running on empty and need help rebuilding sustainable rhythms, I have a handful of burnout coaching slots open. The first step is a 45‑minute assessment to map where you are and what’s needed. You can book that here: [Book Discovery Calls]
