I’m Tired of Trying to Understand God

Ya’ll. I’m tired. Tired of thinking, tired of striving, tired of calling exhaustion devotion. I’m not only tired of figuring out God, I’m tired of chasing anything spiritual at all.

I don’t want to decode mystery anymore; I just want to live a real, human life.

I spent years inside the Lord’s Recovery, a Christian movement obsessed with precision, with finding the “high peak truth,” with learning to “divide soul from spiri” and let the “divine dispensing of the processed Triune God” saturate every part of my being. I memorized outlines, diagrammed the economy of God, traced the typology of the tabernacle as if somewhere between the lampstand and the laver I might finally find peace.

Study time in Exodus! The winter training is here!!

But mostly, I found exhaustion.

I was always studying, always analyzing, always trying to discern whether I was truly being constituted with the divine life, whether what I felt was the natural life or the resurrected life, and whether I was living by my mingled spirit or still trapped in my mind.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped living altogether.

We rose early for morning revival, read four chapters of the Bible, then a chapter of Witness Lee’s Life-Study. There were conferences to decode symbolism, week-long trainings to dissect the “divine economy” line by line. They said it was all for learning to live Christ, but what we were really learning was how to worship comprehension itself.

Catching up on Message one from the conference entitled “The Heavenly Vision”

And I bought into it. I believed that if I could understand the Bible deeply enough, if I could decode God’s economy thoroughly enough, then I would finally be spiritual enough, transformed enough, alive enough.

(Ironically, anyone still inside will say this proves I was never “in my spirit” to begin with. But whatever.)

The more I chased understanding, the more I saw how narrow the gate had become. Faith had turned academic, accessible only to those fluent in its language. I had spent years feeding on words until I couldn’t taste life anymore.

And little by little, I became disenchanted.

Because if the gospel that claims to be for the least of these demands the stamina of a theologian and the intellect of a scholar, then by its own design it cannot be for them.

If knowing God requires the vocabulary of “the divine economy,” then it excludes the orphan, the hungry, the uneducated—the very ones it professes to save.

Don’t tell me this gospel is for the poor if it’s only accessible to those who have learned the right words to describe Him.

And if God truly requires that—shame on Him.

But I don’t think He does. I think we do.

We built our systems and called them truth. We made charts of God’s nature, footnoted grace, turned mystery into outlines and devotion into doctrine. We learned how to “minister life” but forgot how to really love. Or perhaps we never actually knew.

Maybe the real “building up of the Body of Christ” isn’t found in endless exposition but in small acts of mercy. Maybe the “flow of life” was never meant to be a metaphor but a way of living—simple, honest, human.

Maybe faith was never meant to be a diagram but a heartbeat.

And maybe the real tragedy of so much of Christianity, and of the Lord’s Recovery, isn’t hypocrisy but starvation. It’s people half-alive, formed only by doctrine yet untouched by love.

These days, I don’t want to understand anything divine. I don’t want to reach for mystery or meaning or eternity. I just want to wake up, breathe, and be—without needing it to mean anything more than that.

I don’t need heaven anymore. Just a little peace here will do.