Will God give you more than you can handle?
You’ve been told that God won’t give you more than you can handle, but now you’re not so sure. If that were true, why does it feel like you’re drowning in despair?
There’s a moment when you’re standing at the kitchen sink, your hands submerged in lukewarm, soapy water, and you feel it—this weight, like a heavy hand pressing down on your shoulder. It’s subtle at first, just a whisper of a thought that maybe, just maybe, life is piling up more than you can carry. But then it intensifies, and before you know it, the thought is a full-blown declaration: God, I can’t take any more of this.
You rinse a plate, place it in the dish rack, and wonder how you got here. How did the responsibilities, the expectations, and the relentless pace of life all converge to crush you in this quiet, unassuming moment? You’ve read the verse a hundred times, the one where Paul says, “We were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself” (2Co 1:8). And suddenly, you get it. You understand how Paul, this giant of the faith, could feel like the very life was being squeezed out of him.
The funny thing about burdens is that they don’t announce themselves. They don’t show up at your door and introduce themselves with a hearty handshake and a business card that reads, “Hi, I’m your new overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Nice to meet you.” No, they creep in gradually, disguised as one more task at work, one more bill to pay, one more person depending on you. Before you know it, you’re Atlas, trying to balance the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it’s a world that feels unbearably heavy.
You think of Job, the man who lost everything, and you wonder how he did it—how he managed to stay faithful when his entire life collapsed around him. You remember his words, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord,” and you marvel at his strength (Job 1:21). But deep down, you also wonder if he ever felt like shaking his fist at the sky and screaming, “Enough, God! I’ve had enough!”
Because that’s where you find yourself now, at the edge of your limits, where the air is thin and each breath feels like a monumental effort. And it’s here, in this precarious place, that you start to question everything you’ve ever believed. You’ve been told that God won’t give you more than you can handle, but now you’re not so sure. If that were true, why does it feel like you’re drowning in responsibilities, heartache, and disappointment?
But then, in the midst of your despair, you remember something else Paul said: “But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead” (2Co 1:9). And there it is—the paradox of faith. God isn’t crushing you because He’s cruel or indifferent. He’s doing it because He knows you can’t handle it. At least, not on your own. He’s stripping away your self-reliance, your illusions of control, to bring you to a place where you have no choice but to lean on Him.
It’s a terrifying place to be, this place of utter dependence. It’s the spiritual equivalent of free-falling, of letting go and trusting that the safety net will catch you. And yet, isn’t this what faith is all about? Isn’t it about acknowledging your own weakness so that His strength can be made perfect in you? “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2Co 12:9). You’ve read those words before, but now they resonate with a new intensity, like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.
You let the dish slip from your hand, watching as it sinks beneath the soapy water. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and whisper, “Lord, I can’t do this on my own.” It’s not a prayer of resignation, but one of surrender. Because maybe, just maybe, the crushing weight you feel isn’t meant to destroy you, but to refine you, to draw you closer to the One who carries your burdens when you can’t.
And as you open your eyes, you realize something. The weight is still there, but it’s different now. It’s no longer a burden you carry alone. It’s shared, lightened by the hands of a Savior who knows what it’s like to carry the weight of the world, and who invites you to cast all your anxieties on Him because He cares for you (1Pe 5:7).
Recommended reading
The Bruised Reed by Richard Sibbes
This classic work explores the tenderness of Christ toward those who are burdened and broken by the trials of life.
When the Darkness Will Not Lift by John Piper
This book specifically addresses the issue of enduring spiritual darkness and the feeling of being overwhelmed by life’s burdens.