What follows is not a reflection on having the answers, but on staying present. On pain, grief, rest, and worship and on coming close to God.
Revealed to the Humble
Before Jesus speaks the familiar and much‑loved invitation of Matthew 11:28, there is a quiet, revealing moment. In verses 25 to 27, Jesus speaks about how the Father chooses to make himself known, not to the self‑assured or those who appear strong, but to the humble. To those who come like infants.
Infants come with need. They do not carry themselves; they are carried. They lean in not because they understand what is happening, but because they depend on someone else to hold them. Jesus points to this posture as the place where God is revealed — where openness matters more than answers, and honesty matters more than certainty.
An Invitation to the Weary
From that place, Jesus offers an invitation — not to those who are managing well, but to those who are tired, weighed down, and worn thin by life.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
(Matthew 11:28, NIV)
This is not a call to be brave or to have everything resolved. It is an invitation to lean in — weary, burdened, and carrying grief — and to be met with rest. Not rest that removes pain, but rest that holds it. Not rest that explains suffering, but rest that offers presence within it.
Worship Born from Grief
A few years ago, I had the opportunity to talk with Brenton Brown, the writer of the worship song Adoration. At the time, I already loved the song — a friend had even taught it to me on an electric guitar — but I didn’t realise the story behind why it had been written.
Brenton shared that Adoration was written during one of the most painful seasons of life. Their baby girl, Grace, was delivered naturally, but her heart had stopped and she was stillborn. In the midst of that grief, Brenton wrote Adoration — not as a declaration of triumph, but as an act of surrender. A way of bowing the heart before God when everything else felt broken.
Choosing Presence When Nothing Can Be Fixed
Brenton spoke about how hard it was to watch his wife go through that loss. There was nothing to fix it, nothing to say that could make it better — just grief, unanswered questions, and the sheer weight of it all. As a family, there was every reason to walk away from God in that heartbreak, and it’s easy to understand why many do. Instead, they chose — slowly, painfully, and without pretending — to lean in.
That leaning in did not remove the grief. It did not soften the loss or tidy the questions. It simply meant choosing presence over distance. Staying, even when faith felt fragile.
That conversation has stayed with me.
When Pain Forces a Direction
Of course, everyone’s story is different. People carry different losses, face different challenges, and experience pain in ways that aren’t always visible or comparable. What overwhelms one person may look different to another — and none of it is insignificant.
Life has a way of bringing us to moments we never expected — moments that strip things back and reveal what we really cling to. Pain doesn’t give neat choices or easy outcomes, but it does confront us with a direction. When people are hurting, it is completely understandable to step back, to protect the heart, even to walk away from God. Pain can make faith feel exhausting, risky, and thin.
And even there, there is space for a choice.
The Risk of Leaning In
Do we close ourselves off simply to survive, or do we risk leaning in — carrying our pain, our fatigue, and our questions with us?
There is a longing not to be someone who walks away from God in those moments — even while recognising why so many do. Instead, there is a longing to lean in. Not with confidence, but with need. Not with answers, but with honesty.
Worship as Rest and Survival
Adoration reminds us that worship isn’t always loud or assured. Sometimes it is an act of survival. Sometimes it is resting in God when words run out. Sometimes it is saying, “I don’t understand this, but I am still here.” Sometimes it is bowing the heart when the head has no answers.
And maybe that is what leaning in really looks like — not pushing pain away, not rushing towards resolution, but resting in God’s presence and offering ourselves as we are. Tired. Hurting. Still coming.
Learning as We Lean In
As we lean into Jesus, we don’t only find rest — we begin to learn from him. Not quickly or forcefully, but gently, over time, as we stay close.
In his presence, we learn a different way of carrying life. A way where the weight is shared, the pace is kinder, and we are not expected to manage everything on our own.
Perhaps this is where endurance gently takes shape — not in pushing through, but in learning to walk with Jesus, held, human, and not alone.
If you’d like to hear the full interview with Brenton Brown, it’s available here:
👉 https://www.mixcloud.com/andy-mitchell5/its-canny-to-listen-introductions-and-their-songs/