TD Jakes - How to Cope with Tiredness
It is utterly amazing, when you read the previous chapter, how dynamic Elijah was—how he faced Ahab, how he faced the prophets of Baal, and how he destroyed the 450 prophets of Baal with great courage and tenacity. He went back and threw himself on Mount Carmel, prayed again, put his head between his knees, blocked out everything, and then prayed until he produced the rain that broke the drought and ended the famine, changing things for everybody. He had done everything for everyone; he had set everybody free.
Then King Ahab went back and told Jezebel—a woman I talked about extensively on Sunday—a woman who was a foreigner to them, not really one of them, who had been brought into their camp from Phoenicia. She had married this Hebrew boy, and though they were both Semitic, it was a political deal; she didn’t choose him, she didn’t want him; it was an arranged marriage, not just by the parents but by the countries, because they thought it would be politically advantageous. Here she was in this country, away from her people, away from Phoenicia, away from their customs and rituals, away from their liberal attitude; she was now thrust into this extremely conservative environment.
Not only were they conservative, but they were also contentious. Yes, they were conservative, but they didn’t get along with each other, and she hated it. She sent for the prophets in the first place so she’d have something from home, something true to her faith, her background, and her religion, and she tried to convert them by killing the prophets. Now Elijah had killed the prophets of Baal in a dynamic display of God’s glory, calling fire down on Mount Carmel, which licked up the water, the wood, and the stones, and burned up the sacrifice. God showed Himself to be strong in the life of Elijah. Elijah prayed for rain, and it began to rain again. God had shown Himself to be strong; Elijah killed 450 prophets. God had shown Himself to be strong in Elijah’s life.
Elijah then told King Ahab to get on his chariot and not slacken his riding until the rain stopped him. Then he girded up his loins and started running, outpacing the chariot—a mighty man, Superman, an incredible, accomplished, admirable man in that chapter of his life. But when he heard what Jezebel said—"May the gods do that and more to me if I don’t kill you in the next 24 hours"—he became afraid.
Now, I would like to say that the pressure started with Jezebel’s threat. Sometimes, we experience something in our lives that serves as the tipping point, driving us to a place where we just can’t take it anymore, and all of a sudden, we react to it. Jezebel’s threat on his life—she never touched him; she never got to him. Within 24 hours, she really invoked a curse upon herself, but he ran away, afraid. He was not a fearful person, but now he was afraid, and I’m wondering if there’s anybody watching me tonight who is not normally a fearful person but is now afraid; perhaps your emotions are in such disarray that you are responding in ways that are uncharacteristic. Something that you would normally be confident about now makes you feel afraid, tired, frustrated, or weary. He came to the juniper tree.
I’m going to use King James English; he came to the juniper tree and said, «It is enough.» «It is enough,» which really means «It is too much.» But he is saying, «It is enough; let me die.» The man who just killed 450 prophets is now saying, «Let me die. I am no better than my ancestors. I want out of my own life.» I’m wondering if there is anybody out there listening to me tonight who has ever gotten to the point of exasperation where you wanted out of your own life. Maybe not suicidal—we won’t use that big word, as many can’t own it—but just depressed enough, discouraged enough, and frustrated enough that you want out of your own life, out of your own skin, out of your own world.
You might want to get in the car and drive until you run out of gas, then get on a bus until you run out of money, and wherever you end up, change your name and turn into somebody else. It’s enough; you’ve had it. You know you’re a believer; you know what we have, but you’ve had it. You know the scriptures, but you’ve had it. You’ve seen miracles work in your life before, but you’ve had it. You’ve seen God use you in mighty ways, but now, for some reason, in this season, with everything else going on above what you already had going on, you’ve been sheltered in place; some of you have lost your jobs, you’ve lost loved ones, and we’ve seen a quarter million people die.
We’re now seeing an upsurge in the virus, and if that weren’t enough, every day we’re faced with political chaos like we have never seen before. No matter what your politics are, this has been a stressful four years, with all kinds of turmoil breaking loose. It’s always bad, but this has been exceptionally contentious; everybody is fighting with everybody. You try to avoid it, but it’s almost on every station. It’s one thing to have turmoil outside—pressure and chaos—but it’s not as if your own personal problems went to bed while the world went crazy. It’s not like your bills stopped coming because of COVID, no, no, no. It’s not like all of your children lined up, and all your siblings lined up, and all your parents lined up because of COVID. No, no, no; you still have all the drama you always had on top of this new drama, and you’re saying, «Look, I’m a strong person, but this is enough.»
What do you do when you feel like giving up, feel like walking away? First of all, there is the shame of feeling that way, the guilt that comes from saying, «I should be a Type A person; I should be an alpha male; I should be this, I should be that. I’m a superwoman; I’m the woman for the job.» You’ve always thought that about yourself, but now you don’t want to tell anybody—shh—but you’re all out of your own life. «Get me out of my own skin! Oh, if I could just be somebody else for a little while.»
Pressure and anxiety have brought the great man of God down to lying under a bush, and he has despaired of life itself, saying, «It is enough.» I want to talk about breaking points because all of us have them. Not all of us know how to deal with them, but all of us experience them. It is especially difficult for those of us who have been mighty in other chapters of our lives to arrive at a point of exasperation, where the feeling is not only frustrating but also foreign. You would dare not speak it in front of anybody. Elijah didn’t say it in front of anybody; that is why I wanted you to notice that he left his servant in Beersheba, Judah. He told him, «Stay here,» and went on a little further where the servant couldn’t hear, and said, «God, I’m sick of everything and everybody.»
This is not the kind of prayer you pray on Sunday morning in front of the church; this is the kind of prayer you pray when nobody’s listening—where you can really keep it real. You say, «God, I am sick of my husband; I’m sick of my wife; I’m sick of my kids; I don’t like my goldfish; my dog is stupid; I want to kill that cat.» Maybe you haven’t been there, but I understand that feeling. I understand what it’s like to feel overwhelmed and need to be honest with God for a moment—not religious, not spiritual, not perfect, but just honestly tell God, «I am sick of this. I’ve had it; I’m tired. It’s enough.»
When people who are normally fighters come to this point, the shame that accompanies it is daunting because they are not used to being there. I feel like I’m talking to someone tonight. I feel like I’m sitting down talking directly to someone. I feel you are not even accustomed to feeling this way; it’s a strange feeling, a foreign sensation. Not only is Elijah in a strange place; he’s having strange feelings at a strange time in his life, lying under a tree, a bush as it were. He can’t go any further; it’s not like he checked into the bush hotel. This is not the juniper resort—no, this is just as far as he can go, and he collapses, spilling everything out. «I have been faithful to you; I have worked for you; I’ve done this and that for you.» He went through the entire list. Then he said, «There’s nobody left but me. They’ve killed all the prophets but me. I alone am left.»
I want to stop right there because I want you to see something: what he just said isn’t true, and he knows it’s not true. In the previous chapter, Obadiah had reserved at least some prophets in a cave, and he was aware that those prophets existed. What do you do when what you know doesn’t align with how you feel? Intellectually, he knows they are there, yet emotionally and experientially, he feels all alone. He has left his servant a short distance away, but he knows where they are; there are other prophets who are still alive. He knows that, but he doesn’t feel that. Sometimes, how you feel about something becomes your reality. The Bible says he fell asleep under the juniper tree.
How do you get your fight back? That’s what I’m talking about tonight. Can I tell you something? You’re tired. He has been doing everything for everybody. He has fought against all odds; he has confronted his biggest enemies; he has stood up against 450 prophets of Baal. He has faced them down and talked smack back at them. He has been ferocious, but he’s tired. He climbed all the way back up on Mount Carmel again and prayed, prayed, prayed, prayed, prayed, prayed, prayed, prayed for rain; he literally birthed rain, and God answered. And if that weren’t enough, he outran King Ahab, who was in a chariot, while Elijah was on foot. He outran him; he is tired. And God, who called fire down from heaven and sent a deluge of rain that rebuked the drought and stopped the famine, did no miracles under the juniper tree other than allowing him to get some rest. You can’t get around it: when you’re burned out, when you’re at the end of your rope, there is nothing wrong with resting.