When I read Exodus 18, I actually laughed out loud. Not a polite church chuckle. A real one. Because Moses was out here doing what every woman I know does when she is deeply devoted, wildly capable, and quietly exhausted.
He was carrying the entire world on his back while insisting he was fine.
Totally fine.
Absolutely fine.
The “why are you asking” fine.
Picture it.
Israel is massive at this point. Not a cute little traveling Bible study. We’re talking millions of people. Tents everywhere. Kids crying. Sand in places sand should never be. Livestock making noise for no reason. And then there’s Moses, sitting there all day long, every day, acting as the sole emotional regulator, spiritual authority, judge, mediator, and problem solver for an entire nation.
From sunrise to sunset.
Every argument.
Every complaint.
Every misunderstanding.
Every “he looked at me wrong.”
Every “she took my spot.”
Every “my cousin’s goat hasn’t eaten in three days, can you pray?”
No one will ever convince me that a goat problem did not make the list.
Every single day.
Moses is exhausted. The people are irritated. The line never ends. And somehow, he has convinced himself this is what faithfulness looks like.
Then Jethro shows up. The father-in-law.
The man who has lived long enough to recognize burnout when he sees it. The man who does not confuse devotion with dysfunction. He watches Moses for one afternoon and says, very plainly, “This is not good. What you are doing will wear you out, and it will eventually wear the people out too.”
Translation?
Moses, my man.
You are doing the absolute most.
And most of it matters.
But not all of it is yours.
This is the moment the entire chapter pivots. Not because God thundered. Not because Moses received a new revelation. It shifted because someone with wisdom named the truth Moses could not see from inside his own exhaustion.
And here is where it gets uncomfortably modern.
This is what happens when calling gets tangled up with compulsion. When devotion quietly mutates into over-functioning. And I know this confusion intimately. I have lived it.
All the times I thought I was carrying something holy, when what I was actually carrying was everyone else’s comfort. I told myself I was being faithful, but underneath that devotion was a quiet fear of disappointing people. And isn’t that true for most of us? We say yes because it looks righteous. Because it earns approval. Because it feels like the “good” thing to do. Not necessarily because it was the assignment God actually gave us.
If you notice, Jethro does not tell Moses to stop serving. He does not tell him to abandon his calling or shrink his role. He tells him to reorder it.
Seek God.
Teach truth.
Do the part that is actually yours.
Then, very practically, appoint other leaders so Moses can breathe again.
This matters. Because delegation is not a lack of faith. It is a holy recognition of limits. It is humility in action. It is the wisdom of saying, “I do not need to be the entire system. I am a vessel within it.”
Moses listens, which is honestly its own miracle. He sees it. He feels it. He realizes he has been drowning in responsibilities that felt noble but were never meant to be carried alone.
If that isn’t a story for modern life, I don’t know what is.
We are all trying to be the Moses of our own universe. We answer every text. Hold everyone’s emotions. Host every holiday. Fix the family. Heal the lineage. Grow the business. Homeschool the kids. Remember the birthdays. Organize the pantry. Heal our trauma while supporting everyone else through theirs.
And the kicker?
We document it all online with perfect lighting and a caption about gratitude. Meanwhile, heaven is like, “Who told you to do all that?”
Most of us aren’t overwhelmed because life is too much. We’re overwhelmed because we are carrying jobs heaven never assigned.
Jethro’s wisdom is still the antidote.
Slow down.
Seek God.
Do the piece you were actually given.
Delegate the rest.
You were never meant to be a one-person miracle factory.
Holiness does not demand self-destruction.
God is not impressed by your burnout.
If Moses needed that reminder, you probably do too. Because magic does not flow through exhaustion. It flows through alignment with what is truly yours.
The moment you stop trying to be the whole system and return to being the vessel, everything starts moving again.
And heaven can finally exhale.
Much love,
Jaimie
