Two years ago in early January I heard God tell me to stop counting my resources. I sensed an invitation to some kind of shift, but I didn’t know what to make of it. My (then) husband and I were in debt and I was enslaved to counting the dollars and “figuring things out,” but it was exhausting, and I was past the end of my rope. Here’s a bit of what I wrote about this at the time:

The reality is that despite my best efforts, I cannot fix my mess. I don’t have the resources to do so. And I am not just talking financial resources. I’m talking about all kinds of resources — time, emotional reserves, ideas, opportunities, wisdom, love… I cannot resource my way to the changes that need to happen in my life. I don’t have what’s needed, but God is telling me he doesn’t need me to.

Transfiguring things is something we cannot do, but it IS what God does. I come with water, and Jesus makes the wine. It is a miracle, plain and simple. This is what I hear God calling me to. He’s saying, “Let me transfigure things. Give me your water, and I will give you wine. See what I can do with all you DON’T have.”

Six weeks after I heard God whisper that to me, my life blew up. I told my husband I couldn’t live with him anymore, and it felt a bit like taking every dish off of the shelves, smashing them on the floor, and walking away. There. It’s done. It’s a huge mess, and I cannot fix it. But here’s the thing: It was already a mess. The dishes were already smashed. We just pretended they weren’t.

Once I could fully admit to the mess and the fact that I could not fix any of it, I was free. For years I labored to fix things that weren’t mine to fix. You can’t fix someone else’s alcoholism. You can’t fix someone else’s mental illness. You can’t fix someone else’s anger issues. And you can’t work with someone on life issues and marital issues if they won’t address their own issues first. All you can do is draw your own boundaries and live with them. I get it now.

The best thing I ever did was say, “I can’t.” I can’t live with you. I can’t live with someone who is bipolar 1 and refuses to take medication. I can’t. I can’t live with someone who pretends his anger isn’t destructive to me and to our kids. I can’t. I can’t live with someone who isn’t committed to sobriety. I can’t. I can’t live with someone who doesn’t believe me when I say I’m scared and hurt. I can’t. I had so many I can’ts, and yet I kept going for so long. Until I didn’t.

Perfectionism and perseverance have been my lifelong taskmasters. I have learned that Jesus is kinder than they are. Sometimes quitting is the only way forward. When I finally admitted the truth and said, “I can’t,” it was like handing Jesus a jug of water that was way too heavy for me to lug around. He took my water, and he has been making the wine ever since. It doesn’t make sense, and I’ve learned it doesn’t have to.