From the Pulpit to the Pediatric ER

And Somehow… the Sermon Followed Me There

Sunday morning, I stood in a pulpit preaching about Martha.

About exhaustion. About responsibility. About carrying too much. About women who spend so much time pouring into everybody else that nobody notices they’re running empty.

And if you would’ve told me while I was standing there preaching that just hours later I’d end up sitting in a pediatric ER with my child… honestly?

I probably would’ve told you maybe today wasn’t my day to preach.

Because there is something deeply humbling about going from: “God is able…” straight to fluorescent hospital lighting.

Something sobering about going from the sanctuary to hearing hospital monitors beep.

Something emotionally disorienting about going from encouraging everybody else… to immediately becoming the person trying not to fall apart.

And the wild part?

All I could hear was my own sermon ringing back at me.

“You are more than what you produce.”

“People will celebrate your strength while ignoring your depletion.”

“Functioning is not the same thing as flourishing.”

Whew.

Not ‘whew’ preacher-style.

I mean the kind of whew that sits in your chest when life suddenly reminds you that being strong does not mean being unaffected.

Because somewhere between the pulpit and pediatric triage, I was thinking::

Sometimes God will make you sit inside the very message you preached.

And let me tell you something.

That experience feels VERY different when the sermon stops being manuscript pages (I have ADHD and will call a mental audible ) and starts becoming your real life.

Martha makes more sense to me now (face palm).

I preached from Luke 10.

Martha. Busy Martha. Distracted Martha. Emotionally overloaded Martha.

The Martha everybody loves reducing to “the woman who needed better time management.”

But the more I preached that text, the more I realized Martha wasn’t weak.

Martha was weary.

And there’s a difference.

Weak means you cannot carry it.

Weary means you’ve been carrying it too long.

That hit differently sitting in the ER.

Because parents know something people don’t talk about enough:

You can be completely exhausted and still immediately shift into crisis mode for your child.

You don’t even think about yourself.

You just move.

You answer questions. You sign papers. You monitor symptoms. You stay alert. You stay calm. You stay available.

Even while your own nerves are trying to collapse underneath you.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, I heard my own sermon again:

“Some women have mastered the art of functioning while exhausted.”

Yeah.

That part.

I think that’s what I’m still processing.

The fact that the sermon didn’t stay in the sanctuary.

It followed me.

Because while sitting there, I kept thinking about how many people are carrying things nobody else knows about.

The mother smiling in church while terrified privately. The father trying to stay emotionally steady for everybody else. The caregiver who hasn’t slept properly in days. The strong friend one bad moment away from a breakdown. The person who keeps saying “I’m fine” because they don’t even have time to unpack what they really feel.

And maybe that’s why the Martha story matters so much.

Not because Martha is lazy. Not because Martha lacks faith. Not because Jesus is anti-work.

But because Jesus recognizes what happens when people become emotionally divided trying to carry too much.

That’s the part we skip over.

We love celebrating strong people.

But we don’t always notice the emotional cost of surviving.

You Are More Than What You Produce

That line kept sitting with me.

Not as a preacher.

As a mother. As a woman. As a human being.

“You are more than what you produce.”

Because if we’re not careful, life will slowly convince us that our worth is tied to:

how much we accomplish,

how much we carry,

how dependable we are,

how quickly we recover,

how well we hold everything together.

Truth ?

Some of us have become so good at functioning that people assume we no longer need care.

That’s dangerous.

Because functioning is not the same thing as flourishing.

I said it in the sermon.

But sitting in that ER chair?

I felt it.

God Still Meets Weary People

One thing I kept thinking about was how gentle Jesus was with Martha.

He didn’t humiliate her.

He didn’t shame her.

He called her name tenderly:

“Martha, Martha…”

And maybe that’s the part people like me need sometimes.

Not more pressure. Not more expectation. Not another reminder of who needs us next.

Just gentleness.

Just reassurance.

Just the reminder that before we produce… before we perform… before we hold everybody else together… we are already loved.

And honestly?

Maybe that’s the real reason I needed to preach that sermon.

Not just for the congregation.

For me too.

Because somewhere between the pulpit and pediatric emergency medicine, God reminded me:

You can love God deeply and still get scared. You can preach powerfully and still feel overwhelmed. You can encourage others and still need comfort yourself.

And none of that makes your faith weak.

It makes you human.

This Mother’s Day looked different

And if I’m being honest, this Mother’s Day was one of the most unconventional Mother’s Days I’ve had in a long time.

The normalcy of the sweet and endearing Mother’s Day card just wasn’t really there. That hurt my feelings,

The plans I thought would happen for Mother’s Day… didn’t happen. That hurt my feelings.

There was no real rest. No slowing down. No emotional exhale.

Instead, there I was trying to make sure my child felt safe while simultaneously trying to regulate my own emotions.

And one of the first things she said from her bed in the ER was:

“I’m sorry.”

That part hit me hard.

Because while yes—this particular ER visit could have been prevented—what I never want my daughter to feel is shame for needing help.

I never want her associating fear with disappointing the people who love her.

And honestly?

That moment reminded me how often people apologize for being human.

For being sick. For struggling. For needing support. For becoming overwhelmed.

As adults, we do it too.

We apologize for crying. We apologize for resting. We apologize for needing grace.

And sitting there in that pediatric ER, exhausted, emotionally drained, and still trying to reassure my child that everything would be okay…

Here I go thinking:

My daughter is a walking sermon herself.

Because despite everything she has already overcome… she is still here. Still smiling. Still fighting. Still growing. Still teaching me what resilience looks like.

And maybe that’s why this sermon followed me so loudly that day.

Because while I was preaching about weary people in the sanctuary… life immediately reminded me what weariness actually feels like.

When I said sermons teach you lessons… I did NOT mean I needed God to teach me this one like this.

Respectfully?

We could’ve done this another way.

I could’ve gotten the lesson through:

a highlighted Bible verse,

a quiet devotional moment,

maybe a cute journal entry and some worship music.

We did not need the pediatric ER remix.

At all.

And I know somebody reading this is laughing because you’ve had moments with God where you thought:

“Lord… this feels unnecessarily hands-on.”

Like… surely there was a softer teaching method available.

But even in that moment, sitting there tired and emotionally stretched, I kept hearing the same thing repeating in my spirit:

You are more than what you produce.

And maybe I needed to hear it outside of the pulpit.

Maybe I needed to hear it while I looked exhausted. While plans fell apart. While motherhood looked less polished and more real.

Because real motherhood is not always flowers and brunch reservations.

Sometimes it’s hospital bracelets.

Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes it’s trying not to panic while staying calm for your child. Sometimes it’s carrying fear quietly so your child can feel safe.

And somehow… even there… God still shows up.

So if you watched the sermon Sunday and thought: “Wow, that was a beautiful Mother’s Day message…”

Thank you.

But please understand:

Sometimes preachers walk out sermons immediately.

Sometimes the message reaches the preacher before it fully reaches the congregation.

And sometimes God allows life to echo the very words released into the atmosphere.

Yesterday reminded me of something important:

People are carrying more than they tell you.

Be gentle with people.

Check on strong people.

And please stop assuming someone is okay simply because they know how to function under pressure.

Because the same Jesus who saw Martha… still sees weary people now. I know he sees ME,

And for that, I’m grateful.