God Is Holding Us All

There are days when I can feel the weight of the world sitting squarely on my shoulders.

The needs.

The people.

The responsibilities.

The expectations.

The desire to keep everything from falling apart.

And somewhere deep inside, I begin believing the lie that it is my job to hold it all together.

I notice how heavy that thought feels in my body. My shoulders tighten. My chest grows tense. My arms feel tired before I’ve even begun the day. Thoughts carry weight. And this particular thought feels like carrying stones uphill while trying to smile at everyone around me.

But this morning God interrupted that lie with one simple image:

Who is holding up Atlas?

I pictured the great sculptures of Atlas—massive, muscular, straining beneath the weight of the world. There is something strangely appealing about him to me. Strength. Endurance. Capability. Self-sufficiency.

If I’m honest, part of me wants to be Atlas.

I want to believe I can carry everyone.

Protect everyone.

Fix everything.

Hold the whole world together through effort, wisdom, striving, and love.

But God gently showed me something deeper today.

Even Atlas needs someone holding him up.

And God is the One holding all things.

Suddenly, the burden I had been carrying began to look almost ridiculous in comparison to the greatness of God. Here I am, exhausting myself trying to hold tiny pieces together, while the Creator of heaven and earth is sustaining galaxies with a word.

Scripture says:

“He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.”— Colossians 1:17

Not me.

Not my effort.

Not my perfectionism.

Not my overthinking.

Not my control.

Him.

So where does this exhausting thought even come from?

I think it comes from my deep desire to be self-sufficient.

And self-sufficiency is one of the sneakiest lies we can believe because it disguises itself as strength. But underneath it is often fear—the fear of being vulnerable, needy, dependent, or disappointed.

Yet intimacy with God cannot fully flourish while I insist on being my own source of strength.

Because dependence is where love deepens.

Underneath my striving is actually a much deeper need:

I want to be lifted up.

Seen.

Known.

Loved in my vulnerability.

And maybe that’s what God has been inviting me into all along.

Not stronger self-reliance.

But deeper surrender.

Scripture reminds me:

“Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”— 1 Peter 5:7

And again:

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”— Matthew 11:28

Rest is not found in becoming stronger at carrying the world.

Rest is found in trusting the One who already holds it.

My thoughts are not my identity.

My striving is not my calling.

My exhaustion is not proof that I’m loving well.

Who God created me to be is who I’m meant to become.

And perhaps my true assignment is much smaller—and much holier—than I imagined:

to faithfully hold only what God places in my hands and trust Him with everything else.

To love deeply without trying to control outcomes.

To serve without becoming a savior.

To care without carrying what was never mine to carry.

Isaiah says:

“Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary.”— Isaiah 40:28

I grow weary.

God does not.

And that realization fills me with peace.

Because the people I love most are not ultimately being sustained by my strength anyway.

They are being held by God.

The same God who holds up Atlas.

The same God who holds the oceans in place.

The same God who holds the stars by name.

The same God who is now holding me.

And suddenly my shoulders relax.

Because I was never asked to carry the world.

Only to walk closely with the One who already does.

Shel Dammann

Rhythms of Grace Life Coaching