TheoloJeep

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Dear Brother,

I want to write to you not as an opponent, not as a watchdog, and certainly not as a man standing at a distance—but as a fellow pilgrim who knows the weight you carry.

I see your faithfulness.
I see the long obedience when no one is applauding.
I see the way you have stood guard over truth while still trying to love people who often misunderstand both you and that truth.

And I want you to know—before anything else—you are not crazy for feeling what you feel.

You have labored in the Word. You have given your best years to the Church. You have prayed when answers were slow, preached when your own soul felt thin, and shepherded families while trying to protect your own. You have watched the Church fracture, drift, and chase novelty. You have resisted when it would have been easier to adapt. And that resistance has cost you.

That cost is real. And it deserves to be acknowledged.

It is not a small thing to stand between God and His people week after week. It is not a small thing to keep watch over souls. It is not a small thing to be looked to for counsel while quietly absorbing disappointment, betrayal, and fatigue. You have carried that weight with dignity, even when it pressed harder than you let on.

So when you feel drawn toward something older, quieter, more settled—when the noise of modern Christianity begins to feel unbearable—you are not betraying your calling. You are responding to years of faithfulness.

You are weary of fragmentation because unity matters to you.
You are weary of pragmatism because truth matters to you.
You are weary of thin worship because God’s holiness matters to you.

That says something good about you.

You have not been chasing novelty—you’ve been fleeing shallowness.

I also know this: you have fought hard battles for clarity. You have defended doctrines that are not fashionable. You have taken blows from both the careless and the hostile. And after a while, even a good soldier longs for a place where the fighting stops—not because the truth no longer matters, but because the soul needs rest.

You have earned the right to feel that.

Still, I want to remind you of something you may have forgotten in the fog of exhaustion.

You were not given clarity as a burden—it was given to you as a gift.
You were not entrusted with truth so you could carry it alone.
And you were not placed where you are by accident.

Men look to you, I look to you—not because you are loud, but because you are steady.
They listen—not because you posture, but because you have suffered.
They follow—not because you demand it, but because you have proven faithful in both doctrine and life.

Your wife sees the cost, even when others don’t.
Your family has borne the quiet weight of your calling.
And that faithfulness—unseen, uncelebrated, and often misunderstood—matters deeply to God.

I want to say this carefully and lovingly: your longing for depth, reverence, and continuity is not wrong. But don’t let weariness convince you that the answer is to exchange clarity for quiet, or certainty for stillness.

Rest does not require retreat from the gospel you have preached.
Depth does not require surrendering the ground you’ve held.
And beauty does not require abandoning truth.

Sometimes the call is not to leave—but to recover.
To thicken what has been thinned.
To deepen what has been simplified.
To embody what has been abstracted.

Brother, you are not standing at the edge because you failed.
You are standing there because you stayed longer than most.

Whatever direction you take, know this: you are seen.
Your labor is not forgotten.
Your counsel has shaped lives.
Your perseverance has guarded more souls than you realize.

And if the road feels lonely right now, remember—you were never meant to walk it without brothers beside you.

I am one of them.

With deep respect, prayer, and gratitude for your faithfulness,
Your brother in Christ

—Soli Deo Gloria