“For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Romans 7:15 ESV
When the Desire Is Gone, but the Work Remains
There are days when I wake up already tired.
Not the kind of tired that a cup of coffee fixes—but the bone-deep kind. The kind that comes from doing the same faithful things over and over again with no applause and no finish line in sight. Sometimes our human nature just rebels.
The sink is full again.
The lesson still needs to be taught.
The animals need to be fed.
Dinner needs to be cooked.
Laundry needs to be folded.
And honestly? I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to teach another lesson, scrub another counter, or fold yet another pile of laundry. And yet, I know I need to do it—the right thing—because God’s commands call me to faithfulness even when my desires of the flesh vote “no.”
I don’t want to correct the math again.
I don’t want to wipe another counter.
I don’t want to answer another question or push through one more long afternoon.
And then I read Romans 7:15, and I feel… understood.
Reading Romans 7:15 reminds me I’m not alone. The apostle Paul calls himself a wretched man, wrestling with the law of his mind and the motions of sin. He understood the real actions of the mind—the tension between what we want to do and what sinful passions or sheer exhaustion push us away from.
Paul—basically says, “I don’t get myself. I don’t do what I want to do. I end up doing the thing I don’t want to do.”
That verse feels less like lofty theology and more like a tired mom’s journal entry.
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You’re Not Lazy—You’re Human
Let’s clear something up right away:
Not wanting to do the work doesn’t make you lazy.
It makes you human.
A lack of desire doesn’t mean we’re failing or not a good person. It means we’re human, wrestling with the carnal nature and the body of death, trying to walk faithfully.
We often confuse lack of desire with lack of faith, and they’re not the same thing.
There are seasons—especially in motherhood—where obedience looks a lot like showing up without motivation. Where love looks like doing the next right thing, even when your heart is dragging behind you.
Paul isn’t confessing rebellion here.
He’s confessing tension.
The tension between what he knows is right and what he feels capable of doing.
And that tension shows up in homemaking more than we like to admit.
Sometimes the habitual sin of feeling “I don’t want to” creeps in, even when there’s little hope we’ll feel motivated. But this is where the power of Christ shows up. Even when our inward man resists, the holy nature of God equips us through the grace of God to obey God’s law and do the next right thing.
That was a lot of big phrases, so let’s simplify it. God’s grace can transform our various frailties into acts of obedience and love as we give our life again and again to Jesus Christ.
And let’s not forget to get practical, sometimes we need to take a hot minute to sit in God’s Word instead of pursing the next thing. Let God’s Word get to the roots of the issues before you take on another task for the day.
“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward.” Colossians 3:23–24 ESV
The Quiet Faithfulness No One Sees
Most of the work we do doesn’t feel spiritual.
It feels repetitive.
Interruptible.
Messy.
No one’s clapping because you stayed consistent with phonics. I’ve really seen tremendous growth in my oldest while doing Reading.com this year, but he doesn’t see the progress. He just feels frustrated and dejected at times. I see the progress with doing the hard work. He only sees the hard work.
I think that’s sometimes how it is with God. He sees the progress, we only see the mountain of tasks at had.
No one’s cheering because you preserved food or scrubbed floors or kept going when you wanted to quit.
And yet—for the average every day homemaker, this is where faith is formed.
There is something deeply holy about choosing obedience when your feelings vote “no.”
Not because the work is glamorous.
Not because it fulfills you every moment.
But because God is honored in quiet faithfulness.
Even in the inmost self, where deep guilt and the effects of sin whisper “I can’t,” obedience and faithfulness often begins with the words: “I don’t want to do it… but I will.”
Doing the Next Right Thing
Obedience doesn’t require motivation; it requires surrender. The next right thing could be teaching a lesson, folding laundry, or doing the dishes. Sin patterns tell us we might not want to, but Christ Jesus empowers us to follow through.
Sometimes I think we tend to over-spiritualize decisions when what we really need is simplicity.
Not:
“What’s my calling?”
“What’s the big picture?”
“What will this lead to?”
But:
“What’s the next right thing?”
Feed the kids.
Teach the lesson.
Fold the laundry.
Tend the garden.
Finish the task set before you today.
Not because you want to.
But because love often looks like action before emotion.
Jesus Himself modeled this.
In the garden, He prayed—“Not my will, but Yours be done.”
Even Jesus acknowledged the “I don’t want to do it” moment.
Obedience doesn’t mean the absence of resistance.
It means surrendering despite it.
The Holy Spirit guides us past unclean desires, so that even the smallest acts are productions of the new man in the body of Christ.
“And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” Galatians 6:9 ESV
Grace for the Tired Yes
Romans 7 doesn’t end in despair.
It ends in grace.
Paul goes on in Romans 8 to remind us that while the struggle is real—while we’re tired and conflicted and doing things we don’t feel like doing—there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1 (ESV)
And that matters on the most ordinary days.
Like the days when it’s late afternoon, everyone is hungry, the kitchen is already a mess… and making dinner feels like the last thing you have in you.
You stand there thinking, I don’t want to do this.
I don’t want to chop another onion.
I don’t want to clean another pan.
I don’t want to figure out one more meal.
But dinner still needs to be made.
And God isn’t disappointed in that reluctance.
He isn’t shocked by your exhaustion.
He isn’t withholding grace because your heart isn’t skipping with joy as you pull ingredients out of the fridge.
He meets you right there—in the middle of the sigh, the tired hands, the “okay, I’ll do it anyway.”
Some nights, obedience looks like cooking a simple meal—like Tuscan chicken—when you’d rather collapse on the couch. Not because it’s glamorous. Not because it fills your cup. But because it’s love in motion. It’s care made tangible. It’s faithfulness in the form of feeding the people God has entrusted to you.
Grace covers the reluctance.
Grace fills in the gaps.
Grace shows up in the ordinary work of loving our families well.
And somehow, even dinner can become holy ground.
A Gentle Reminder for Today – Romans 7:15
If today feels heavy… if your sinful nature is saying no but your duties call… if your obedience feels more duty than delight… remember:
You’re not failing. You’re walking the narrow, ordinary, faithful path God often uses most. You’re letting the Holy Spirit work, and trusting the grace of God to cover you.
Do the next right thing. Do the good thing. God sees it. God honors it. And God’s power of His grace meets us right where we are.
And trust that God sees the work you’re doing—even when it feels like you’re doing it on empty.
Faithfulness often begins with,
“I don’t want to do it… but I will.”
And in that simple, tired yes, God’s grace transforms the ordinary into something holy.
And God meets us right there. 🤍
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