Home » Women » Women’s Ministry Blog
By Jordyn Youngblood
We live in a world constantly “plugged in.” We’re surrounded by meetings, messages, and notifications that demand our attention. Everyone and everything seems to require connection and productivity. Yet when our phones die, we don’t keep scrolling on a blank screen hoping they’ll start working again. We plug them into a power source and let them recharge.
But when it comes to our spiritual lives, we often do the opposite. We keep moving, serving, and producing long after our souls have run dry, trying to stay “on” without ever returning to the Source who gives us life. We attempt to function on low spiritual battery, mistaking activity for intimacy.
It’s no wonder so many of us feel drained, distracted, and disconnected from God. Our calendars are full, but our hearts are empty. The truth is, we were never designed to live unrooted or disconnected. We were created to abide.
In today’s culture, constant motion is celebrated. We measure success by progress, productivity, and results. Even in ministry, it’s easy to believe that movement equals maturity. We fill our days with serving, creating, leading, and helping, yet still feel spiritually empty.
Jesus speaks into that restlessness with a simple command: “Abide in Me.” In John 15:5, He says, “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”
The night before the cross, Jesus gave His disciples this powerful image of dependence. Knowing His time was short, He didn’t tell them to do more or move faster. He told them to remain. In the face of chaos and uncertainty, His invitation was simple but profound: stay close to Me.
By calling us branches, Jesus reminds us that apart from Him, we can do nothing. He wasn’t suggesting that we try harder in our own strength. He was inviting us into intimacy. Fruitfulness in the Kingdom has never been about striving — it’s about staying.
Many of us have learned how to function without truly abiding. We know how to serve faithfully, teach truthfully, and work diligently, yet still miss communion with the One we serve. It’s a subtle drift that often goes unnoticed. We might begin rooted in God’s presence, but over time, we learn how to perform well enough to hide our spiritual exhaustion. We start praying less because we feel capable, and we rest less because we feel too needed. Eventually, we confuse momentum with maturity and ministry with intimacy.
When I was in college, I became spiritually burned out. I said yes to everything that looked like Kingdom work, but rarely said yes to simply being with the Lord. I was serving in ministry, leading worship constantly, and taking every opportunity that came my way. From the outside, my life looked fruitful, but on the inside, I was exhausted.
I remember feeling like I was always one step behind, my prayers rushed, my worship hollow, my joy slipping away. I thought saying “yes” to everything meant I was doing God’s work, but in truth, I was neglecting the One I claimed to serve.
One Sunday, I was standing on stage singing about God’s faithfulness and realized I hadn’t actually sat with Him in weeks. In that moment, I saw how disconnected I’d become from the very One who had called me to serve. It was a loud correction yet a quiet invitation to stop striving and start abiding.
Jesus’ words in John 15 expose the illusion we often live under: that we can sustain ourselves. In reality, apart from Him, we have nothing to offer. What we produce may look good for a time, but it won’t last because it isn’t born of the Spirit.
Abiding isn’t laziness; it’s a lifeline. It doesn’t mean retreating from life; it means remaining rooted in Jesus right in the middle of it. Abiding doesn’t pull us away from our calling; it gives us the strength to fulfill it.
Abiding begins with awareness. It’s noticing the subtle pull toward self-reliance and intentionally choosing to stay anchored in Christ. To truly abide is to create habits of communion instead of cycles of exhaustion. It might mean allowing silence for God to speak before you do, listening for the Spirit’s guidance before planning your next move, or returning to Scripture not just for teaching, but for personal nourishment.
It’s the quiet moment before the day begins when you choose Scripture over scrolling. It’s the deep breath before responding in frustration, inviting the Spirit to guide your words. In a world obsessed with outcomes, abiding draws us back to presence — the presence of Jesus.
Jesus never measured success by how much we produce, but by how much we remain.
When we abide, fruit comes naturally. Galatians 5:22–23 says, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” The fruit of the Spirit isn’t achieved through discipline alone; it’s cultivated through dependence.
Abiding produces deeper love, steadier peace, patient endurance, and generous kindness. Before God grows anything through us, He wants to deepen what’s within us. Roots grow before fruit appears. The deeper our roots sink into Christ, the stronger our branches become.
Sometimes God works underground, nurturing growth we can’t yet measure. In those seasons, He’s teaching us patience, humility, and dependence so that when fruit does appear, it reflects His character, not our effort.
So, let this be a reminder to reach for God’s presence before reaching for another plan. Before you pour out again, let Him pour into you. We were never meant to live or serve disconnected or depleted. We were made to draw life from the Vine that never runs dry.
Friend, let your roots run deep. You don’t have to live on low battery. Jesus isn’t asking for your performance; He’s offering His presence. The same way a branch naturally bears fruit when it’s connected to the vine, your soul will flourish when it rests in Him. Stay in His Word, stay in His love, and stay in His presence. As you do, you’ll find that fruitfulness flows not from force but from faithfulness — fruit that blesses, fruit that endures, and fruit that magnifies the glory of the One who made you fruitful.
