Sometimes You Have to Do Less to Do More
TL;DR
Doing less can be an act of faith. After leaving a stable but draining job, I’ve been learning that pruning—whether in life, work, or church—isn’t failure but freedom.
Sometimes you have to do less in order to do more. It’s not one step forward, two steps back—it’s one step back so you can take two steps forward, eventually.
This past spring, I quit my job. It was a decent-paying role in the social work sector—good, morally uplifting work. It’s just that I really didn’t enjoy it. To be fair, I didn’t dislike everything about it, but most parts of the job didn’t connect with my core passions or strengths. Between that and a 45+ minute commute each way—longer in weather or traffic—I’d come home exhausted and unfulfilled most days. So when an opportunity came to make a change, I knew I had to take it seriously.
I won’t get into all the details of that decision (maybe in a future post), but some words from author and upcoming podcast guest Angela Gorrell were helpful to me. She talks about the difference between acute pain and chronic pain. My job was chronically painful. Most of us, she says, will tolerate chronic pain indefinitely rather than endure the acute pain that might actually lead to healing. For me, the acute pain was quitting a stable, good-paying job with benefits to work for less money—but with more time, energy, and capacity to support my family and to do work aligned with my calling.
Sometimes, the way to get to where you want to go isn’t by doing more, but by doing less.
That runs directly against American consumer culture, which is built on the idea that more will make us happy—more stuff, more work, more influence. Many are now pointing out that all this “more” just adds stress and anxiety. In my own life, as I’ve had more time at home, I’ve also been trying to pare down—physically and mentally. The more I let go of, the more space I have for what really matters. Even me having time to write this Substack post is an example of that truth: when we clear away the noise, we create space for better things.
This theme has surfaced again and again on the podcast lately.
In Martha Tatarnic’s interview with Bill Harrison, he said,
“We’re discovering that subtraction can be holy—letting go of what no longer gives life.”
Talking about Downsizing Evangelicalism, Michelle Van Loon noted,
“The whole project doesn’t have to be saved. Maybe what’s left after the downsizing is actually what’s most real.”
And Sheryl Johnson, in another conversation, reminded us,
“Not everything always has to be resurrected. Maybe there’s just been a decision to be made that a certain thing needs to end. And that’s okay.”
Each of these voices offers a simple, countercultural reminder: we’re taught that growth is everything, that more is essential. But what if faithfulness sometimes looks like pruning?
As Bill Harrison also said,
“Maybe faithfulness looks like pruning—tending what’s left with care.”
And as Sheryl Johnson pointed out,
“We’ve really gotten caught up in the sense that power looks like having property. I think Jesus offers us another way.”
Those words strike me as deeply true, not just for churches but for all of us.
In a world obsessed with accumulation, it’s revolutionary to ask what we can release. The theologian Andrew Root, drawing on sociologist Hartmut Rosa, has said that modern capitalism has made growth a prerequisite for stability. Yet that constant growth often becomes a trap—it piles on complexity, work, and exhaustion.
Saying no or letting go takes discernment, honest conversations, and especially firm boundaries. Just last night, I found myself in a volunteer meeting where I had to be clear about what I could and could not take on. Letting go is only the first step—because there will always be more waiting to crowd our plates.
And maybe, as Michelle Van Loon said,
“Being able to figure out what is of lasting value—it’s shocking how little there is.”
May we have the courage to prune, the grace to release, and the faith to believe that less can indeed be holy.