When Strivings Cease

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It was one of those quiet, sun-soaked mornings at the schoolhouse — the kind that hums with a soft sort of peace. While my students were out for a break, one of the boys came running up from the field, grinning from ear to ear, a single flower pinched delicately between his fingers.

“For you,” he said proudly, holding it out like treasure.

I tucked it behind my ear, and he beamed — satisfied that his gift had found its place. A few hours later, though, he noticed the petals beginning to droop. His smile faded. “It’s wilting,” he said, a little heartbroken. “Maybe we should put it in water.”

I smiled and told him that water might help it stay pretty for a little longer, but that, really, the flower had started dying the moment it was picked. It looked alive, but it had already been cut off from its source.

That moment stayed with me long after the school day ended. It reminded me of Jesus’ words in John 15: “I am the vine; you are the branches… apart from Me, you can do nothing.”

Sometimes, our lives can look just like that flower — bright and full of effort on the outside, yet quietly withering when we’re striving on our own instead of abiding in Him.

A few days later, a mysterious package arrived on my doorstep — no note, no return label. Inside were two books, both right up my alley, though I couldn’t imagine where they’d come from. When I mentioned it to my mom, she laughed and said, “Oh, those? I sent them. You’ve just seemed like you could use a few reminders lately.”

As usual, she wasn’t wrong.

One of those books was When Strivings Cease by Ruth Chou Simons. And as I began to read, it felt as if the Lord was gently continuing the same lesson He’d started with that little flower — a reminder that all my effort and doing, no matter how good or well-intentioned, can’t bring life apart from Him.

That little flower moment — and then the surprise package — made me pause and ask some uncomfortable questions. Where in my life have I been mistaking striving for growth? Where have I been trying to look alive instead of simply abiding?

If I’m honest, I’ve always been someone who loves a good goal. I like structure. I like checking boxes. I like the satisfaction of seeing progress. None of those things are bad, of course — but sometimes, my desire to “do things right” quietly drifts into trying to earn what’s already been given.

That’s why Ruth Chou Simons’ When Strivings Cease met me right where I was.

When I first started reading, I was struck by how Ruth writes with both gentleness and depth — like a friend who’s not afraid to tell you the truth, but does it with a grace that disarms you. The book is wrapped in beauty, not just because of Ruth’s watercolor art scattered throughout the pages, but because her words flow from a heart that’s been changed by the gospel she’s writing about.

What surprised me most, though, was how deeply personal her exploration of grace becomes when she speaks about her Chinese heritage. She writes with such honesty about growing up within an honor–shame culture — one where value often feels tied to performance, image, or meeting expectations. I didn’t realize how much of that same mindset had quietly shaped my own thoughts until I saw it named on the page. Her honesty gives language to things I’ve felt but never fully understood — that subtle pull to measure up, to keep performing, to be “enough.”

Through her story, Ruth shows that grace isn’t just a comforting idea; it’s a radical invitation to stop trying to earn love and simply receive it.

Reading When Strivings Cease felt like exhaling after holding my breath for far too long. Somewhere between chasing goals, keeping up, and trying to do everything “right,” I hadn’t realized how much of my energy had shifted from abiding to achieving.

Ruth’s words helped me see that striving isn’t always loud or obvious — sometimes it hides in good intentions, in wanting to serve well, or even in spiritual habits that subtly turn into scorecards. Her reminder that grace is the starting point, not the reward, landed right where I needed it.

Ruth’s words on grace and identity are some of the most freeing I’ve ever read. She writes,

“You don’t need to figure out how to be a model Christian, how to be more on fire for God, or even how to please God. If you’re in Christ, you’re already pleasing to Him because of Jesus.”

When I first read that, I actually went back and read it again — slowly the second time. Because if I’m honest, so much of my life has been spent trying to be “enough.” A good enough wife, daughter, friend, believer. Even in seasons of genuine faith, I can still slip into a pattern of proving. But Ruth reminds us that the gospel leaves no room for that — because grace already covered it all (Ephesians 2:8-9).

She continues,

“Your number one job as a believer is to return again and again to the good news of the gospel, the foundational truth of redeeming grace… You are made for good works, yes, but first and foremost you’re made for a relationship with God who enables that work.”

That line hit me right between the eyes: “first and foremost, you’re made for a relationship with God.” It’s so simple. And yet, it changes everything. When we flip the order — when we start doing for God before being with God — we end up exhausted. Our efforts become like that flower from the schoolyard, bright but already wilting (John 15:4-5).

Ruth’s reminder pulls us back to the heart of abiding. To grace that isn’t passive, but empowering — the kind that anchors orthodoxy and fuels orthopraxy. It’s not a call to stop doing altogether, but to stop doing apart from Him.

She paints this so vividly: orthodoxy is like light, the truth that illuminates our path, and orthopraxy is like heat, the warmth of faith lived out. We need both. Ruth writes that when we lean too far toward head knowledge without love, our faith becomes like an LED light — bright, but cold. It illuminates without giving warmth. But when we focus only on doing — on passion, justice, and causes apart from truth — our faith becomes like glowing embers: full of heat but quickly fading, unable to light the path for long-term hope (James 1:22; John 13:35).

That image stopped me. Because I’ve been both — cold light and fading embers. I’ve had seasons where I’ve known truth but lacked tenderness, and others where I burned bright for causes but lost my footing in the Word. Neither sustains. Only grace — only abiding — keeps both the light and the heat alive.

In a world that prizes self-help and hustle, Ruth’s message is like a deep exhale — a call to stop striving and start abiding. To trust that grace really is enough (Galatians 2:20).

Takeaway Reflections

• Abiding isn’t passive — it’s where true growth begins (John 15:4).
  
  

• Grace doesn’t erase effort; it redeems it (Ephesians 2:10).
  
  

• You are not working for God’s approval, but from it (Romans 5:1).
  
  

• The gospel gives rest to hearts that have been trying to earn what’s already theirs (Matthew 11:28-30).
  

If you’ve been feeling weary — tired from trying to hold it all together on your own strength — this book is a breath of fresh air. When Strivings Cease is not a book to rush through; it’s one to linger with. Every chapter invites reflection and would make a beautiful semester-long book club pick — the kind of read that sparks conversation and growth over time.

And that flower from earlier? I keep thinking about it- lovely for a moment, but already fading. I don’t want to live that way, bright but brittle. I want roots deep in the One who gives real life. That little flower was never meant to live apart from its stem, and neither are we meant to flourish apart from grace.

Maybe the most beautiful part of letting go of striving is realizing that what God wants most isn’t our performance — it’s our presence. That’s all for now. Take care, stay curious, and I’ll see you next time. 🌿