I quit my New Year’s resolutions (God still loves me)

By 9 January, however, the internet gently informs me that it is Quitter’s Day – the day most people officially abandon their New Year’s resolutions. And honestly? That checks out. Because by then, the gym bag is back in the cupboard, the prayer journal has exactly three heartfelt entries, and my phone has caught me Googling ​“Is quitting bad if you had good intentions?”

Quitter’s Day sounds dramatic, but it’s actually kind of comforting. There’s something deeply human about realising, nine days in, that we may have overestimated ourselves.

New Year’s resolutions have a way of doing that. They come from desire – real desire – to be better, to be holy, to feel more alive. But they are also quietly rooted in the belief that God is waiting for a more polished version of me. Like grace is on hold until further notice.

By Quitter’s Day, most of us probably feel discouraged. Not just because we have failed, but because we think failure means something about our faith. That we aren’t serious enough or disciplined enough.

Sponsored

But God is not surprised by my 9 January self. He already knew exactly who He was working with.

Here’s the thing we don’t talk about enough: God does not love your potential more than He loves your reality. He doesn’t wait for you to finally follow through before He draws close. He entered humanity knowing full well how often we quit things. Including Him.

The Christian life isn’t about self-improvement – it’s about self-surrender. And surrender assumes weakness. It assumes stumbling. It assumes that we will need mercy far more often than motivation.

Being human means wanting to change and also wanting to stay exactly the same. It means making resolutions with the best intentions and discovering – again – our limits. It means loving God sincerely and still hitting snooze on prayer because your bed feels warmer than sanctity.

And God is not rolling His eyes at any of this. So maybe Quitter’s Day isn’t a failure. Maybe it’s a recognition of our frailty. Maybe 9 January is the day we stop pretending we’re superheroes and remember we’re disciples – and fallen ones at that.

What if our resolutions this year sounded less like productivity goals and more like prayer?

Instead of ​“I will pray every day for 30 uninterrupted minutes,” maybe it’s ​“I will turn toward God each day – and start again when I forget.”

Instead of ​“I will never struggle with this sin again,” maybe it’s ​“I will bring this struggle into the light sooner and ask for help faster.”

Instead of ​“This is the year I finally fix myself,” maybe it’s ​“This is the year I let God meet me where I actually am.” That’s not lowering the bar. That’s keeping grace within our reach.

Jesus did not come to help us optimise our lives. He came because we couldn’t save ourselves. He stepped directly into human inconsistency, human weakness, human quitting – and He stayed.

The saints didn’t become saints because they never failed at their spiritual goals. They became saints because they kept saying ​“yes” again and again and again. Often after failure. Often after embarrassment. Always through mercy.

Peter didn’t need a better resolution system after denying Jesus, quitting when it mattered most. He needed an encounter with forgiveness. And Jesus met him not with shame but with breakfast and a second chance. That’s the heart of our faith.

The saints didn’t become saints because they never failed at their spiritual goals. They became saints because they kept saying ​“yes” again and again and again. Often after failure. Often after embarrassment. Always through mercy.

Peter didn’t need a better resolution system after denying Jesus, quitting when it mattered most. He needed an encounter with forgiveness. And Jesus met him not with shame but with breakfast and a second chance. That’s the heart of our faith.

So if you’ve already quit something – welcome. You’re right on schedule. God is not disappointed; He’s present. Make resolutions if they help you. Structure can be a gift. Discipline can be holy. But don’t make them your saviour.

This year, maybe the bravest resolution is to stay human. To stop performing holiness and start practising honesty. To trust that God is far more interested in your heart than your streaks.

Because the Christian life isn’t about starting over once a year. It’s about starting again every single day. And the beautiful, ridiculous, hope-filled truth is this: God never quits on us – even on Quitter’s Day.