The Fraying Cord” refers to Ecclesiastes 4:12 (a cord of three strands is not easily broken). Elias has let his strand – the physical/mental health fray so badly that the whole cord is at risk.
Like Elias, is it possible to be so busy ‘doing’ for the Kingdom that you neglect the very ‘temple’ you were given to steward? In this second part of the four-part story, we follow a man whose devotion to his calling begins to fracture his family and his health. This series explores the thin line between zeal and neglect, reminding us that wellness isn’t a luxury, but a spiritual discipline that allows us to love our neighbours (and our families) better.
Catch Part 1 ===> The Keeper of the Lighthouse: Understanding the True Cost – Part 1
The storm outside North Star Point was nothing compared to the slow-motion collapse happening within its walls.
Elias stood at the top of the winding stone stairs, his hand clutching the cold iron railing. His chest felt tight, a dull ache radiating from his shoulder to his jaw. He had told himself it was just the damp sea air, or perhaps the weight of the heavy oil canisters he’d insisted on hauling himself to “spare the village boy the climb.”
But as he reached the landing, the world tilted. The white-washed walls seemed to pulse.
“Elias?”
The “Careless Living”
Martha was standing in the kitchen doorway below. She didn’t have a bowl of porridge this time. Her arms were crossed, and her face was a map of exhaustion that mirrored his own, though hers came from the heavy lifting of a heart left to its own devices.
“The roof in the shed is leaking, Elias,” she said, her voice flat. “And your son’s teacher came by. Benjamin hasn’t turned in his lessons for a week. He says he’s waiting for his father to show him the constellations as you promised.”
Elias felt a surge of heat; not of passion, but of irritable, bone-deep fatigue. “I am one man, Martha! I was at the hospital until midnight, praying with the Deacon. Then I had to ensure the light was fuelled. Do you not see the importance of the work?”
“I see a man who is disappearing!” Martha’s voice finally broke, rising above the roar of the surf. “You talk of grace and love to the strangers in the village, but you bring only the leftovers of your temper to this table. You are so busy being a ‘light’ to the world that you are leaving your own home in the dark.”
Elias opened his mouth to defend himself; to quote a verse about the harvest being plentiful, but a sharp, stabbing pain in his side silenced him. He gasped, sinking onto the cold stone step.
His “careless living” wasn’t a life of vice or riotous partying. It was the quiet sin of assuming he was infinite. He had treated his body like an enemy to be conquered rather than a gift to be stewarded. He had skipped the Sabbath of sleep, the fuel of nourishment, and the investment of presence.
That night, for the first time in his tenure, the light flickered. Not because the oil ran out, but because the Keeper’s hand was too shaky to trim the wick. As he lay on the floor of the gallery, unable to move, he listened to the sound of Martha sobbing in the room below.
He had saved his soul, but he was losing his life. And worse, he was taking his family down with him.
Elias’s mistake was not rebellion or neglect of faith. It was the quiet assumption that his body could be endlessly overdrawn without consequence. He believed sacrifice meant depletion, and service required disappearance.
Many of us live this way without realising it.
If this part of the story feels close to home, I’ve created a simple, faith-rooted resource to help you reflect on how you are caring for your body in the midst of responsibility and calling.
You can explore the Healthy and Well-Watered Life Checklist here:
This is not about fixing everything at once. It is about noticing where the cord has begun to fray.