Why I Plan on Being Unemployed When Jesus Comes Again:

As a therapist, I sometimes joke that teaching surrender isn't very good job security. If people really grasped how invested Jesus is in their healing—how He's already working, already present, already making a way—I'd be out of business. And honestly? That's exactly the plan. When He comes again, I'm hanging up my license with joy.

Because here's what I've learned: Jesus wants your healing more than you do. He's more invested in your freedom than you are. He's not just the Beginning and End of your story—He's the Way through every chapter in between.

The Road to Emmaus

Life is less about sprinting toward healing and more like that long walk to Emmaus. Remember how the disciples trudged along, hearts heavy, eyes blinded by grief? They didn't recognize Him at first. But He was there—listening, explaining, reframing their pain, walking every dusty step.

That's the rhythm of our healing. Jesus doesn't stand at the finish line waiting for us to arrive. He walks the road with us. He unveils Himself gradually, tenderly. He reframes our story by helping us know His. Not from a safe distance, but by stepping into our confusion, our disappointment, our questions that feel too dangerous to voice.

The disciples only recognized Him in the breaking of bread—in that moment of intimate communion. Healing often comes the same way: not in the grand revelation we're waiting for, but in the quiet moments when we realize He's been there all along.

The Exhaustion of Effort

I watch people exhaust themselves in the pursuit of healing. The endless striving. The perfectionist scorekeeping. The frantic collecting of techniques, tools, and testimonies. Therapy-hopping, retreat-chasing, conference-consuming. As if healing were a puzzle to solve rather than a Person to encounter.

Think of the woman with the hemorrhage—twelve years of bleeding, twelve years of physicians, twelve years of spending everything she had on treatments that only made her worse. Until one touch. One moment of connection with Jesus, and healing flowed instantly. The beautiful thing is that to touch is also to be touched—it's mutual, it's relationship, it's encounter.

Or the woman bent double for eighteen years—Satan had bound her so that her eyes turned downward, her gaze locked on the ground. Eighteen years of that enemy whispering that suffering was all there was to see. When pain becomes our primary focus, it bends us inward, downward, until even our posture reflects the enemy's lies. But Jesus saw her, called her forward, and declared her free. One word from Him, and she could lift her eyes again.

These moments of breakthrough aren't just about individual healing—they reestablish foundational truths about His character and His heart toward us. They point us toward the direction we're already heading: wholeness. Not because we've earned it or figured it out, but because that's who He is and what He does.

But here's where we often get trapped: destination addiction. We become so focused on the goal of being "healed" that we miss the healing happening in the journey itself. As James Clear writes in Atomic Habits, "The implicit assumption behind any goal is this: 'Once I reach my goal, then I'll be happy.' The problem with a goals-first mentality is that you're continually putting happiness off until the next milestone."

What if healing isn't a destination to reach but a relationship to inhabit? "When you fall in love with the process rather than the product, you don't have to wait to give yourself permission to be happy. You can be satisfied anytime your system is running." The "system" of our healing is simply this: walking with Jesus, staying connected to Him, letting Him reframe our story as we go.

But what drives this frantic pursuit in the first place? Usually it's shame and fear—the same primal terror that sent Adam and Eve running to hide behind fig leaves. There's such a deep fear that if our badness is truly seen, we'll be rejected, abandoned, cast out. So we work frantically to fix ourselves first, to make ourselves presentable before we can be welcomed in.

The Kingdom of the Father's Delight

Perfectionism whispers: You have to get this right before you belong.

Pride insists: You can muscle your way to freedom.

Shame accuses: Something is irreparably wrong with you.

But these voices all spring from the same source: our orphaned self-defenses. They're the protective reactions and beliefs we developed when we didn't know we were beloved. Strategies for surviving in a world where we thought we had to earn our place, prove our worth, manage our own safety.

These self-protective mechanisms isolate us—from God, from others, from our own hearts. They keep us scanning the horizon for threats instead of resting in love. They make us curators of our own image rather than children who can be known and loved as we are.

But Jesus came to establish a different kind of Kingdom—not one where we earn our place through performance, but the Kingdom of the Father's delight. A realm where belonging isn't contingent on behavior, where love isn't something we achieve but something we receive.

And this is the heart of how He heals: He leaves the 99 to go after the 1. Not 99 other people, but the 99% of us that already knows His love, to pursue that 1% that remains in bondage and darkness. The part of us still hiding, still defending, still believing the lies that keep us isolated and afraid.

He's relentless in His pursuit of every corner of our hearts. Sometimes He even uses the enemy's attacks to expose the very areas He wants to heal—allowing the darkness to surface so He can meet us there with His light. What the enemy means for destruction, Jesus redeems as an invitation deeper into His love.

Jesus interrupts all our orphaned thinking with the same gentle truth: You are welcome exactly as you are. And I will walk with you—not when you've figured it out, but especially when you haven't.

The invitation isn't to change first and then come to Him. The invitation is to come to Him first, and let the changing happen within the warmth of His presence.

Healing as Pilgrimage

True healing is less about grasping and more about releasing. Less about trying harder and more about noticing Him already at work. Less about fixing ourselves and more about staying awake to His presence on this pilgrimage.

When you truly understand that He's more invested in your freedom than you are, it liberates you from the exhausting pace of self-improvement. You don't have to white-knuckle your way to wholeness. You don't have to carry the crushing weight of being your own savior.

You just have to keep walking with Him. Keep your eyes open for the ways He's already making beauty from ashes. Keep listening for His voice in the ordinary moments. Keep trusting that He who began this good work will see it through to completion.

Because He is not just the destination we're walking toward. He is the Way itself—the very road beneath our feet, the presence that transforms every step of the journey.

And that's why I'm perfectly content to work myself out of a job. Because the best kind of healing happens when we stop trying to heal ourselves and start surrendering to the One who is already healing us.

If this resonated with you, I'd love for you to share it with someone who might need to hear it.

For more, follow me @drseantobin.

About the Author: Dr. Sean Tobin is a clinical psychologist, speaker, and worship leader. Author of the acclaimed book, “Big God, Little Devil: A Radical Shift in the Approach to Spiritual Warfare and Deliverance”. He offers a unique lens on healing that integrates psychology and faith, helping people discover how God's love meets us exactly where we are.