We are dust.

“Then the LORD God formed the man from the dust of the ground. He breathed the breath of life into the man’s nostrils, and the man became a living person.”

— Genesis 2:7 (NLT)

According to the creation story found in Genesis, I was created from dust. And so were you.

That’s not just a poetic phrase from Scripture—it’s an idea that actually grounds every human being in reality of limitation. Dust is not glamorous.

Yet, somehow the story that we are created from something as simple as dust reminds us that we are fragile, finite, and fully dependent on a Creator who holds us together.

But the modern church, like the world around it, struggles to remember this reality. We build our lives and our churches based on our ability to manufacture momentum, develop systems and strategies, and selling the idea that following Jesus means pursuing the potential for acquiring unlimited physical and spiritual strength.

We organize churches around those who are seemingly the most gifted, the most eloquent, and those who are mobile, able-bodied the cognitively superior, and supremely healthy. And in doing so, we often forget that limitation is not a defect. It is the most celebrated feature of human design.

I didn’t always understand this. Growing up autistic in a world that didn’t know how to welcome difference, I learned early about the necessity of hiding my struggles with communication, sensory overload, and social anxiety. I learned that presenting as “normal” was the greatest expectation, even if it came at the cost of exhaustion.

Several years ago, when I was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, the limits of my body became impossible to ignore. Pain, fatigue, nausea, and the unpredictable side effects of treatment slowed me down significantly. And in a culture that worships speed, style, and success, that kind of suffering can feel like failure.

But what if it isn’t?

What if taking our time and pacing ourselves and honoring our need for rest is holy and sacred work?

What if being limited is actually our greatest asset as humans?

What if the reality that we are designed from dust isn’t something to be embarrassed about but rather something to embrace?

Our culture runs on the lie of limitlessness. We are told to “rise and grind,” to “maximize potential,” to “never let them see you sweat.” Even in church spaces, we often confuse fruitfulness with frenetic activity. The pressure to perform, to grow, to keep up the pace—it never seems to let up.

But Scripture appears to paint a very different picture.

From the beginning, God created human beings with limits—the need for rest, for relationship, for rhythm. Humanity was always meant to stop, to breathe, to be with God—not just do things for God.

So here’s some helpful advice.

If we’re willing to listen carefully, the rest of creation is always calling humanity home, back to a place of humility and holiness by constantly reminding us that we are not infinite. We are not machines. We are not gods.

We are dust.

AND, we are His.