The Hardened Heart and the Hope of Softness
While visiting with a friend this morning, our conversation turned to a sadly familiar reality: the heart grown hard. My friend and I are both people desperate to keep our hearts soft toward God—tender to His purposes, His pleasures, and His presence. As we reflected on this shared hunger for pliability and proximity to the Father, three common contributors to a hardened heart came to mind. We realized that simply naming these can be a helpful step in pursuing a soul that remains soft toward God.
Weariness
For many spiritually hungry women and men, one of the primary forces that hardens the heart—toward others and even toward the Lord—is weariness. The relentless pace of life, the absence of meaningful margin, and the ongoing demands of vocation, family, ministry, and even leisure can erode our capacity for rest.
When my heart grows cold, I often trace it back to simple busyness. I find myself with no space to find solace in the presence of my Heavenly Father. I have little room to meditate on the Word, no margin to breathe deeply. I feel like I’m constantly running just to keep up with all that matters in my life. It drains me. It leaves me harried. And then, almost instinctively, my heart grows hard—not out of rebellion, but as a survival mechanism.
Wounds
Another source of a hardened heart is wounding—particularly the kind that settles deep into the soul. The words or actions of others can inflict pain that tempts us to build walls around our hearts. This is often a defense mechanism, a desperate effort to avoid further hurt.
Criticism, unmet expectations, betrayal, misunderstanding—these cut deep. With each verbal barb or relational rupture, I feel my heart stiffen. Over time, too many of these wounds drain the heart of life. Ironically, I can become the very misery I’m trying to escape. Wounds have a way of hardening the heart. And they come with the territory of leadership—whether in the home, the church, or the broader community. I’ve known this all too well over the years. Some wounds have been deep.
Weight
A third culprit is weight—the sheer burden of responsibility. Carrying the call to help others flourish, to walk with them through the minefields of life, can pull the life right out of the soul.
To wrestle with another’s pain, to witness despair in parents with prodigal children, to see how the evil one undermines relationships and good causes—and then to speak into those moments with holy influence—all while navigating our own fears and failures, is heavy work. Over time, if we’re not careful, the cumulative pressure of leadership and care can harden what was once tender. Sometimes it’s not even intentional—it’s simply the toll it takes to survive one more day.
The Axis of Pressure
Weariness. Wounds. Weight. This axis of common pressure can take a once-soft heart and toughen it into something unrecognizable. Too often, self-preservation is the silent motive beneath it all.
But as my friend and I noted, the most faithful response to this hardening is to cry out—to plead with the Father for an ever-tender posture toward the Holy Spirit. It begins with acknowledging the pressures, then inviting the soft rain of God's eternal love, grace, and mercy to fall again upon our weary souls.
Crying out is not weakness—it is the path to freedom. Developing the discipline of lament, of intercession, of advocacy—even for our enemies—is one of the most radical acts of discipleship. We cry out against the Enemy and for the Kingdom. We cry out for our own souls to stay tender. And in doing so, we are liberated from the slow misery of a heart turned to stone.
Let us not forget: our Father delights in responding to the cries of His children. He never turns a deaf ear to the wail that rises from within a seeking heart.
