Everything Is Meaningless… Until It’s Not

What Ecclesiastes Taught Me About Surrender, Seasons, and Simplicity

I’ve read Ecclesiastes before—skimmed it, studied it, quoted it—but this time?
I actually pressed into it.

From the very first line:
“Vanity of vanities… everything is meaningless.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

Solomon doesn’t ease in with a gentle devotional. He opens with the ache of an honest heart—one that’s tasted everything this world has to offer and still feels empty.

And it got me thinking… how many of us are silently echoing that same cry?

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I’ve had seasons where I was doing everything right on the outside—serving, leading, giving, planning, building—but inside I felt like I was on a treadmill. Going nowhere. Aching for deeper meaning. And Ecclesiastes met me in that place.

Solomon, the man who had it all, breaks it down:

• Wisdom? Still left him frustrated.
• Pleasure? A temporary high.
• Wealth? Couldn’t take it with him.
• Work? Toiled and handed over to someone else.
• Success? Fades like mist.

And over and over, he repeats the phrase: “Under the sun.”

That hit me.

Because everything he calls meaningless is what happens under the sun—in other words, life without an eternal lens. Life detached from the Creator. Life lived chasing after wind.

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But Ecclesiastes isn’t a book of despair. It’s a mirror.

It’s a divine permission slip to stop performing and start seeking.
To stop idolizing productivity and start embracing presence.
To stop striving and start surrendering.

And right in the middle of all his wrestling, Solomon drops one of the most beautiful truths in Scripture:

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man’s heart…” (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

That part.
That’s the turning point.

You and I were never meant to find full satisfaction in temporary things.
God wired eternity into us. That’s why nothing under the sun will ever be enough.

One thing I love about Solomon in Ecclesiastes is how he keeps circling back to this simple but powerful truth: God is sovereign—period. In all Solomon’s wrestling, questioning, and struggling, he always lands here: God is God, and we are not. There’s peace and freedom in realizing we’re not meant to carry the weight of being God. Our humanity, limitations, and weaknesses aren’t something to overcome—they’re invitations to depend fully on Him. And honestly, that’s the whole point. The beauty of our lives isn’t about what we do or have; it’s about the fact that we get to have Him. And I love that. Because resting in His sovereignty is exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Solomon had it all: riches, wisdom, success, fame. Yet, with brutal honesty, he reveals that it still wasn’t enough. He calls it all “hevel”—a Hebrew word meaning vapor or smoke. Something you can’t hold, something that disappears the moment you grasp it. Temporary, elusive, uncontrollable.

I’ve felt that emptiness too. Maybe you have as well. Doing everything “right,” yet still asking: “What’s the point?”

But Ecclesiastes isn’t despairing; it’s beautifully honest. It exposes the emptiness of life “under the sun”—life lived without an eternal perspective. It’s an invitation to lift our eyes from earthly striving and fix them on eternity.

Solomon wrestled deeply. He tested pleasure, wisdom, work, success, wealth—and found them hollow without God. He realized something profound: God has placed eternity into our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11). No wonder temporary things can’t satisfy an eternal longing!

Ecclesiastes teaches that everything has a season (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Even the hard, confusing seasons aren’t random—they’re purposeful in God’s hands.

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So what do we do?

We stop chasing wind.

And we start fearing God—not in a distant, scared way, but with holy awe. A deep-rooted reverence that says:
“God, I trust You even when I don’t understand the season I’m in.”

Because Solomon closes his journal with a word that shook me:

“Fear God and keep His commandments. This is the whole duty of man.” (Ecclesiastes 12:13)

Not “be impressive.”
Not “fix everyone’s problems.”
Not “be perfect.”
Just fear God.
Just obey Him.
Just walk humbly with your King.

He didn’t say, “Build your legacy,” “Become popular,” or “Gain followers.” Just fear God—reverently honor Him—and obey. That’s it. That’s freedom.

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So here’s what I’m learning in this season:

–Let the pressure go. You don’t need to have all the answers.
–Honor the season you’re in. Even the slow ones. Even the hard ones.
–Savor the gifts God gives you daily. Your family. Your food. Your work. Your rest.
–Trust the mystery. You may not see the full picture, but God sees the masterpiece.
–Stay in awe. Fear God, love Him, and follow where He leads.

Because meaning doesn’t come from what you do—it comes from who you belong to.

And when you live above the sun—with heaven in mind and Jesus in your heart—suddenly the vapor starts to matter. And we belong to the Eternal One who turns vapor into value. When you live above the sun, the moments become holy. The breath in your lungs becomes worship.

Even the broken pieces get made beautiful in time.

The other day someone asked me what “pressing into God” really meant—and I absolutely loved that they asked. Because sometimes we toss around these churchy phrases without ever stopping to unpack their meaning.

Here’s what Ecclesiastes made crystal clear for me: pressing into God means fully embracing that He is God, and we’re not. It’s not about striving harder or praying prettier—it’s about leaning all the way in when life feels like vapor. When things don’t make sense. When your plans fall apart and you’re left holding questions instead of answers.

Pressing in means choosing to trust His heart even when you can’t trace His hand. It’s real, raw dependence. It’s saying, “God, I don’t get it, but I know You, and that’s enough.”

This is it, friends. This is where peace is. This is where meaning rises out of the mist.
Let’s press in—because the gift isn’t what God can do for us. The gift is Him.

So if you’ve been feeling tired, disillusioned, or wondering “What’s the point?”—
Let Ecclesiastes lead you home.
Not to a formula.
But to a Father.

Because when God becomes the center, everything else finds its place.

🖤
Megan