When You’re Weary


I woke to fog horns sounding deep in the dark distance and the eerie comforting glow of a world held in fog.

The whole city is whispering. Even the birds.


After a string of days full of good work and conversations, lots of bus rides and many miles of walking city streets, I find the fog cocoon inviting and create for a moment my own little nest. Tea. Bread pudding. Journal. Candle glow. And let my thoughts turn down the volume and my body sigh and my heart whisper how its feeling.


Guilt hovers. High-pitched whining in my ear like a hungry mosquito, I swat it away and miss, swat and miss…

…I’m single without children, I have no reason to be tired.

…this is unproductive.

…I haven’t worked hard enough to deserve a rest.

…a billion people don’t get this luxury, why should I?

…there are a list of tasks I need to do.

…there are so many projects I want to do.


But then I remember.

Jesus says,

Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.  (Matt 11:28-30 MSG)

It all comes down to trust.

Trust that God knows how to do the work in me and in the world. That he is already working, and is completely aware of my limits.

And still loves me.

Trust that while outer silence can often be in short supply, inner silence, an inner resting in God, is possible anywhere.


It only takes God’s grace blending with my intentional desire and a little practice.

There are many ways to worship. Being a human-at-rest is one of them.

The Old Testament called this Sabbath, to cease from labor.


An experiment for you: For ten minutes (set an stove or egg timer), turn off the TV, the radio, any background noise you can control. Ask worry and guilt, task lists and projects, for a time-out.

Sit and close you eyes.

Or lay on the floor.

Or stare out the window.

Or hold your loved one.

Or pet your four-legged companion.


Let the moist, quieting fog of  Holy Spirit breath surround and still.


A fog horn blows and God says,

“I’m here. Be with me. In this moment. Exactly as you are, where you are. Come. Rest.”