Tired.

Oh y’all, I am tired. 

We are all bone-weary as we come out of the pandemic season. A thousand fears and  frustrations drained us over the last 16 months. What ground you down was likely different than  what decimated me. Perhaps you were leading, pressured from so many directions by the  needs, opinions, and requirements you had to balance. Perhaps you lost your job and laid  awake wondering how, how, how you would keep buying food. Perhaps you served in hospitals  and clinics, praying for the strength to serve out your calling while you dreaded each cough.  Perhaps you kept teaching online, in person, on doorsteps, over phones while you cried over  the inability to meet one more need with no more resources. Perhaps you couldn’t see your  family for months and sat lonely and empty. Perhaps you parented through this alone, wondering how to keep your kids souls and minds whole without losing yours.  

Your friendships suffered. 

Your spouse was harder to live with, maybe impossible. 

Your desire for marriage that seemed more unlikely than ever. 

Your children made you crazy. 

Your deep desire for children went unfulfilled. 

Your coworkers frustrated you. 

Your boss asked more than humanly possible. 

So tired. 

So exhausted beyond repair. 

On Friday, we finished homeschooling. (Peace out, second and fourth grade!) On Sunday night, my husband found me puttering aimlessly in the bathroom. He asked, “Are you done?” 

Cue the ugly cry, which is obviously a normal response to that benign question. After 16 months of distance learning, homeschooling, homebuilding, breaking friendships, fearing a thousand  things, and taking communion in my living room, I had no more grit to keep moving forward. No more endurance. No more ability grind out another day because I simply didn’t have any other choice. 

And as my incoherent grief and exhaustion finally broke me, my husband held me while I cried.  Then he reminded me of what I so often forget: 

You are not meant to be all these things. You are not called to do everything. You cannot  make it all better. Your value is not in any of this. You can rest. You need to rest now.  

Oh, what a reminder that is. It used to sound like an indictment of weakness, but now it is a  blessing. You, me — we were never meant to do it all. We need to rest. God, in His tender mercy, calls us to rest in the knowledge that He is holding it together. Yes, we live in joyous  invitation to participate in the active work of His Spirit, but we are not the ones who do the moving. Our God does. We can step back and rest. We can sleep. We can be honest with each other and say, “I need a break.” We can feast and feel the healing of good company. We can retreat and sink into the solace of solitude. We can unclench our hands and fill our tables and feel the sun on our faces.  

May this be your season of Sabbath too, dearest and most beloved friends. May you and I experience the inexpressible joy of having permission to rest. 

Courtney Grant