If I could insert audio of someone breathing here, I would.
This season is hard.
It's hard, y'all.
You are frantic. You are operating at a low-grade panic. Everything is happening ALL AT ONCE and you want to do all of it, but you're only human, after all.
All the things you want to get done and can't.
All the things that are happening and you just want to lie down and take a nap, for the love of God.
You wake up and you are running before your feet even touch your bedroom floor in the morning.
You can feel your body crunching in upon itself. You are protecting yourself from the assault of the world around you.
Because it is an assault.
It feels like war.
The unexpected guest at work throws you for a loop, makes you duck. Makes you want to lash out in response.
You've packed food for the day or the week or for however long like a soldier rationing food.
Most of all, you feel that your body cannot rest, ever. Even when you lie down on your bed at night, you cannot even begin to unravel the way your tendons have tied you up in knots. You lie there for a moment before realizing that even as you prepare to truly rest, you are holding yourself in an impossible position.
Because that's really what it comes down to.
This is not war.
And this season of your life is hard, sports fans.
It seems to be the heart cry of November: We are tired. We are weary.
Yes. We are.
In and out. In and out. Slowly.
Relax your shoulders down, because you are with Jesus.
Just typing that makes my body unwind a little bit.
We are holding onto Heaven with both hands, and we are crying out for relief with all our hearts and bodies, and yet we persist in telling ourselves that we're fine, that we can handle it.
Except we can't.
We've been trying, and we have learned -- we can't handle it.
We are dying for lack of rest, dying because all we want to do is put the world on pause.
And when we breathe, we remember that Jesus is holding onto us, and He holds all our world in His hands.
He is holding us.
He controls every aspect of the day before it even comes to us. Before it lacerates us.
Before it creeps up on us and digs its nails into our skin, He covers us with His wings and shields us. And yet we persist in saying that we're fine, that we've got this.
Y'all, we don't got this.
Because He does.
In Him is all our day, all our rest, all our peace.
Adventure is super hard sometimes, guys.
Jesus doesn't make it easier, but He promises to give us rest, if we will only take it.
Our trouble is that we don't often take it.
In and out. Inhale, exhale.
Let us relax into the arms of Jesus.
In the midst of our work, in the midst of the insanity.
Sit back. Snuggle into the embrace of Christ.
Let us take the rest He offers -- that He proffers to us every second of every day, even when we're running around like crazy humans.
The rest belongs to us, anyway. It is our adopted birthright.
We are tired, and we are crying out for reprieve in every fiber of our weary bodies.
But we are whole in Jesus, and He has given us rest that is ours to keep, that does not evade us.
You are well, and you are loved.