I, who am weary and burdened

Riches I heed not nor man's empty praise
Thou mine inheritance now and always
Thou and thou only first in my heart
High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art

This week has been a blur of sleepy-hungry-overwhelmed. While I enjoyed some of the most beautiful moments with precious friends this week (the kind of necessary moments that remind you that you're alive and happy to be so), the pressures of school, work, and moving are starting to close in. I really have tried recently to be more focused on school so that I finish stronger than I started. One of my grades is not doing so well and I am giving it this last push to try and bring it up (i.e. immediately working on my in-progress project when I got home after six last night and not finishing until midnight). When I get overwhelmed, if I can just sit back for one minute I hear the Lord telling me, "Not much longer. You can do this." It's the sentiment my husband echoes in such gentle, understanding tones as I struggle to balance the demands on my time, attention, and emotions.

This morning was an early one as usual since Joshua and I are sharing the Jeep until further notice. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the moon still round and yellow, hanging around to say that the night went by too quickly. My mind is somewhere back in that moment, I think, because it has not yet caught up to me. Work is quiet and empty today so I am doing boring old bookkeeping, which practically drives me insane. And as I think about how I feel so ragged, so worn, so used up, it hits me: there is a difference between taking a break and genuine rest.

"Taking a break" brings to mind half-time in a sweaty, athletic match or the deep breath you take between one task and another. It's the pauses we take to survive. But when I think of "rest", I think of soft moments relaxing in the park, drives with the sunroof back, and reading with my feet kicking the air behind me. Even the memories I have over past months are not "rest." They are like sleep: necessary for existence, but not always rejuvenating. I need rest: continuous moments where my mind and heart are at peace and unity with my Father, just absolute bliss in knowing I am loved, approved of, cared for. There is something in a daughter's heart that needs to be spoken to saying that she is secure and okay and that all the messes, mistakes, confusion, and victories are accounted for and accepted. I crave it so deeply that I was in tears on my drive home yesterday, wordless, just lonely for that communion. I truly cannot live without it. Survive, yes-- but live, thrive, rest? No.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."