When My Soul Needs Rest

This week, I feel weary. Exhausted. I've come to the end of the week: a week full of busy-work and packed evenings. A week where I simply haven't had time to recharge. And it's taken its toll on me, physically and emotionally.

But it runs even deeper than that. Spiritually, my energy levels are flagging. And it's not because I feel like I'm far away from God. If anything, it's the opposite. But I've been going so fast that I'm struggling to keep up with my own pace, and it's left me shattered.

I know I need to rest for a while. I know it, deep down, even not-so-deep down. But how?

How can I rest when there's so much unresolved stuff? Doubts and disappointments and desires all swirling around in the depths of my soul. And suddenly it's all too much and I want to just curl up and cry.

Yet again I find myself trying to pray, and only managing to get a couple of words out. "I can't. I just can't."

I can't keep fighting battles I'm showing no sign of winning.

I can't keep taking steps forward when I feel like I'm on a treadmill, going nowhere.

I can't keep pretending that I'm fine, but I can't get real enough to really admit that I'm not.

I can't shake the feeling that I should be able to fix this, if only I could work out the magic formula.

I can't stop. But I can't go, either.

I can't. I just can't.

And completely at the end of myself, so I do the only thing I know how to do in situations like these. I pick up my Bible and head straight for the Psalms. They don't take long to find; I've visited so often lately that the pages just fall open, straight to where I left off.

The pages, highlighted and underlined and circled and annotated. Every ink mark telling the story of a step of my journey since the spring. Every page weaving its words with the pages of my new book. Every stroke of the pen telling something of my heart.



The margins reveal the big, joyful letters of the happy, thankful times. The smaller scrawls that speak of my frustrations, as I fight to squeeze my struggles and anxieties onto those few, narrow lines. The overflow of everything inside me.

All date-marked. All ultimately revealing the same story of a weary girl's restless soul, longing to long for her God, to chase after His heart like He chases after hers. Of lessons learned, tiny baby-steps and giant leaps and everything in between. The realisation that for every outpouring of despair, there's a but. That there's always a reason to be thankful, never an excuse not to praise.

And the words. Those beautiful, God-breathed words. So much more than printed letters on a flimsy page. Words that tell stories of agony and joy, unbelievable sorrow and unimaginable hope, desperation and victory. All of them pointing straight back to my Father, who's been waiting for me to notice Him there all along. Waiting for me to finally get to the point where I surrender. Inviting me to pour out my heart to Him, to find my rest in Him.

The slightest hint of a whisper: "Will you let Me be enough? Will you let Me take your burdens, again?"

The choice is mine. Can I bring myself to bring everything to Him again, let it all go, let Him take over? It sounds so simple in theory, but in practice it can be excruciating. It is now. But I'll choose to anyway. Say I want to want to. Let Him do the rest, because that's all it needs to be.

Another lesson that I'm having to learn over and over again. Maybe it'll stick this time. Maybe it'll be a daily battle. Who knows.

I can't. But He can. And that's more than enough for me.