the year i forgot how to rest

 There was a year — I can’t tell you which one, exactly — where I forgot how to rest.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t crash or burn out in a big way. I just... slowly stopped noticing the difference between being busy and being alive.

My days were full. Meals to cook, a house to care for, people to check on, bills to remember, and a quiet ache I didn’t always name but always felt. My Bible stayed open on the kitchen table, but I mostly walked past it. I kept telling myself I’d sit with it when I had more time.

But rest never comes when you treat it like a reward. It comes when you remember it’s a need.

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I think it started after my youngest moved out. The house went quieter than I was ready for, and instead of sitting with the stillness, I filled it.

I over-volunteered. Said yes to everything. Rearranged furniture at 10 at night just to avoid the silence. I baked too much. Cleaned too much. I even alphabetized my spice rack — and I don’t even use half of those spices.

And through it all, I kept hearing that little whisper I didn’t want to face:
Be still...

But I wasn’t ready to be still.
Stillness made me feel what I’d been avoiding.

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One night I remember crawling into bed, my body aching and my spirit empty. I whispered something like, Lord, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m tired in a way sleep can’t fix.

That was the moment I realized I wasn’t resting. I was hiding in motion.

And so, slowly — with trembling hands and an anxious heart — I started pulling away from the noise.

I said no to a few things. I let the house stay dusty a little longer. I sat on the back porch without folding laundry at the same time. And the first time I really opened my Bible again — not for preparation, not for checking a box, just for the sake of being with God — I cried.

Because I had missed Him.
And I had missed me.

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I don’t have a tidy bow to wrap on this story. I still forget sometimes.
I still fall into doing and forget to simply be.

But I’ve learned this — rest is not lazy.
Rest is sacred.
And God never asks us to run ourselves empty for His sake. He asks us to come close... and trust that He’s enough, even when we stop.

So if you’re tired today — not just body-tired but soul-tired — I just want to say:
You’re not weak.
You’re not behind.
You’re just human.

And it’s okay to rest.