“Come with Me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”
– Mark 6:31
I am not used to this new way of life. The constant strain, output of energy that continually empties me. Daily interruptions and stream of data, distraction, and duty, daily dying to self when my self is starving to be seen. I thrive on solitude, and yet I can never be fully alone. I’ve come to the point where I am so broken down and tired that I am clawing for space, for time to myself, to pull back and just be.
I am tired of having to lose myself again and again, for You uncovering the selfishness in me, of clinging to pride, to stubbornness, because I still want a semblance of myself.
You tell me to lose my life to find it. But I long for my life, because it was mine and I felt comfort in the familiarity. I knew what I needed to refuel, to still my soul and quiet my heart, and ponder all I felt and saw and lived. And now it all feels gone, buried, and I am not allowed to go look for it. Because I have to lose myself, to surrender to this new way of living where it’s about working together and bearing another’s burdens. I am so burdened by the amount of life change that has come at me in such a short amount of time, and I have no catch-up time to process or examine what has went on in my life.
I am depleted. But You tell me to come and take Your burden because it is light. To get away with You and find rest for my soul. But I don’t want to take another step if it expels more effort from me at the moment. I don’t see how things will lighten up, how You can make things better, renew. You say You can, but in this instant, do I believe? Am I afraid to surrender, yet again, to You and what You see for my life?
What is it with me and my fear of trusting You? Oh, my sin of unbelief, my refusal to surrender that You, and You alone, know my life—what was, what is, and what is to come.
My hands cling to what I long for, and I am choking myself. Help, Lord. I don’t know how to live this pace of life, this way of life.
Come with Me to a quiet place and get some rest.
A quiet place. A place of refuge, of deep filling, of fulfillment with You.
Is this the kind of rest I need? The kind I’m hoping for?
I come to You, wary. Wary, but wondering. What is Your rest? I ask my heart again. Where is this quiet place with You? To get away, with You, to a quiet place for deep, soothing rest. If only…
Lead me to these waters, to the stillness of sound within and around me, so I may slow to hear my own heartbeats again. To be with You, in solitude, in replenishing rest.
Your invitation breathes life, breathes rest. I am hearing Your voice, opening my eyes to see. Show me, lead me. Guide me to a quiet place that matches rhythms long lost and forgotten, and bring them back to me, with You.
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