It is vain for you to rise up early, to stay up late, eating the bread of toil, for he gives sleep to his loved ones.
You've been earning your rest instead of taking it — like sleep is a reward you haven't qualified for yet. Like the right to close your eyes comes after the list is done, after everyone else is taken care of, after you've proven something to someone who isn't even watching. But the list never ends. And the proof is never enough. So hear this: you have done enough. Not almost enough. Not close to enough. Enough. Tonight, you are allowed to stop. Close your eyes. The world will still be there tomorrow — and so will you.
Two jobs. Three kids. A side hustle that was supposed to be temporary two years ago but somehow became load-bearing. You eat standing up over the kitchen counter. You answer work emails at midnight from the bathroom so nobody hears you typing. You set your alarm for 5:30 because the only hour that belongs to you is the one before everyone else wakes up — and even that hour you spend being productive instead of resting, because rest feels like theft when there's still so much to do.
And every single night, you lie down with the same quiet feeling: I should have done more. The house isn't clean enough. The kids deserved more attention. The inbox still has 47 unread. Your body is screaming for sleep but your mind is taking inventory of everything you owe the world.
But this verse doesn't say rest is for people who finished. It doesn't say rest is for people who earned it. It says rest is for people who are loved. Not productive. Not efficient. Not valuable. Loved. And that word doesn't come with conditions. It doesn't check your to-do list at the door.
That's you. Tonight — not when you've caught up, not when things slow down, not when you finally deserve it — tonight, that's you.
Psalm 127:2
Exhausted
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