08/01/2026
Exhaustion creeps in quietly, like evening shadows stretching across a long day, and before I know it, my body aches while my soul feels even heavier.
In moments like these, I imagine Jesus sitting beside me—not rushing, not scolding—just present, reminding me that He, too, grew tired on dusty roads and paused by wells to rest. He understands the kind of exhaustion that no sleep can fix, the weariness of trying to carry everything alone.
So I loosen my grip, breathe, and remember His gentle invitation: “Come to me, all who are weary.”
In that coming—unfinished, drained, and honest—I find a strange kind of rest, not because the burdens disappear, but because I no longer carry them by myself.
