Have you ever noticed how much of life revolves around rhythm?
Our hearts beat in a rhythm. Music is built around rhythm. We sleep according to rhythms, wake according to rhythms, and move through our days according to rhythms whether we realize it or not. Spring gives way to summer, summer fades into fall, and fall eventually settles into winter before the cycle begins all over again. Even the ocean moves as the tides rise and fall with a predictability that has existed long before any of us.
Our God is a God of rhythm.
The interesting thing, however, is that I often find myself fighting against the very thing He designed. Like many people, I enjoy predictability. I like plans and schedules. I like knowing what tomorrow is going to look like before I get there. Deep down, I am constantly trying to create a rhythm for my life that feels manageable, efficient, and productive. I want to build a system that works every day and then simply repeat it over and over again.
The problem is that life rarely cooperates with that plan.
What I have discovered is that God is far less interested in helping me create a perfectly predictable life than He is in teaching me to walk closely with Him. I would love it if He handed me a detailed blueprint for every day and simply asked me to follow it. Instead, He seems to invite me into something much more relational. Rather than giving me the exact same rhythm every day, He asks me to learn how to recognize His voice and trust His guidance in each season.
That can be difficult for someone like me because I have a tendency to run hard. Whenever I find a new project, a new hobby, or something that excites me, I often throw myself into it with more enthusiasm than wisdom. Even harder, I approach my job the same way, particularly during our busier seasons. Before long, I find myself stretching my days longer and longer, adding more and more responsibilities, and convincing myself that if I just push a little harder everything will somehow come together.
It never works that way.
Eventually the warning signs begin to appear. I stop resting well. I stop paying attention to what my body needs. My thoughts become increasingly anxious, and the peace that normally accompanies God's presence begins to feel distant. Sometimes that anxiety expresses itself as worry. Other times it comes out as irritability. It is almost as though my emotions begin bouncing back and forth between fear and anger, never settling long enough to experience the calm that God desires for me.
Last weekend I found myself in exactly that place. I had been running hard for long enough that I finally reached a point where I didn't know how to fix what I was feeling. I was tired, stressed, and carrying a level of anxiety that had become difficult to ignore. As I prayed, I found myself telling God the truth.
I didn't have the answer.
I was exhausted and overwhelmed and that I didn't know what to do next. I expected some complicated solution or some grand revelation about what needed to change. Instead, what I sensed was a gentle reminder that felt both simple and profound.
Life has rhythms.
Your life has rhythms.
However, much of my frustration comes from trying to impose my own rhythm onto seasons where God may be inviting me into something different. I often assume that faithfulness means maintaining the exact same pace every day. But, the rhythm He has designed for my life is not always identical from one day to the next.
That realization led me to a small experiment.
For the next couple of months, I have decided that my primary focus will not be productivity. It will not be checking more boxes or accomplishing more tasks. Instead, I want to pay closer attention to God's rhythm for my life. Of course I still have responsibilities. I still have a job to do. Bills still need to be paid, work still needs to be completed, and daily responsibilities are not suddenly disappearing. But I want to become more intentional about asking God what He wants me to do with the hours that remain.
What does He want my mornings to look like?
What does He want my evenings to look like?
When does He want me to work hard, and when does He want me to rest?
The surprising part is that the answer has not been the same every day.
Yesterday, for example, I had every intention of getting up at five o'clock in the morning. The plan was already made. My alarm was set. My schedule was organized. Yet when the alarm sounded, I sensed the Lord gently nudging me toward something I hadn't planned.
Sleep.
Not forever. Not because discipline didn't matter. Simply because on that particular day, rest was what I needed most.
So I turned off the alarm and went back to sleep.
Not too long ago I probably would have argued with that decision. I would have convinced myself that pushing through exhaustion was somehow more spiritual or more productive. Instead, I slept a little longer and woke up feeling refreshed. Later that evening I exercised after work instead of before it. The schedule was different. The routine was different. The rhythm was different.
And everything was perfectly fine.
What God continues to teach me is that He understands how He created me far better than I do. He knows when I need rest and when I need activity. He knows when I need solitude and when I need community. He knows when I need to be productive and when I need to simply sit quietly in His presence. My responsibility is not to force every day into the exact same mold. My responsibility is to remain close enough to Him that I can recognize His leading.
Perhaps that is what walking with God has always been about.
Drawing Closer To Him
One of the things God has been teaching me recently is that weariness itself is not necessarily a sign that something is wrong.
I think many of us spend a great deal of our lives chasing a future version of ourselves that is somehow free from stress, responsibility, and exhaustion. We imagine that if we could just find the right job, the right schedule, the right budget, the right routine, or the right productivity system, we would finally arrive at a place where life no longer feels so demanding.
The problem is that Scripture never promises us a life without weariness.
David certainly understood what it felt like to be exhausted. In Psalm 6:6 he cries out, "I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears." Those are not the words of someone who is experiencing life in a perfectly rested state.
More and more, I realize that life is simply tiring. Some seasons are certainly heavier than others, and some responsibilities carry a greater burden than others, but living in a fallen world requires effort. From the moment sin entered creation, humanity was told that life would involve toil. We would work. We would struggle. We would carry responsibilities. We would become weary.
As much as I occasionally dream about quitting my job, putting my feet up, moving to Florida, and spending my days staring at the ocean while God somehow takes care of everything else, I know that is not the season He has called me to right now. Perhaps someday life will look different. But for now, God has entrusted me with responsibilities that often leave me tired at the end of the day.
The question is not whether I will become weary.
The question is what I will do with that weariness when it arrives.
Jesus said in Matthew 11:28, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."
The very existence of that invitation tells us something important. If weariness were unusual, there would be no need for the promise. Jesus knew that His people would become tired. He knew we would become overwhelmed. He knew there would be seasons when the burdens of life felt heavier than we could comfortably carry.
The promise was never that we would avoid weariness.
The promise was that we would have somewhere to take it.
That realization has become incredibly important to me because weariness affects more than just my energy level. If I am not careful, exhaustion begins to influence my emotions, my thinking, and my decisions. When I become tired, I often become discouraged. Problems seem larger than they really are. Obstacles feel more permanent than they actually are.
And if I am not careful, I begin looking for relief in places that cannot actually provide it.
I might overeat. I might become irritable with people I love. I might distract myself with entertainment, projects, or endless scrolling. Yet none of those things solve the underlying problem. They may provide a temporary escape, but they cannot provide true rest.
Only Jesus can do that.
He is the only Savior who offers rest for weary souls. He is the only one capable of carrying burdens that have become too heavy for us. And I think one of the great challenges of the Christian life is learning that when we are especially tired, especially overwhelmed, and especially burdened, we need to move toward Him rather than away from Him.
That sounds obvious until exhaustion arrives.
When we are weary, prayer often feels harder. Reading Scripture requires more effort. Worship can feel difficult. Yet those are precisely the moments when we need His presence most.
The answer to weariness has never been simply trying harder.
It has always been drawing closer to the One who promises rest.
Rest For The Weary
I think part of the freedom that comes from accepting weariness as a normal part of life is realizing that God has already provided a way for us to manage it.
As I have been working my way through the Old Testament this year, one of the things that has stood out to me repeatedly is how often God talks about rest. Again and again, He instructed His people to observe the Sabbath. Entire sections are devoted to commands surrounding rest, and at first glance it can feel like just another set of Old Testament rules that no longer apply to us. Yet the more I read, the more I find myself looking beyond the rule itself and asking why God emphasized it so strongly in the first place.
I don't believe God's intention was simply to create another obligation for His people to follow. Rather, I think He was teaching them something about the way they had been designed.
Human beings have limits.
We are not machines. We cannot run endlessly without consequences. We were created with bodies that require sleep, minds that require quiet, and souls that require time in the presence of God. The Sabbath was not evidence of God's desire to restrict His people. It was evidence of His love for them. He knew they would become weary, so He intentionally built rest into the rhythm of their lives.
I am certainly not suggesting that Christians return to the legal requirements of the Old Testament Sabbath. The New Testament makes it clear that our righteousness is not found in perfectly observing a particular day. Yet I do think there is tremendous wisdom in recognizing the principle behind it.
God created us to need rest.
So, I have been protecting my Sundays.
Not everyone has that luxury. Some people work weekends. Others have family obligations or schedules that make a full day Sabbath impossible. But for this season of my life, Sunday has become a day when I intentionally step away from many of the things that drain me.
I do not work.
I avoid most electronics.
Instead, I make room for God to pour back into me.
That distinction has become increasingly important to me because so much of my week is spent creating output. At work, I am solving problems, making decisions, answering questions, and carrying responsibilities. Even in ministry, writing, and serving others, there is often an element of giving. There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, much of it is good and necessary. But eventually there must be moments when I stop producing and allow God to replenish what has been poured out.
I cannot continually pour from a cup that is empty.
What I find interesting is that biblical rest does not necessarily look the way we often imagine it. Jesus certainly did not spend all of His time resting in bed. We see Him teaching, walking, serving, healing, and ministering to others. Yet we also see Him intentionally withdrawing to quiet places. We see Him stepping away from the crowds. We see Him spending time alone with His Father.
Rest was the presence of connection.
It is easy to assume rest means doing absolutely nothing. While there are certainly moments when we need a nap or a quiet afternoon, true rest goes much deeper than simply being inactive. Rest is allowing our hearts, minds, and souls to reconnect with the God who created us.
The form of rest may vary, but the purpose remains the same.
We are allowing God to restore what life has depleted.
Rest is not a luxury. It is not something we do after all of our work is finished. If that were the requirement, most of us would never rest at all because there will always be one more task to complete, one more responsibility to carry, or one more item to add to the list.
Rest is part of God's design for us.
It is woven into the rhythm of creation itself.
When we ignore that rhythm, we often find ourselves anxious, exhausted, and running on empty. But when we embrace it, we begin to experience the wisdom of a God who understands us better than we understand ourselves.
God knows that in a world filled with toil and weariness, His children will need regular reminders to stop, breathe, and simply rest in His presence.
That is not weakness.
That is obedience.
And perhaps one of the greatest acts of trust we can offer God is believing that the world will continue turning for a few hours while we sit quietly at His feet.
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