This morning I woke up with every intention of working out.
I had the plan.
I had the time.
I just didn't have the energy.
So I pulled the covers back over myself for a few more minutes because my body was asking for something I feel like I never quite get enough of these days: rest.
And honestly?
I still don't feel rested.
Now I'm sitting at my desk, wishing I had moved my body. My little walking treadmill, which helped me fit in some movement during my workday, was recalled. Walking outside seems like a good idea, but it's summer, and if you know me, you know I can't handle the heat.
So here I am.
Too tired to work out this morning.
Too restless to sit still now.
It's such a small thing, and yet somehow it feels bigger than that.
I almost hesitate to even write this because I know there are people carrying burdens so much heavier than mine. My family is healthy. My job is meaningful. We have food on the table. Everything is... fine.
Which somehow makes me feel like I'm complaining.
But maybe that's because we've started to believe that being grateful means we can't admit when we're tired.
The truth is, both can exist.
I can be deeply thankful and deeply tired.
I can recognize God's blessings and still admit that I need rest.
I think about how Jesus often stepped away from the crowds. Before another miracle. Before another conversation. Before another journey. He rested, not because everything was done, but because He was human.
Maybe rest isn't something we earn after we've finally done enough.
Maybe it's something God gives because He knows we'll never be able to do enough on our own.
As I was sitting here, trying to shake this restless feeling, my phone buzzed.
It was a picture of one of my daughters at the pool.
She was smiling. Splashing. Completely present in the moment.
And I smiled too.
Not because it solved anything.
Not because suddenly I felt energized.
But because it reminded me that joy has a way of finding us in the middle of ordinary days.
Maybe that's enough for today.
Maybe today isn't about getting the perfect workout.
Maybe it isn't about checking every box on my list.
Maybe today is simply about accepting the small gifts God puts in front of me: a few extra minutes of sleep, a daughter's smile, and the gentle reminder that not every day has to be perfect to be good.
I'm learning that rest isn't laziness.
It's trust.
Trust that God is still at work, even when I slow down.
And perhaps that's the exercise my soul needed most today.
An Almost Prayer
God,
Some days I don't know whether I need to push harder or simply lie down and rest.
Help me to listen—not just to my plans, but to the body and soul You created.
Thank You for the small moments that quietly lift my heart, like unexpected smiles and reminders of joy.
Teach me to receive rest as a gift rather than a reward, and help me trust that You are at work even when I pause.
Amen.