Christian encouragement

Inspired by the Tiredness Haze

There’s a special satisfaction in finally finishing something that has been on your mind for a long time.

This week, I finally finished my Lenten devotional guides, When the Light Breaks Through.

I keep looking at them and thinking, I really did it.

A Participant Workbook is now available, along with a Facilitator’s Guide. There are six sessions with Scripture, reflection, prayer, conversation, and practices to guide people through Lent. What began as an idea, something I kept writing, changing, and imagining, is now finally finished. If you are interested, I invite you to use these guides this Lent or share them with someone who might find them meaningful. It would mean a lot to know my work is accompanying others on their journey.

Or at least, it’s finished enough to share with others, since anyone who creates knows there’s always one more change we could make.

However, I'm saying it's finished.

That's really pleasant.

What's odd is that I made it when I was tired.

I wasn't the kind of person who stayed up too late last night and therefore felt tired.

The deeper kind.

The sort in which you wake up and right away begin working out when you might be able to get some more sleep.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about rest, especially how much I need it and how hard it can be to actually get. One thing I try to do, even when life feels busy, is to take five quiet minutes with a cup of tea and simply sit by the window. Sometimes, I close my eyes or watch the clouds drift by. It’s a small practice, but for a few moments, I let myself step away from my to-do list. That tiny pause, as ordinary as it is, helps me remember what rest feels like, just enough to keep going. I also put my cellphone upstairs, away from me, so I am not tempted to look at it.

At times I find myself thinking that when I've completed this project I'll take a rest.

Then another idea comes.

Perhaps something requires attention.

Or home needs attention.

Or someone needs me.

Or sometimes, I might suddenly feel inspired.

What has surprised me lately is this.

I feel tired. I also feel inspired.

It turns out those two things can happen at the same time.

Inspiration doesn't always hold off until we're well-rested.

I have never consciously regarded creativity as something that occurs when all the other aspects are in order.

I'll get down to writing when I have a quiet afternoon.

I will write when my mind is clear.

I'll look out for God once I've got enough rest to pay attention.

I plan to start that idea when life slows down. Yet life doesn’t seem very interested in slowing down.

Recently, ideas have managed to reach me.

They've arrived during the period of tiredness haze.

A sentence here.

An idea there.

I now want to create something.

A thought which I don't want to lose.

A small spark causes me to reach for my phone or notebook and write, 'What if...'?

I’ve started to wonder if inspiration really only comes after we’ve rested.

Sometimes, a little light finds us even when we’re still tired.

That seems particularly appropriate given the title of the study, 'When the Light Breaks Through'.

This could be what light breaking through looks like.

Not everything suddenly becoming easy.

Not waking up with a limitless amount of energy.

Not having found a perfect balance between work, family, creativity, faith, and rest.

Light finding a chance to get through.

A fresh idea after you had thought that your brain was finished.

A feeling of excitement regarding something you are creating.

The pleasure you feel when a project finally comes together.

A laugh that suddenly surprises you.

You almost missed a beautiful moment.

A reminder that even if you are tired, a part of you stays attentive.

Something is still wondering.

Something is still creating.

People are still reaching towards God.

There’s something sacred about it.

I would also dislike romancing exhaustion. For me, healthy perseverance means honoring commitment and following inspiration—but not at the expense of my well-being. I am learning to notice when continuing to push forward feels meaningful and life-giving, and when it starts to cross into unhealthy overwork. Sometimes, the best thing I can do is step back, rest, and trust that not everything has to get done right now. Recognizing these boundaries isn’t always easy, but it matters. I hope you’ll reflect on what this looks like for you, too.

I still need rest.

That’s the part I want to hold on to.

Feeling inspired does not mean I can keep going without a break.

Just because I can keep going does not mean I should.

Just because you create something beautiful when you’re tired doesn’t mean tiredness is the price you have to pay to be creative.

I don’t want to make being tired sound like a spiritual achievement.

Sometimes the truly sensible thing is to close the laptop.

Put down the phone.

Leave the idea unfinished.

Take the nap.

Say no.

Go to bed.

Let tomorrow’s work wait for tomorrow.

I’m still learning that.

Maybe you are too.

There’s always something else we could be doing.

For those of us who love creating, serving, helping, dreaming, or making things happen, sometimes it’s harder to stop than to keep going. That’s why it matters that we encourage each other to rest, too. We can remind one another to pause, celebrate what's finished, and care for ourselves. Maybe we can gently check in with friends or colleagues, sharing not just plans and progress, but also reminding each other that it’s okay—even necessary—to slow down. Offering support and accountability in this way can help all of us honor our limits and choose rest together.

I am celebrating and at the same time attempting to get some rest.

I’m celebrating these guides.

I’m celebrating the strange and wonderful fact that what was once just a bunch of separate ideas is now real. Inspiration continues to appear, even though I sometimes feel as if I'm moving through a fog.

And I’m also listening to the part of me that keeps whispering:

You need rest, too.

Both may be true.

We might be very inspired and yet very tired.

Maybe we can celebrate what we’ve accomplished without immediately asking ourselves what’s next. It doesn’t always have to be a call to do more.

It can be a sign that light is still breaking through.

So today, I’m trying to accept both things:

The gift of inspiration and the gift of rest.

I haven't worked out the balance yet.

Maybe faith isn’t about figuring everything out.

Sometimes, maybe faith is just noticing the light when it comes,

despite the haze of tiredness.

An Almost Prayer for the Tired and Inspired

God,

thank you for the ideas
that somehow find me
even when I’m tired.

Thank you for the little sparks,
the things that make me curious,
the work that feels meaningful,
and the joy of finally saying,
I finished it.

But remind me
That I am worth more than what I produce.

Teach me to recognize
when inspiration is inviting me forward
and when love is calling on me to rest.

Let me trust that I don’t have to chase
every good idea today.

Some things can wait.

And when the tiredness feels heavy,
help me notice the light
that is still breaking through.

Amen.

Maybe Grace Can Cross This Line, Too

It is Monday.

And I am already tired.

It’s not the kind of tired that’s cute. It’s not the “I stayed up too late reading one more chapter” tired. It’s not even the kind of tired a good night’s sleep can fix.

Just tired.

The week has barely begun, and somehow I already feel behind in it.

There are things I need to write. Plans I need to make. Emails waiting for replies. People who need something from me. And my calendar doesn’t seem to care how tired I am.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, there is a sermon to preach.

This week’s texts are Genesis 45:1–15 and Matthew 15:10–20, 21–28.

The funny thing is, I had already written this sermon.

Months ago.

I was working ahead, found my way through the text, wrote the words, and tucked the sermon away for when I would eventually need it.

Which should have made this week easier.

I thought Monday-me could just open the document, read it, make a few edits, and check off a big task.

But when I opened it,

and changed my mind.

It wasn’t a bad sermon.

It just wasn’t the sermon I wanted to preach anymore.

I’ll admit, part of me just wanted to leave it as it was.

Because I am tired.

Sometimes when you’re tired, “good enough” feels almost sacred.

I had already done the work.

The words were right there.

Did I really need to take it all apart and put it back together?

Apparently, yes.

The strange thing about Scripture is that you can return to the same words months later and realize you’re not the same person who read them before.

The text hasn’t changed.

But maybe I have.

Maybe the questions I’m bringing to it have changed.

Maybe what I’m noticing has changed.

And apparently the sermon needed to change too.

So I started again.

In Genesis, Joseph stands before the brothers who betrayed him.

There are years of pain between them.

Betrayal. Separation. Grief. History.

And Joseph says:

“Come closer to me.”

Then in Matthew, a Canaanite woman comes to Jesus asking for mercy for her daughter.

She is an outsider.

She stands on the wrong side of all sorts of boundaries: religious, cultural, ethnic, and social.

The disciples want her sent away.

But she keeps coming closer.

She keeps asking.

She keeps believing there is enough mercy for her too.

Eventually, I began to see what connects these stories.

God’s grace crosses our boundaries.

The boundaries between insider and outsider.

Between the people we understand and the people we don’t.

Between the ones we welcome easily and the ones we keep at a distance.

Between what has been broken and what might still be redeemed.

The more I worked on the sermon, the more I realized I wasn’t only thinking about the boundaries we set for others.

I was thinking about the boundaries I draw around grace itself.

It turns out I’m very comfortable preaching that God’s grace is abundant, but I have a harder time believing that abundance is for me, especially when I’m exhausted on a Monday.

There is a line I draw sometimes.

On one side is the person I think I should be.

Productive.

Creative.

Patient.

Present.

Organized.

Thoughtful.

Able to keep everything going without letting anything fall.

And on the other side is the person I actually am some days.

Tired.

Distracted.

A little overwhelmed.

Looking ahead to the week and wondering how it can already be day.

And I think I sometimes imagine God standing over there with the person I should be.

Waiting for me to get myself together.

Waiting for me to catch up.

Waiting for me to be a little more impressive before grace finds me.

But that’s not really grace, is it?

Grace crosses the line.

That’s the whole thing.

Grace doesn’t wait for us to make it to the other side.

Grace comes closer.

Maybe that is what I needed from this sermon before I could preach it to anyone else.

Not another challenge.

Not another thing to accomplish.

Not another reminder to try harder to be the person I think I should be.

Just this:

God’s grace can cross this boundary too.

The boundary between what I accomplished today and what I didn’t.

Between the energy I wish I had and the energy I actually have.

Between the week I imagined and the week that is unfolding.

Between who I think I should be and who I am right now.

Maybe grace is rewriting a sermon I thought was finished because the words needed to be new again.

And maybe grace is also realizing I don’t have to change myself before God meets me. I do not have to be completely together or perfectly faithful for grace to reach me. God’s grace meets me exactly as I am.

Maybe I can be unfinished and still useful.

Maybe I can have unanswered emails, an unfinished to-do list, a sermon still in progress, and a soul that needs a moment, and still be held by God.

I don’t know what kind of Monday you’re having.

Maybe you’re already tired too.

Maybe something didn’t go according to plan.

Maybe you’re carrying more into this week than anyone around you realizes.

Maybe you’re already telling yourself that you should be doing better.

So maybe this reminder is for you as much as it is for me:

If you need a way to hold on to grace this week, maybe try a simple practice. When you feel tired or not enough, pause and take a deep breath. As you breathe in, quietly say to yourself, "Grace is here." As you breathe out, say, "Grace is enough for me." Let this be a small daily reminder that you do not have to cross the distance alone.

You don’t have to get to the other side before grace finds you.

You don’t have to earn your way toward God.

You don’t have to become the less-tired, more-organized, completely-put-together version of yourself first.

Grace crosses boundaries.

Even this one.

Especially this one.

Tonight, I’m going to let the sermon stay a little unfinished.

I’m going to let Monday be Monday.

I’m going to trust that there will be enough grace for Tuesday when Tuesday gets here.

And maybe that is an almost prayer all by itself:

God,
I am already tired,
and the week has barely begun.
Meet me here,
before I become who I think I should be.
Cross the distance I keep trying to cover on my own.
Come closer.
And help me believe
there is enough grace
for me, too.
Amen.