“Teacher, don’t you care?”

How many times have we found ourselves asking that question?

I know I have.

Over the last year, I have asked it more times than I probably want to admit. Sometimes I have whispered it in prayer. Sometimes I have thought it without saying it out loud. And sometimes, if I am being completely honest, I have wondered if Jesus really sees just how tired I am.

This past week has been rough.

At one point, I told my husband that I was going to have to figure out how I was going to be able to do everything I had done before.

He looked at me as seriously as he could and simply said, “You may not be able to.”

And there it was.

Something I didn’t necessarily want to hear, but probably needed to.

Maybe I can’t do everything I used to do.

Maybe I shouldn’t.

Maybe part of what God is teaching me in this season is that I have to be intentional about the things I need to do, intentional about the things I want to do, and willing to let go of some of the things I simply cannot do anymore.

That is a difficult lesson.

Especially in a world that constantly tells us to go.

Go to work.

Get things done.

Keep up.

Be productive.

Take care of everyone.

Answer the messages.

Clean the house.

Make dinner.

Show up.

Do more.

And when you finally have a few minutes to yourself, we are somehow supposed to know how to rest.

But how do we actually rest?

Not just thirty minutes of intentional quiet.

Not just checking “rest” off our list.

Not just sitting down while our minds continue racing through everything we still need to accomplish.

How do we truly rest?

Jesus gives us a picture of this throughout Scripture.

Mark tells us that Jesus would withdraw to quiet places to pray. He intentionally stepped away from the crowds.

In Mark 6:31, Jesus tells His disciples:

“Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.”

I love that Jesus didn’t say, “Come away and accomplish something.”

He didn’t say, “Come away and make a better schedule.”

He didn’t say, “Come away and make a checklist so you can become more productive.”

He said, rest.

And yet somehow, I have managed to turn even rest into another checklist.

Read my Bible.

Pray.

Go to therapy.

Go to group therapy.

Exercise.

Take care of myself.

Read.

Write.

Do something I enjoy.

Rest.

And then somehow feel like I am failing because I still don’t feel rested.

I’m going to be raw and real with you.

This weekend, I broke down a few times.

At one point, I told my husband, “I’m going to individual therapy. I’m going to group therapy. I’m getting massages. I’m exercising. I’m reading my Bible. I’m praying. Jesus is my best friend. I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do, and I still feel like I’m failing. I can’t keep going like this.”

And I meant it.

I am exhausted.

My body has been telling me that I am exhausted.

The headaches, the seizures, and everything else have forced me to recognize something I have tried very hard not to recognize:

Something has to change.

And maybe that’s the hardest part.

Because I don’t think I’m alone in this.

We live in a culture that celebrates being busy. We wear exhaustion like a badge of honor. We talk about how much we have going on as if being overwhelmed means we’re doing life well.

But what if it doesn’t?

What if exhaustion isn’t always a sign that we’re doing enough?

What if sometimes it is a sign that we’re doing too much?

There are days when I come home from work and sleep for sixteen hours, only to wake up and go back to work.

That isn’t weakness.

That is a body begging for something to change.

And maybe I need to listen.

Jesus tells us in Matthew 11:28:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Notice what Jesus doesn’t say.

He doesn’t say, “Come to me when you’ve fixed everything.”

He doesn’t say, “Come to me when you’ve completed your checklist.”

He doesn’t say, “Come to me when you’re doing enough.”

He says, come to Me.

Maybe rest begins there.

Not with another thing to accomplish.

Not with another self-care routine.

Not with another list.

Maybe rest begins with surrender.

With admitting, “Jesus, I can’t do this all.”

With admitting that I am tired.

With admitting that I don’t have the capacity I once had.

With accepting that some things have to be left undone.

With trusting that the world will keep turning even when I stop.

The Sabbath was never meant to be a burden.

It was meant to be a gift.

A rescue.

A reminder that we are not God.

The world does not depend on us.

Everything does not have to be finished today.

And maybe I need to learn that again.

Because I think sometimes I have mistaken being busy for being faithful.

I have mistaken productivity for purpose.

And I have even mistaken spiritual disciplines for rest.

Prayer is good.

Reading Scripture is good.

Therapy is good.

Exercise is good.

Doing the things we love is good.

But good things can still become burdens when we turn them into requirements we have to complete in order to feel like we’re doing enough.

Even this blog—something I genuinely love—can become another item on my checklist if I’m not careful.

And maybe that’s the warning I need to hear.

Stop turning everything into something you have to accomplish.

Jesus wasn’t inviting me into another checklist.

He was inviting me into relationship.

Into peace.

Into trust.

Into rest.

Psalm 46:10 says:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Be still.

Not accomplish.

Not produce.

Not fix.

Not perform.

Be still.

And know.

Maybe I don’t need another plan.

Maybe I don’t need another checklist.

Maybe I need to stop.

Maybe I need to breathe.

Maybe I need to let some things go.

Maybe I need to accept that I cannot do everything I used to do—and that doesn’t make me less valuable, less faithful, or less loved.

Maybe this season is teaching me that rest isn’t something I earn after I’ve done enough.

Rest is something Jesus invites me into because I am His.

So, “Teacher, don’t you care?”

Yes.

He does.

Maybe He has been answering that question all along.