Victory Lap? Girl, Take a Nap.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Matthew 11:28, NIV

Well.

Good morning to me too, Jesus.

Apparently, this morning’s quiet time was less “sit peacefully at the feet of Jesus” and more “annual performance review with Upper Management.”

I came prepared to learn something about Jesus.

Jesus came prepared to tell me about myself.

And unfortunately, He had documentation.

Because if there were ever a Queen of Doing Entirely Too Much Ministries, I would at minimum be nominated for the position. I have credentials. References. Years of experience.

I know how to be busy.

Very busy.

Productively busy. Responsibly busy. Ministry busy. Work busy. Helping-people busy. The kind of busy that looks impressive enough from the outside that nobody thinks to ask whether it is doing something unhealthy on the inside.

Including me.

And that is where Jesus started connecting some dots I had apparently been keeping in separate zip codes.

Because when I stay on the throne of Queen of Busy for too long, busy starts producing things in me that I do not particularly like.

I become irritable.

I become hypersensitive.

I get restless.

Sometimes I become emotionally numb.

I can be physically sitting in one place while my mind has opened seventeen tabs, started three hypothetical conversations, remembered something embarrassing from 2008, planned Thursday, worried about October, and decided that now would probably be an excellent time to reorganize a closet.

Other times, I am technically present, but the lights are on and nobody is accepting visitors.

And suddenly I had to consider something I had not really wanted to consider before:

What if those things are not random personality quirks?

What if, at least sometimes, they are fruit?

Not good fruit, obviously. Nobody is asking for a fresh basket of irritability and emotional numbness.

But fruit nonetheless.

What if my irritability is sometimes telling me I have been carrying too much for too long?

What if my hypersensitivity is not always about what somebody said, but about how depleted I was when they said it?

What if my restlessness is my body sitting down while my mind refuses to clock out?

What if emotional numbness is not me suddenly becoming uncaring, but me becoming so overloaded that I no longer have the capacity to feel everything I have been trying to carry?

That was the uncomfortable thing Jesus showed me this morning.

I have occasionally mistaken the symptoms of overload for evidence of productivity.

I thought I was carrying responsibility.

Sometimes, I was just carrying too much.

There is a difference.

And perhaps what makes that difference so difficult to recognize is that the world will often applaud me for the very pace that is quietly producing things in me I am asking God to heal.

Culture celebrates busy.

Booked.

Grinding.

Hustling.

Building.

Chasing.

No days off.

Sleep when you’re dead.

We have somehow made exhaustion a status symbol. If my calendar is packed, my phone is constantly ringing, everybody needs something from me, and I barely have time to breathe, it can almost feel like proof that I am important.

Meanwhile, Jesus is somewhere in the Gospels taking a nap on a boat.

Sir.

Could You please stop disrupting the brand I have worked so hard to build?

Because culture has done an incredible job convincing me that exhaustion is evidence of ambition. We admire the person answering emails at midnight, working through lunch, sacrificing weekends, carrying twelve responsibilities, remembering everyone’s birthday, responding immediately to every text, keeping everything afloat and answering “How are you?” with the culturally acceptable Christian response:

“Busy, but blessed!”

Are we?

Or are we exhausted with excellent public relations?

Because I started noticing something.

Culture tells me to chase it.

Kingdom tells me to chase Him.

Culture tells me to grind.

Kingdom teaches me rhythm.

Culture says more.

Jesus keeps saying enough.

And suddenly Matthew 6:33 stopped sounding like a decorative Christian slogan and started sounding suspiciously like an intervention.

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
Matthew 6:33, NIV

Seek first.

That word would not leave me alone.

First.

Not squeeze God in.

Not seek Him after I answer everybody.

Not seek Him after I finish everything.

Not seek Him once the calendar clears.

Especially because apparently tasks reproduce overnight like Gremlins somebody fed after midnight.

First.

And that exposed something uncomfortable in me.

I have sometimes wanted Kingdom results while maintaining cultural rhythms.

I want the peace of Jesus with the pace of hustle culture.

I want Kingdom fruit while operating according to worldly definitions of success.

I want God to bless a schedule I never asked Him to approve.

Then I have the audacity to wonder why I am tired.

And this is where Nipsey Hussle entered the Bible study.

Because obviously.

I love Nip.

“Grinding All My Life” can absolutely make me feel like I am about to build an empire before breakfast. The whole song carries this relentless energy of working, sacrificing, persevering, earning, building and refusing to quit.

I respect the grind.

I respect the work ethic.

I love Nipsey.

But respectfully…

Nipsey was not Jesus.

I cannot be grinding all my life.

At some point, I have to sit down.

Jesus never said, “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you another assignment.”

He did not say, “I will give you another planner.”

He did not say, “I will give you a color-coded calendar and six productivity hacks.”

He said:

“I will give you rest.”

And what makes this even more interesting is that Jesus was not unproductive.

Quite the opposite.

Jesus accomplished His earthly ministry in roughly three years.

Three.

Years.

I have emails older than that.

He taught crowds. He healed people. He discipled twelve men who routinely behaved like they had skipped orientation. He traveled. He confronted religious systems. He fed thousands. He ministered publicly and privately. He attended dinners and weddings. He handled interruptions. He experienced grief. He endured criticism. He dealt with betrayal. Everywhere He went, somebody needed something from Him.

And Jesus still withdrew.

Jesus still prayed.

Jesus still rested.

Jesus took naps.

Mark 4:38 literally gives us Jesus asleep on a cushion during a storm.

The Savior of the world had a nap ministry.

Meanwhile, I can behave like civilization may collapse if I do not respond to something within eleven minutes.

The math is not mathing.

And that made Matthew 6:33 hit differently.

Maybe Jesus could accomplish so much without being consumed by everything because He understood “first.”

The Kingdom came first.

The Father came first.

Obedience came first.

Jesus was never confused about what mattered most, so He did not have to treat everything as though it mattered equally.

I, however, have occasionally made everything a five-alarm fire and then wondered why my soul smells like smoke.

The more I sat with that, the more those things busy produces in me started looking less like isolated issues and more like dashboard lights.

Irritability.

Hypersensitivity.

Restlessness.

Emotional numbness.

Escapism.

Neglecting my body.

Spiritual disciplines quietly slipping.

Being surrounded by people while somehow not really being present with any of them.

Maybe some of these have been my internal check-engine lights.

And instead of pulling over, I have occasionally put electrical tape over the dashboard and kept driving.

Because when I am overloaded, little things suddenly acquire federal jurisdiction.

Someone says something slightly wrong and my internal courtroom is immediately in session.

Your Honor, I would like to submit Exhibit A:

The tone.

Was there actually a tone?

Irrelevant.

I perceived one.

And that is where the earlier revelation came back around.

Maybe my hypersensitivity is not always about somebody else’s tone.

Maybe sometimes it is about my capacity.

When I am rested and grounded, I have room for grace. When I am depleted, everything touches a nerve because apparently all my nerves have relocated to the surface of my body.

Which means some of what I have called “people getting on my nerves” may actually have been my nervous system filing a formal complaint against my lifestyle.

Jesus really did not have to take it there.

Yet here we are.

Then Genesis 3:19 added another layer:

“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground…”
Genesis 3:19, NIV

Work itself was never the curse. Adam had responsibility before the fall.

But toil entered the story differently.

Striving entered differently.

Sweat became connected to the struggle.

And I started thinking about all the appetites I have tried to satisfy through striving.

Achievement can become an appetite.

Approval can become an appetite.

Being needed can become an appetite.

Feeling important can become an appetite.

Proving myself can become an appetite.

Even productivity can become an appetite.

And appetites make terrible gods because they are never full.

There will always be another thing to accomplish. Another person to please. Another level to reach. Another box to check. Another opportunity I am afraid to decline because apparently I have occasionally believed that if I say no, God Himself may run out of ways to bless me.

That is not faith.

That is FOMO wearing a church hat.

And maybe this is where the difference between culture and Kingdom becomes especially uncomfortable for me.

Culture says chase it.

Kingdom says seek Him.

Culture says prove yourself.

Kingdom says know who you are.

Culture says do more.

Kingdom asks whether I am doing what God actually assigned.

Culture says exhaustion means I am committed.

Jesus says:

“Come to me.”

I am beginning to realize I cannot keep using culture’s methods and expect Kingdom outcomes.

Because there is a way of living that can slowly kill joy, relationships, health, peace and spiritual sensitivity while looking wildly successful from the outside.

My gift can build something.

My character can tear it down.

And that realization forced me to ask a question I did not particularly enjoy answering:

What is my current way of living producing in me?

Not what am I producing.

What is all this producing in me?

Am I becoming gentler?

More patient?

More present?

More compassionate?

More available to God?

Or am I becoming increasingly accomplished and increasingly difficult to live with?

Because if my version of success costs me my joy, relationships, health, spiritual attentiveness and capacity to love people well, I may be succeeding at the wrong thing.

That is a terrible return on investment.

Busyness also has a sneaky way of rearranging priorities.

God.

Self.

Others.

That order challenged me too, because somewhere along the way I have occasionally confused self-denial with self-neglect.

Jesus said:

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”
Matthew 22:39, NIV

There is an assumption tucked inside that sentence that I am learning not to ignore.

I have to know how to appropriately care for the person doing the loving too.

Self-denial is biblical.

Self-destruction is not.

And when I am depleted, pleasing people becomes dangerously easy because I stop asking whether my yes is obedient.

I start asking whether my no will disappoint somebody.

Those are very different questions.

Sometimes people-pleasing can look suspiciously like kindness until I check the motive.

Was that generosity?

Or was I afraid of being misunderstood?

Was that service?

Or did I need to feel needed?

Was that obedience?

Or was I trying to prove my worth?

Was I doing this because God asked me to?

Or because I liked being the person everybody could depend on?

Check the motive.

Jesus keeps bringing me back there.

It also made me think about the religious culture Jesus stepped into. Jewish tradition counts 613 commandments in the Torah, surrounded over time by extensive interpretation about how those commands should be lived out.

There was plenty to do.

Plenty to remember.

Plenty to get right.

Yet Jesus repeatedly pulled people beneath the activity and toward the heart.

Motive.

Mercy.

Love.

Relationship.

And suddenly I realized something that made me uncomfortable:

It is entirely possible for me to become so consumed with doing things for God that I stop learning from God.

I can study Jesus without sitting with Jesus.

I can write about Jesus without resting in Jesus.

I can serve Jesus while quietly ignoring Jesus saying:

“Come to me.”

Matthew 11 does not say, “Come perform for Me.”

It does not say, “Come impress Me.”

It does not say, “Come prove how much you can carry.”

Jesus says:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Then He continues:

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”
Matthew 11:29, NIV

Learn from Me.

There it was.

I have spent plenty of time learning about Jesus.

This morning made me wonder whether I have been equally willing to learn His rhythm.

His gentleness.

His boundaries.

His pace.

His dependence on the Father.

His willingness to withdraw.

His ability to be interrupted without allowing everyone else’s urgency to determine His identity.

And perhaps most convicting of all, Jesus handles me far more gently than I sometimes handle myself.

Life can be harsh with me.

People can be harsh with me.

Sometimes I am harshest with me.

More.

Faster.

Better.

You should be further.

You should have finished this already.

You should be able to handle that.

Why are you tired?

Get up.

Keep going.

Push.

Grind.

And Jesus says:

Come.

Not perform.

Come.

Not prove.

Come.

Not produce.

Come.

That is where I had to be careful not to let conviction turn into condemnation.

Because I do not believe Jesus was sitting there this morning saying, “Look at you. You have failed again.”

I think He was saying, “Look at this rhythm. It is wearing you down. Let Me show you another way.”

One shames me.

The other invites me.

And Jesus keeps inviting.

Maybe I have been afraid that if I slow down, I will miss something.

An opportunity.

Momentum.

Progress.

A connection.

A blessing.

But Matthew 6:33 challenges that fear too.

Seek first the Kingdom.

Then trust God with what follows.

Maybe I will not miss what belongs to me by living God’s way.

Maybe obedience is not costing me opportunities.

Maybe it is protecting me from opportunities that would cost me obedience.

That thought stayed with me.

Because Jesus was not frantic.

He was interruptible without being directionless.

Available without being controlled.

Productive without being consumed by productivity.

Purposeful without worshiping pace.

He knew where He was going because He knew Who sent Him.

And maybe that is the rhythm I actually want.

Not laziness.

Not apathy.

Not irresponsibility.

Rhythm.

There is a difference between rest and avoidance just like there is a difference between diligence and striving.

I am learning that the Kingdom does not require me to become less responsible.

It requires me to stop behaving as though I am responsible for everything.

Maybe I do not always need another strategy.

Sometimes I need a nap.

Maybe I do not always need another goal.

Sometimes I need to ask why I am chasing the one I already have.

Maybe I do not always need another opportunity.

Sometimes I need enough discernment to recognize that capacity is not calling.

Just because I can carry something does not mean God handed it to me.

Just because something is good does not mean it belongs in this season.

Just because culture applauds my pace does not mean Heaven approves my rhythm.

And maybe that is what Jesus was uncovering in me this morning.

I have spent a lot of time learning how to work harder.

Perhaps this season is teaching me how to live wiser.

How to recognize when diligence has quietly become striving.

How to recognize when responsibility has become identity.

How to recognize when serving has become performing.

How to recognize when “I’ve got it” actually means “I am terrified of putting it down.”

So yes.

I still love Nipsey.

The song can absolutely stay on the playlist.

I just cannot let it become my theology.

Because I cannot be grinding all my life.

At some point, I have to trust the God I keep saying I trust.

At some point, “seek first the Kingdom” has to affect my calendar and not merely my captions.

At some point, “come to Me” has to become an actual destination instead of a verse I underline while simultaneously scheduling another obligation.

And maybe the most humbling realization of all is that Jesus accomplished His earthly ministry in roughly three years and still took naps.

Meanwhile, I have occasionally behaved as though resting for forty-five minutes could derail the entire Kingdom of God.

Apparently, Jesus does not need me to save the world.

Position filled.

He is asking me to follow Him.

And maybe following Him means learning that divine rhythm will occasionally look unimpressive to a culture addicted to exhaustion.

Maybe rest is not something I earn after I have done enough.

Maybe it is part of how Jesus teaches me what enough even means.

This morning, He did not tell me to stop being diligent.

He did not tell me to stop working.

He did not tell me to stop building.

He simply made me look at the pace, the motive and the order.

Seek first.

Learn from Me.

Come to Me.

Rest.

Which means maybe the question is no longer, “How much can I get done?”

Maybe it is:

“Can I accomplish what God has actually asked of me without destroying myself in the process?”

Because Jesus seems far less impressed with my ability to carry everything than I am.

And apparently, my crown as Queen of Busy may need to be retired.

I would like to say I am devastated.

But truthfully?

That crown was getting heavy anyway.