The world outside buzzed with noise — cars honking, phones ringing, people rushing somewhere, anywhere.
Inside her tiny apartment, Rhea sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at a half-written to-do list.
Laundry. Work emails. Groceries. Church volunteering. Call Mom.
She looked at the list, then slowly folded it in half. For once, she didn’t want to do anything. Not even pray.
It had been months since she’d let herself rest. Every time she tried to take a break, guilt whispered, You’re wasting time.
Every moment of stillness made her feel like she was falling behind — like the world would forget her if she didn’t keep moving.
Last week, her manager had praised her for being “always on top of things.” Her friends called her “the responsible one.”
But no one knew how much she cried in the shower, hiding the exhaustion behind her polite smile.
She used to believe peace meant sitting quietly with God — now it just felt like another task she didn’t have energy for.
That afternoon, her brother Aaron dropped by unexpectedly.
He glanced around at the quiet room and asked, “You okay? It’s rare to find you not doing something.”
Rhea shrugged. “I’m just… tired. I think I’m burned out.”
Aaron nodded, setting down a small paper bag. “Mom made your favorite—pancakes. She said you’ve been sounding distant lately.”
Rhea chuckled softly. “I’ve just been busy. If I stop working, everything falls apart.”
Aaron leaned against the wall. “Or maybe everything’s already falling apart because you never stop.”
His words stung more than she expected.
That evening, after he left, Rhea sat by the window with a plate of pancakes and the Bible her grandmother had given her years ago. She hadn’t opened it in weeks.
When she finally did, her eyes landed on Matthew 11:28 —
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
She read the verse again and again, tears blurring her vision.
I will give you rest.
Not I will make you lazy. Not I will make you fall behind.
Just rest — the kind that doesn’t ask you to earn it.
Rhea realized she had spent years confusing peace with passivity. She thought slowing down meant weakness. But peace wasn’t laziness — it was trust.
It meant believing God could hold everything together even when she wasn’t.
The next morning, instead of rushing into work, Rhea did something she hadn’t done in a long time — she sat quietly with her coffee, no phone, no background noise.
She let the silence breathe. It was uncomfortable at first, like standing still after running too long. But slowly, her mind began to settle.
She whispered a simple prayer:
“Lord, teach me how to rest without guilt. I don’t want to live fast and empty. I want to live steady and full.”
Later that day, she decided to go for a walk in the park. She noticed small things she hadn’t in months — sunlight glinting on the leaves, a child laughing as he chased a pigeon, an old couple sitting quietly on a bench.
It felt strange — like the world had slowed down just for her. But maybe, she thought, it was always this peaceful. She had just been too busy to notice.
When Rhea returned home, she looked at her folded to-do list on the table.
She smiled, then crossed out everything except one line at the bottom she hadn’t written before:
“Be still with God.”
That evening, she journaled a few words — nothing fancy, just honest:
“I used to think peace meant doing less. Now I see it means trusting more. God doesn’t rush. And maybe I don’t have to either.”
She placed her pen down, feeling a lightness she hadn’t felt in months. The world outside still buzzed, but inside, something sacred had settled.
For the first time, Rhea didn’t feel lazy for resting.
She felt safe.
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...🌿 Peace isn’t the absence of work — it’s the presence of God. When you stop striving, you give Him space to move....
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