The train rocked gently as it sped through the city.
Naomi leaned her head against the cold glass, earbuds in, listening to worship music — not because she felt close to God, but because she wanted to feel something.
Her phone buzzed nonstop with emails and messages. She worked as a freelance designer, juggling clients who all wanted “urgent” changes and “quick” results.
Her week had been chaos — missed meals, sleepless nights, aching eyes from staring at the screen too long.
Still, she kept pushing.
Because stopping, she believed, meant failure.
But lately, she’d started noticing something — the sharp pain in her chest when she woke up, the emptiness that no paycheck could fill, the prayers she mumbled half-asleep but never really meant.
She had been praying for strength, but what she really needed was healing.
That evening, after another long day, Naomi’s mother called.
“Sweetheart, you sound tired,” her mother said softly.
“I’m fine,” Naomi replied automatically, rubbing her temples.
“You’ve been saying that for months,” her mom sighed. “Even God rested after creating the world, you know?”
Naomi laughed weakly. “I can’t afford to rest right now, Mom.”
Her mother’s voice grew gentle. “Maybe you can’t afford not to.”
After the call, Naomi sat quietly in the dim light of her room. The words stung — not because they were harsh, but because they were true.
She picked up her Bible, flipping through pages she hadn’t touched in weeks.
Her eyes fell on Psalm 147:3 —
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
She read it again slowly, this time letting it sink in.
He heals…
Not when life is easy. Not when everything’s done. But right in the middle of the mess — while you’re still working, still fighting, still trying.
Maybe healing wasn’t something that happened after the hustle.
Maybe it was something that could happen in it.
The next day, Naomi tried something new.
Before opening her laptop, she sat quietly with her coffee and whispered, “God, help me work from peace, not pressure.”
It wasn’t dramatic — there were no flashes of revelation. But her day moved differently. She noticed moments she hadn’t before: the warm sunlight spilling onto her desk, the sound of birds outside her window, the small satisfaction of finishing a task calmly instead of frantically.
She still worked hard, but she also learned to pause. To breathe. To thank God even in the unfinished things.
In the following weeks, Naomi started taking evening walks after work. Sometimes she’d pray, sometimes she’d just listen — to music, to her thoughts, to the quiet.
Slowly, she realized something powerful: God wasn’t asking her to stop hustling. He was asking her to stop hurting herself while she did it.
Healing didn’t mean quitting her job. It meant inviting Him into her work.
It meant saying, “Lord, sit with me while I type these emails. Stay with me while I create. Be part of my pace.”
One afternoon, Naomi’s client sent another late-night “urgent” request.
Her old self would’ve panicked.
But this time, she took a deep breath, replied kindly, and closed her laptop.
She chose rest instead of rush.
And the world didn’t fall apart.
That night, she journaled:
“I used to hustle to prove my worth. Now I work from the peace God gives. Healing isn’t a break from life — it’s learning to live differently with Him.”
Weeks later, her mother called again.
“You sound lighter,” she said with a smile in her voice.
Naomi laughed softly. “Maybe I am. I think I’m learning that success doesn’t have to cost my soul.”
Her mother chuckled. “That sounds like healing to me.”
Naomi looked around her small, cluttered workspace — still busy, still imperfect, but full of quiet grace.
She whispered, “Thank You, Lord… for teaching me to heal while I hustle.”
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...🌿 God doesn’t wait for your life to calm down before He restores you....
...He heals right where you are — in the middle of your deadlines, your doubts, and your daily grind....
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