Weary is too much wondering and worry, too little rest, not enough trust in the easy yoke. First century folks were weary and shepherd-less in their first century lives - without a clock to punch or a calendar to check. They were soul weary without a savior and what is worse than the fatigue of futile efforts and rigorous righteousness?

What wears a body out can invigorate a soul, but what wearies the soul...that can take joy right out of youth.

A promise of rest and an easy yoke, but we need a king and an enemy of Rome and a rescue from this oppression.  IMG_6137

They didn't know and we still don't know and we try to work for rest but Jesus said come to Me. 


See a way that is everything opposite, everything upside down, everything made right.

A weary world rejoices because she is saved from more effort, rescued from soul-crushing oppression, victorious over the fear of death.

Here we are, twenty centuries later and still weary, but not for lack of a remedy.

Let the world rejoice, all weary and needy and working too hard. Rest comes to the bone-tired and those worn from effort.

All your work is done.


This post is part of Five Minute Friday, where we write freely for five (or ten or fifteen?) minutes on the given prompt. This week’s prompt is WEARY.

"The Backwaters"

surrender the day

Do you remember standing in the middle of chaos


And still feeling like everything was ok?

Remember hope that looked past

the current

And helped you see more?

When you stand in the middle


You can focus on a solid place; distant.

Maybe it's not joy at the moment but


Down low it's calm and still and the water floats you.

Joy is not happy sappy and easy, but


In crystal eddies, against the current; backwards.

She told me she had always been backwards,


Untouched by refinement and learning.

But she smiled. She knew enough about

the river

To see joy all-encompassing in chaos and dirty water.


This post is part of Five Minute Friday, where we write freely for five on the given prompt. This week’s prompt is JOY.


The life deep-down

Green is the color of poetic words about change and new life and growth. I always look forward to spring, but I'm learning to be poetic about the brown of winter, the blue of frost, the grey-for-days sky of mid-November. jacob-7

We rode our bikes through the forest yesterday - just my husband and I.  All the kids were at practices or watching games and it was just us, grey like the November coming but budding fresh green inside as we burned legs up the gravel road.

We fried muscle tissue we hadn't felt for awhile, muscles untouched by our regular runs or even the weight room. Muscles we forgot about.

The green of the forest was a surprise in this drought. We wait for rain and I wait for green again, for crunchy grass to resurrect; but in the forest the green holds, ferns verdant on the hill under the old trees and mossy infants holding tight.

The creek-bed was dry as dust but all that green - you know it means deep down, where roots reach for a hold, there is water. There is life. There is something to quench the bosky hillside and hold the green out for hope.

Lately I wonder about the future, about how my time will fill when the nest is empty and the hours must be redirected.

Deep-down-running, we have life beyond dry seasons and busy seasons and chase-the-kids-everywhere seasons. A married life, rich and rooted in deep wells, makes it through long summers, enjoys the greying, always proves the green of life.


This post is part of Five Minute Friday, where we write freely for five on the given prompt. This week's prompt is GREEN.