To the Well

I’m taking a couple of days off, friends. I need it. I’m ragged around the edges. Down right worn. Overexposed, undernourished, a lot raw and vulnerable, too much punchy.

There is tired, of course. And there is t.i.r.e.d. There is tired that needs only a good sleep. And there is tired that needs the Well.

I need the Well.

Friends, I’m not sorry I told my story this week, about how frazzled and frantic it can get. Living close to the bone, living close to the edges. I’m not sorry I told a story of the days when opting out of the race is also opting in to an everyday struggle for your basic needs.

But that story isn’t the only story.

If that were the only story, I wouldn’t be standing here.

The same lifestyle that sometimes brings me (along a dark and bumpy path) to anxiety and loss of physical comforts is also a source of the most profound and permanent comfort I have ever known.

These woods teach me how to be quiet. And when I am quiet long enough, I hear.

I need to hear.

I’m patched together well enough on the surface. Don’t worry about that. We got the sick-day laundry done, just in time for a dusting of new snow. I’m keeping the kids fed and entertained. I’m keeping the fire in the stove. I’m making deadlines.

But on the inside I am raw and vulnerable. Ragged at the hems. Soul-hungry.

It’s time for me to turn inward for a day or two. It’s time to rest.

I’ll be back on Wednesday, friends. (With a guest post at Addie Zierman‘s place, actually, and I think some of you will really like it… But let’s talk about that on Wednesday, okay?)

In the meantime. Here are some words that pass through me. From Rilke’s Sonnets to Orpheus,  recently gifted to me by my friend Emma, re-gifted now to anyone else who finds themselves soul-hungry and ragged at the hems.

Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bellower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
Be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
Say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing waters speak: I am.

See you soon, friends.

Related posts:


  1. Beautiful. I love Rilke. Need to re-read Sonnets to Orpheus. Take as much time as you need, friend!

  2. Caiobhe says:

    love the sonnet. I’ve never come across Rilke before. Rest, rest ,rest .

  3. says:

    I’m glad you took the time with Emma’s Rilke. I was afraid in the hectic days that she sent it, it would pass you by. See you on the other side of rest.

  4. Juliet Birkbeck says:

    See you soon. May the peace and strength of the deep rooted trees nourish and sustain you.

  5. Shana Norris says:

    Esther, sending good thoughts your way for a restful, nourishing, edifying break. Can’t wait to see you at Addie’s place.

  6. Jesus Tavern says:

    Hey Esther, I started following you on Twitter a while back and have really enjoyed your content. I love to learn from unique perspectives and needless to say I’ve learned a lot from you so far. Specifically, your posts on gay marriage and homosexuality and the comments that followed gave me some good insight. I’ve known for a long time from my obsessive biblical studies that we are all one in Christ which is beautiful! But your posts and the comments reminded me that there is neither male or female in Christ. No gender in Christ and Christ is everything!!! It was there all along. I just didn’t do the math right. Very liberating.

    Recently, (like, really recently) I have launched a podcast and would love to do a phone interview with you for one of the episodes. The first 3 episodes are available at as well as iTunes if you just search for the Jesus Tavern Podcast. It would be an honor to get some feedback from you. Thanks

    Keep fighting,

    Josh Jones

Leave a Reply