This one is for the hour of the weary…for the day that you are just plumb tired. Maybe there was a bear and you were anxious all week and you cried in public. Maybe. Or maybe life just gets like this sometimes.
For the day that is a mess of busy and sometimes frantic and doing all the things that have to be done.
For the day that you live by the clock: slow down, speed up, get there faster, wait.
For the little ones who fight and cry and resist and always, always have to be fed. For the job and the boss and the wood to chop and the days getting shorter.
For that long, long summer that seemed like it would never end, and how far away that feels now. And for when you needed the fall to bring order and regularity, but it also brought anxiety and heavy schedules and stress.
For when the night falls earlier and earlier and you can’t explain away the tightening in your throat. (Fear.) When you are exhausted from holding all the fear.
For when the news of violence and injustice comes in waves and your helplessness becomes numbness and you struggle to make yourself care.
For when depression is heavy on you and you feel thirsty, and your muscles feel weak. For when you are so, so tired of calling out for help that never comes.
For when you can’t shake the memories of trauma and loss. And you feel like you should just get over it, but you’re not getting over it.
For when you’re tired of being a burden on the ones who love you and you can’t explain how they can help, because, maybe, they can’t help.
For when you can’t find your way out. Or your way back in. For when the weariness is set deep into your bones. And God is just something you just don’t want to talk about and hope is a stupid thing on a Hallmark card that costs four dollars.
Blessed is this hour. Even this hour.
Blessed is the grief, which cleans you out and wakes you up.
Blessed is the sorrow, which is your ability to love. You love so well!
Blessed is the memory of loss, how we hold tight to our riches and our gifts.
Blessed is the restlessness, that seeks a more vibrant, more ecstatic life.
Blessed is the seeking, that knows a greater truth beyond this world of our own making.
Blessed are the hours of labor, and no harvest. These are the truth of our humanness and createdness and fallibility.
Blessed are the days of no accomplishment and no productivity. This is how we reclaim our sacredness. How we know our worth beyond and above our fingers and our price tags.
Blessed is the empty vessel, even cracked to let the light in.
And blessed is this vigil into darkness, when we know our mortality and cry out for our deliverance.
For the hour of the weary, and the day that you are just plumb tired. I pray that you would know this hour, too, as sacred. Even these weary moments. Even these gaps between gold stars and Hallmark cards.
And I pray over you rest and peace, right here. Go ahead. Sit, or stand, or lie down, whichever, but do it here. Right here. Right here in this blessed hour, in the midst of the battlefield, on this day that the Lord has made. Set your feet on the ground and be watered like a plant. See the sky, know scale and be humbled by it. And know this, that you are a part of all this. Even this. Even the sacred and the precious. Even the weary. Even the little or the wrong or the petty or the anguished. And all this, even this, is blessed.