I am tired.
I logged off. For a month, I essentially logged out of digital life. I was tired.
Nowhere, can I find rest.
People cannot stand COVID, but we will wallow in their pride.
Every post. Every tweet. Every conversation. Every picture. I tried to focus. I tried to find peace.
We thought the apex of 2020 was being locked in and shut down, but that was simply the hill we used to prop our yard signs on. The mountain is still ahead of us.
I am still tired. More tired.
I am tired of needing to be right.
I had to leave the crowd. If you are different, you are wrong. Everyone watching, few loving. I had to leave because it is far too tiring to always be right.
You’re wrong, I’m right. Do your research. Your opinion is just that.
I am tired of trying to be right.
I’ve read. I’ve searched. I’ve prayed. I’ve died. I submit. I’m tired. You still can’t see it.
I am tired of seeing red and blue, when all I can think about is why my soul is unworthily white. I am tired.
I am tired of needing to say I am right, when it really matters not.
I am tired of focusing on the things that matter not.
The things that matter are the things not seen.
Sound systems and spotlights seem to find the big items, but miss the pearl in the field.
I am tired of doing what seems important only to be glossed over. A prophetic message is never heard by those comfortably close.
What does the Kingdom have to do with the democracy?
What does the Kingdom have to do with sacrifice?
What does the Kingdom have to do in my world?
Rome is in ruin. No longer do we need to abide in Him.
Money and power hold the power, not football. Money and power buy the football.
What does the Kingdom have to do with the colors?
I am tired of seeking fields or factories of green when all I want to see is the white shore of snow beyond this stormy sea. Maybe I shall find rest on my way there. So much noise around me.
I am tired, where is my boat?
Christ was tired. I am tired. Let us sleep. I departed from the crowd in search of peace. Maybe on the sea will I find rest. A few voices are better than a crowd. Here, in private, we can find peace. Push off the shore. Leave behind the field of seeds-rocks rule that field.
Only my brothers are here now. They understand the Kingdom. A peaceful night awaits. Finally, rest for a tired soul.
But here comes the darkness. Voices interrupt my attempt to rest. Human voices. Nature’s voice. The voice of reality. Both come to shake my peace. The boat is not where I find rest. The voice of my brothers jolt me awake.
“My brothers, where is your faith. Are you blinded by the storm that you forget we sail for the shore of snow?” I am tired.
The sea was not peaceful. Louder and louder it got. The boat was not where I found rest. My brothers would not grant me rest. They had become the crowd.
I am tired.
Peace came not from the boat. Distance did not bring comfort.
I am tired, where is my peace.
I am tired. Where else can I go. Unplugged… At sea… With brothers…
No rest. Where do I find rest?
Where is my peace?
I seek. Can I find? I knock. Peace, will you open the door?
Where did I find it last? Death.
Peace in death. Death in Christ. In dying, I can rest.
Lord, hear my prayer.