Last night, as I rocked my youngest daughter, Lucy, before bed, I had one of those moments that stops you mid-thought.
You know the kind—the ordinary ones that suddenly feel deeply important.
When Lucy was teeny tiny, rocking her to sleep was part of our nightly rhythm. She’d be almost asleep—eyelids heavy, blinks slowing, her breathing soft and steady—right there on the edge of rest.
And every single night, I would lean in close and whisper, “I love you.”
And every single night—without fail—the moment those words left my mouth, she’d finally let go.
Her body would soften.
Her eyes would drift closed.
And she’d fully surrender to sleep.
Last night was no different. I whispered my love for her, and she was out!
She’s bigger now. Her legs stretch across me and hang off the side of the rocker, and my arms don’t cradle her quite the same way they used to. But the tenderness of that moment? Still there.
And as I rocked her, it hit me:
That’s what love does.
It creates the safety we need to rest.
Lately, that’s exactly what God’s love has felt like to me.
Not dramatic.
Not flashy.
Not loud.
Just a whisper.
A soft, steady whisper that settles my nervous system and reaches straight for my soul. A whisper that says, You are loved. You are held. You can rest. I’ve got this.
And something in me... something tired, something guarded, something that’s been carrying more than it realizes... finally exhales.
It’s the kind of love that feels safe enough to collapse into. The kind that lets your shoulders drop, and your jaw unclench. The kind that doesn’t ask anything from you… but instead invites you to rest.
And yet—even when rest is offered—receiving it isn’t always easy.
Jesus’ words in Matthew 11:28–30 (ESV) have been echoing in my heart lately:
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
If I’m being honest, I forget all the time that this kind of soul-deep rest is actually available to me.
What an undeserved gift.
Thank You, Jesus.
Because grief has a way of tightening everything.
Even on days that look “okay,” there’s often so much happening beneath the surface. It reminds me of an iceberg—the part everyone sees feels small and manageable, but underneath is the weight. The history. The ache. The memory. The absence.
And carrying that much below the surface quietly teaches us to stay tense. To brace ourselves. To keep our guard up—even when nothing is technically “wrong” in that moment.
But here’s what’s been surprising me lately:
God hasn’t pulled away from me in those tense, guarded places.
Instead, He’s been meeting me there—through reading Scripture, through prayer, through quiet moments I didn’t plan for. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just reminding me He’s near.
A whisper that I am loved.
And slowly, like Lucy relaxing in my arms, I’ve felt myself leaning into that love—not because I have everything figured out, but because I’m learning that I don’t have to.
There really is a kind of love you can rest in.
A love you can put your full weight on.
A trust-fall kind of rest.
The kind that lets you finally stop striving, close your eyes, and breathe again.
That’s what God’s love has been for me in this season. Not a spectacle. Not a shout. Just a whisper that feels like home. And I pray—so deeply—that anyone reading this might experience that same rest.
One verse keeps coming to mind lately:
“He will quiet you by his love.” —Zephaniah 3:17(ESV)
That’s exactly what He’s been doing—quieting the noise, steadying my heart, and reminding me that I am held.
And still… even when rest is offered so gently, we often resist it.
We live in a time when our hearts are constantly restless and overstimulated. Instead of leaning into the rest God offers, we’re often tempted to do the opposite.
We strive.
We distract.
We stay productive.
We fill every spare moment.
Two minutes of quiet during a commercial, and our hands instinctively reach for our phones—scrolling mindlessly so not a single second is left empty. We rarely allow ourselves to rest—truly rest—at all. Silence feels uncomfortable—almost unfamiliar. And no wonder we feel so weary.
So it’s worth asking ourselves—gently and honestly—what we’re filling our days with. What are we chasing, hoping it will give us rest?
These questions aren’t meant to become another thing to optimize or perfect. They’re simply an invitation to pause. To notice. To take a step back and gently ask what might be keeping us from the rest God is already offering.
Because what we’re longing for isn’t the reward of effort—it’s the fruit of grace. Rest doesn’t come from doing more, but from allowing ourselves to be held. It happens not when we grip tighter, but when we finally loosen our hands—like sweet baby Lucy, who drifts off the moment she hears love spoken over her.
Not something to achieve.
Just something to receive.
Questions to Ponder:
- When was the last time you sat outside in complete silence—no music, no podcast, no scrolling—just stillness?
- When was the last time you drove somewhere without filling the space with noise?
- When was the last time you went to the bathroom without bringing your phone with you? (Honestly.) Or stood in line at the store and didn't pull out your phone out of awkward habit? (Guilty as charged here!)
- What constant sensory input fills your days right now?
- Is there one source of noise or distraction you’d be willing to remove for a few hours—or a few days—to create space for rest?
- How might that nonstop noise be contributing to your overwhelm—and your deep need for rest?
Take a moment to notice, without judgment. Sometimes simply noticing is the first gentle step toward rest. Preaching to myself here—100%.
If your heart feels tired even after asking these questions, let these words speak for themselves.
Bible Verses on Resting in God’s Love:
Matthew 11:28–30
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Psalm 62:1
“For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation.”
Psalm 23:1–3
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”
Psalm 36:7
“How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.”
Jeremiah 31:3
“The Lord appeared to him from far away. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore, I have continued my faithfulness to you.”
Zephaniah 3:17
“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.”
1 John 3:1
“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.”
Psalm 63:7–8
“For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”
Romans 8:38–39
“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
John 3:16
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.”
Lamentations 3:22–23
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
Ephesians 3:17-19
"So that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."
1 John 4:19
“We love because he first loved us.”
