Today’s Reading: Exodus 29-31
For most of my life, I think I treated rest like something that came at the end.
Once I finished the work.
When everyone was okay.
When I had handled every problem.
When I had answered the last message.
When there was finally nothing left that needed me.
Which sounds reasonable…
until you realize there is always something left that needs you.
At work.
At home.
And especially if you have kids.
There is always something else.
Laundry waiting.
A meal to figure out.
Practice to get to.
A school form that suddenly matters tonight.
Someone needs a ride.
Someone needs something for tomorrow.
The list doesn’t really end.
And when you have also spent years becoming the person people know they can call?
The fixer.
The dependable one.
The person who can probably figure it out.
Stopping can start to feel almost irresponsible.
For a long time, rest made me feel guilty.
Eventually, the guilt changed into something else:
But if I don’t take care of it, who will?
And I’m starting to realize that question may have kept me carrying far more than I was ever meant to.
The Details Continued
Today’s reading was Exodus 29–31.
A lot of it continued what I had been noticing yesterday.
Details.
Instructions.
Specific responsibilities.
Specific people.
God wasn’t vague about the work.
He gave instructions for the priests, the altar, offerings, incense, craftsmanship, and the people who would use particular skills to complete different parts of it.
Again, I found myself fascinated by how much structure there was.
No one had responsibility for everything.
People had different abilities.
Different roles.
Different responsibilities.
And all of those pieces worked together.
God never said:
Moses, you do all of it.
That feels almost embarrassingly obvious when I write it.
But I’m not sure I’ve always lived like I understood it.
Being the Fixer Became Part of My Identity
Especially in my current career, I think I accidentally trained myself to be the person who could keep absorbing more.
Someone needed help?
I would figure it out.
A problem came up?
Send it to me.
Someone left?
My brain immediately started calculating everything that could go wrong afterward.
What happens to the patients?
Who takes over?
Will the remaining staff get overwhelmed?
Will they leave too?
What needs to be moved?
Who needs support?
What am I forgetting?
And some of that genuinely was my responsibility.
The patients matter.
The staff matter.
The work matters.
That is what made the boundary so difficult for me.
Because I could always justify carrying more with something that sounded good:
But I’m helping people.
And when the people you’re helping are sick or struggling?
Walking away can feel even harder.
When Caring Turns Into Carrying Everything
I don’t think caring was ever the problem.
The problem was that somewhere along the way I stopped separating:
I care about this
from:
I am responsible for all of this.
Those are not the same thing.
And once I became the go-to person, something else happened.
When I finally needed to say:
Pause. My brain needs a break.
I’m getting burned out.
I cannot keep absorbing everything.
…it became harder.
I had already shown everyone that I usually could.
That is something I am carrying with me into whatever comes next in my career.
Being capable of carrying more does not mean I should keep accepting more.
That lesson took me a while.
Parents Know This Feeling Too
And honestly, I don’t think this only happens at work.
Parents know this feeling really well.
You can love your family more than anything and still feel like the list never ends.
Someone needs something.
The kitchen needs attention.
There are clothes somewhere that absolutely should not still be sitting in that basket.
A child suddenly remembers something they need for tomorrow.
Practice is coming.
Homework exists.
Someone needs a ride.
And even when everyone finally goes to bed?
Your brain may still be running through tomorrow.
Did I pack that?
Did I answer that email?
What time do we have to leave?
Did I forget anything?
Who needs to be where?
It is very easy to start believing that rest belongs to some future version of your life when everything is finally caught up.
Except…
when exactly is that?
Especially with children, life rarely reaches a point where absolutely nothing needs attention.
So maybe waiting until the list is finished was never going to work.
Then Came the Seventh Day
After all of these detailed instructions about work that genuinely mattered, Exodus 31 returns to the Sabbath.
Six days for work.
The seventh for rest.
And this keeps standing out to me.
God wasn’t telling them to stop doing meaningless work.
The work mattered.
It was sacred, even.
They were building what God had instructed them to build.
They had responsibilities to fulfill.
Things still needed attention.
And yet…
there was a stopping point.
That changes the way I think about rest.
Maybe rest isn’t what happens after everything important is finished.
Maybe rest was always part of the instruction.
I Used to Hear “Sunday Is for Rest”
Growing up, I remember knowing that Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest.
It was one of those traditions that existed in the background.
You knew it.
Certain families practiced it more seriously.
Some communities still do.
There are businesses even now that choose to close one day each week.
But I don’t think I really understood where it came from.
Not until I started reading Scripture for myself.
That has happened repeatedly throughout this journey.
I’ll come across something I’ve heard my entire life and suddenly realize:
Oh.
That’s why.
The tradition didn’t appear out of nowhere.
The rhythm of work and rest goes back thousands of years.
And the older I get – and the more I understand what chronic stress does to people – the more fascinating that becomes.
Modern Life Is Not Very Good at Stopping
I do think something has shifted culturally.
Not everywhere and not for everyone.
But modern life often seems suspicious of rest.
Especially professionally.
Work longer.
Stay reachable.
Answer faster.
Show initiative.
Take on more.
Prove yourself.
Keep producing if you want to advance.
And if everyone around you is doing that, stopping can begin to feel dangerous.
Will they think I’m not committed?
Will someone else get ahead?
Am I letting people down?
What if something happens while I’m unavailable?
There can be financial pressure underneath it too.
Work more.
Earn more.
Advance.
Keep proving your value.
And slowly, rest begins to feel like something that could cost you.
Professionally.
Financially.
Maybe even socially.
Parents can feel a different version of the same pressure.
Keep the house together.
Keep the kids involved.
Keep up with school.
Be present.
Cook healthier.
Make the memories.
Attend the things.
Don’t forget anything.
And somehow also take care of yourself.
No wonder rest starts feeling less like wisdom and more like something we have to justify.
Which is interesting…
because Scripture gave the permission a very long time ago.
Rest Was Never Presented as Failure
That has really been sitting with me.
Rest isn’t described as:
Do this if nothing important is happening.
Or:
Stop only when everyone else is completely taken care of.
Or:
Rest after you have proven you deserve it.
It was built into the rhythm.
Work.
Then stop.
That feels almost radical now.
And I wonder how much healthier we might be if we stopped treating exhaustion like evidence that we cared enough.
“But If I Don’t Do It, Who Will?”
That sentence deserves its own section because I think it has driven more of my behavior than I realized.
But if I don’t take care of it, who will?
That sounds responsible.
Sometimes it even is.
There are situations where something genuinely belongs to me and I need to handle it.
But lately, I’ve been learning to add another question:
Is it actually mine?
Someone leaves the company.
My responsibility might be making sure their patients transition safely.
That is mine.
I may need to communicate with the team.
Mine.
Scheduling or coverage might need my attention.
Mine.
But whether another employee decides to stay?
Not mine.
Whether everyone is happy with the transition?
Not mine.
Whether another person handles their responsibilities exactly how I wish they would?
Not mine.
Whether I can prevent every future problem from happening?
Definitely not mine.
And I cannot explain how much peace comes from separating those things.
Caring and Carrying Are Different
This has probably been one of the biggest changes for me lately.
I care deeply about my patients.
But their entire future does not depend on me.
My staff matters to me too, but I cannot make every decision for them.
I care about my company without believing I personally have to hold the whole thing together.
And this applies at home too.
I love my family deeply, but that does not mean I have to keep every single thing running perfectly all the time.
Being a good parent does not require finishing every task before I sit down.
The dishes can wait.
That email can wait until tomorrow.
Sometimes I can simply admit:
Today was enough.
I can care about an outcome while admitting I do not control it.
Releasing responsibility that was never mine does not mean I care less.
It means I’m learning the difference between caring and carrying.
That distinction has given me more peace than I expected.
Maybe Rest Requires Trust Too
I used to think of rest mostly as a physical thing.
Stop working.
Sit down.
Take a day off.
Sleep.
But I’m realizing there is another kind of rest that may be harder for me.
Mental rest.
Actually walking away without continuing the shift in my head.
Closing the laptop instead of replaying the conversation.
Resisting the urge to check Teams “just one more time.”
Letting tomorrow’s staffing issue stay with tomorrow.
Leaving other people’s feelings outside of dinner.
At home, it might mean sitting with your family even though something still needs folding.
Maybe it means watching the game while knowing an unfinished task is waiting upstairs.
Or going to bed even though tomorrow’s list already exists.
That kind of rest requires trust.
I have to believe things can continue without me controlling every part of them.
Maybe that is part of the Sabbath principle too.
For a day, work stops.
The world does not.
That alone requires surrender.
This Is Still a Work in Progress
I don’t want to write this as if I have suddenly perfected work-life balance.
I absolutely have not.
Our personal life is particularly chaotic right now with travel, hockey, work, family schedules, and everything else.
There are still days when I work too long.
Sometimes I still have trouble shutting my brain off.
And I am definitely not sitting over here with an empty to-do list.
But there is something I can say confidently:
I can walk away more easily than I used to.
Without the same guilt.
Without immediately feeling like I am abandoning everyone.
And when my brain starts with:
But what if…
I can come back to:
What is mine to carry?
That has changed something.
Nothing Happened Today
And maybe this is another example of the growth I’ve been noticing.
Today was pretty uneventful.
There were no major new answers.
Nothing suddenly resolved.
No moment told me exactly what comes next.
I did my work.
I handled what needed my attention.
I read.
I prayed.
I lived my day.
And…
I’m okay.
That probably wouldn’t sound remarkable to someone else.
But it feels remarkable to me.
Because uncertainty used to demand so much more of my attention.
If I didn’t have an answer, my brain wanted to work until it found one.
Even if there wasn’t one available yet.
Now?
I can recognize that there is nothing else for me to do tonight.
And somehow, that is enough.
Maybe Peace Comes When the Work Has an Edge
I think that’s the connection I hadn’t fully made before.
If everything is mine to carry, there is no natural place to stop.
There will always be more.
That is true in a career.
It is true in a household.
And it may be especially true when you are raising children.
Someone will always need something.
Something will always remain unfinished.
But if I can identify my actual responsibility, then eventually I reach the edge of it.
I did my part.
And when I reach that edge, maybe rest becomes possible.
Not because every problem is solved.
Not because the house is perfect.
Not because every email has been answered.
Not because tomorrow’s schedule suddenly became simple.
But because my responsibility has ended for the moment.
That feels very different.
Faithfulness Is Not Endless Availability
I think I used to confuse those sometimes.
Being faithful.
Being dependable.
Being helpful.
Being available.
They slowly became tangled together.
But maybe being faithful does not mean being endlessly accessible.
Maybe doing your job well also includes knowing when the workday ends.
Maybe serving people well includes making sure you do not become so depleted that you have nothing healthy left to give them.
And maybe being a loving parent doesn’t require you to spend every remaining ounce of yourself before you are allowed to rest.
Maybe saying:
I have done what belongs to me today
is not selfish.
Maybe it is wisdom.
The Bigger Pattern Keeps Showing Up
Over the last several readings, I keep seeing the same larger pattern from different angles.
God gives guidance.
He provides instructions.
People receive different roles.
Different gifts serve different purposes.
Each person has an assignment.
And now:
There is rest.
Maybe none of those things are separate.
Knowing your role helps you understand what to carry.
Once you know what belongs to you, it becomes easier to recognize what you can release.
And learning what to release may finally give you permission to rest.
That feels like a bigger lesson than I expected from several chapters full of measurements and detailed instructions.
Questions I’m Leaving With
When did I start believing rest had to be earned?
Do I confuse being needed with being responsible?
Where have I made myself the fixer because I was capable of fixing things?
What happens when the person everyone relies on eventually needs a break?
Can I care deeply without carrying everything?
What is actually mine to finish today?
Where does my responsibility end?
What would it feel like to stop there without guilt?
Do I believe things can continue without me controlling them?
Am I treating exhaustion like evidence that I worked hard enough?
If I am a parent, have I been waiting for a completely finished list before allowing myself to rest?
And maybe the biggest question:
What if rest is part of my responsibility too?
Today’s Takeaway
Maybe you’re tired.
Not just physically.
Maybe you’re tired from being the person everyone relies on.
The fixer.
The dependable one.
The parent who remembers everything.
The employee everyone calls.
The one who knows what to do.
The person who can handle it.
Until eventually you can’t.
And then even admitting you’re tired feels like letting everyone down.
I understand that more than I wish I did.
But maybe the answer isn’t becoming better at carrying everything.
Find the Edge of Your Responsibility
Ask yourself:
What is actually mine today?
Do that.
Handle what genuinely belongs to you.
Be responsible.
Be compassionate.
Do good work.
Help where you can.
Care for your family.
Show up.
Then notice where your responsibility ends.
Someone else’s reaction may begin there.
Another person’s decision might begin there.
Tomorrow may begin there.
An outcome you cannot control may begin there.
And yes – sometimes an unfinished household task may begin there too.
Whatever lives beyond that edge does not automatically become yours because you care about it.
Parents: The List May Never Be Finished
If you are raising kids, this may be especially important.
Because your list may genuinely never reach zero.
There will be more laundry.
Someone will need food again.
Probably sooner than seems reasonable.
Practice will come around again.
School events will keep appearing.
Appointments happen.
Permission slips somehow materialize.
And someone will eventually forget a water bottle.
The house may never stay completely clean.
Your schedule may never become perfectly calm.
If you decide you are only allowed to rest when everything is finished, you may be waiting a very long time.
Maybe your children don’t need a parent who finishes absolutely everything.
Maybe they also need to see someone who understands that human beings were not designed to run endlessly.
Someone who works.
Cares.
Shows up.
And then knows when to stop.
Rest Before Everything Is Finished
Everything will probably never be finished.
There will always be another task.
Another message.
Another problem.
Another person who could use your help.
If you wait until absolutely nothing needs you before resting…
you may never rest.
Exodus reminded me today that even important work had a stopping point.
Even sacred work had a stopping point.
Maybe yours does too.
Do your part.
Then stop.
Let someone else do theirs.
Let tomorrow hold tomorrow.
Trust God with what continues moving while you are resting.
And if your brain says:
But if I don’t take care of it, who will?
Maybe answer with another question:
Was I actually asked to carry all of it in the first place?
You can care.
You can help.
You can be dependable.
You can be a good employee.
You can be a loving parent.
And you can rest.
Those things do not have to contradict one another.
Maybe rest isn’t what happens after you finish carrying everything. Maybe rest begins when you realize you were never supposed to carry everything in the first place.
Until next time… keep noticing.