For a long time, Sundays felt like just another day to catch up. There was always something undone, someone needing me, some worry pulling at the back of my mind. Rest felt like something I had to earn — and after years of addiction, brokenness, and trying to hold my life together on my own, I rarely felt I’d earned anything at all.
But God has been teaching me something different: rest isn’t the reward for finishing everything. It’s the place where He meets us.
I think about how far He’s brought me. The woman who once walked into church broken, crying through the whole service, surrendering everything at the altar on September 5, 2021 — she didn’t know rest. She only knew striving, surviving, carrying. And then God did what only He can do: He carried her. He flew her to Florida, He restored her, He gave her back her children and her purpose, and He gave her a voice she once was afraid to use.
Now Sunday mornings at church are sacred to me in a way I can’t fully explain. Sitting among people who know my story and love me anyway, singing, listening, just being still before Him — it resets something in me that the week wears down. I work long days caring for others, and by Sunday I’m often running on empty. But worship fills what the week emptied out. Sometimes I just listen and read His Word. Sometimes I sing my heart out. Either way, I leave steadier than I came in.
And Sunday rest doesn’t end when the service does. It’s the quiet afternoon, the unhurried conversation, the choice to let the week ahead wait while I sit with the Lord who already holds it. It’s trusting that the people I love, the work I do, the things I’m still waiting on — they’re all in hands far more capable than mine.
I used to think slowing down meant falling behind. Now I know it’s how I keep going. Rest is how I show up for my children with a full heart. It’s how I teach at Recovery Café without running dry. It’s how I stay soft toward people who are hurting, instead of hardening under the weight of it all.
If your Sundays feel rushed, friend, I want to encourage you: make room for rest. Not perfect rest, not a perfect day — just space. Space to breathe, to worship, to remember that you are held. The week will still be there. And so will He.
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28 (ESV)
— Niki
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