I’m a helper. An empath. A person who moves in compassion, and this only becomes more apparent in times of crisis.
I also like naps. Netflix. But I don’t like feeling helpless. I don’t know how to respond when the world says to stop moving . When before it’s all I’ve ever known to do. Move. Act. Respond.
As I’m standing in my kitchen, making phone calls. Some that go unanswered, leaving me wondering how to move. How to act. How to respond. I glance over at the Bible I have placed on my kitchen counter. Glaring at me in bold print are these words: Permission to Rest.
That evening after sunset the people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed. The whole town gathered at the door, and Jesus healed many who had various diseases. Mark 1:32-34
I can relate. Now, I am not Jesus. I am not driving out demons. But I have moved, acted and responded at the drop of a hat. Moving to crisis after crisis. Acting on behalf of those who couldn’t for themselves. Responding to needs, even when I had my own.
Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Mark 1:35
He gave himself permission to just stop. To rest. To not move. To not act. To not respond. to simply be in his Father’s presence.
And today…it’s OK if I do the same.
While I may feel helpless. My heart may be telling me I should do something. Maybe what I really need to do is just give myself permission.
Permission to rest.
Permission to move in living room dance parties, and nature walks with the people who love me.
Permission to be silly. To perform acts of love, in small doses. A little at a time, but maybe just not right now. Not right away.
Permission to respond…but later. And know that if I don’t, well it’s OK.
Today, I give myself permission.