Noticing Our Weariness

“And he asked that he might die… And he lay down and slept under a broom tree. And behold, an angel touched him and said to him, ‘Arise and eat.’ And he looked, and behold, there was at his head a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. And he ate and drank and lay down again.” – 1 Kings 10:4-6

Most of my life, I saw physical weariness and limitations as things to push through, things that got in the way. It is perhaps ironic that those going into the medical field so easily neglect their own health: pulling thirty-hour shifts, driving into the hospital in the middle of the night, skipping meals, living off granola bars in between rounds and endless clinics and cases in the operating room (where lunch breaks are not scheduled). Those things were expected in training, which bled straight into motherhood for me, into even less-predictable patterns of sleep deprivation. Very often I would realize I had gone through the entire day without eating a proper meal, between feeding the kids and cleaning up after them.

When Elijah is depressed to the point of wanting to die, what does God do? God brings him food. The angel says, “arise and eat.” He doesn’t say anything else to him, nothing, not one word of therapy or counsel or encouragement or rebuke. And he tells him to eat a second time, but not until Elijah has had time to lay down and sleep.

Ruth Haley Barton talks about this in her book, Invitation to Solitude and Silence. Before anything else, she says, we must deal with our physical depletion. Sometimes, the most important spiritual thing we can do is get our rest. We must surrender and listen to our exhaustion. We must linger with our awareness of fatigue. Wonder about your tiredness, she says. Notice your weariness with compassion: times of solitude and silence are not times for judging, but for noticing. Acknowledge your tiredness as a child would with a caring parent; invite God into it with a prayer.

Often the best parts of solitude retreats for me are the ones that involve taking care of my body: allowing myself to take a nap, being conscious that I am doing so at God’s invitation. Eating my meals slowly, in silence, fully present to the experience. I am learning that my physical weariness is not an obstacle that must be overcome, but an invitation to acknowledge my limits so that I can experience God’s care for me. I am learning to hear God’s voice, which calls me from the depths of woe to say simply, arise and eat. Lie down and rest.