“He makes me lie down…”
— not because I ask, but because I need to.
I have tried to keep pace with runners more seasoned than I am. The body knows the cost before the mind admits it—lungs burning, muscles tightening, pride urging me not to slow down.
Life feels much the same. The modern rhythm is relentless, calibrated for endurance I do not have. I match its stride for a while, telling myself I’ll rest later. My soul, like an overworked body, begins to ache—quietly at first, then insistently.
Today I felt that warning. Not collapse, but strain. The kind that whispers before it shouts. I realized how often I confuse faithfulness with speed, obedience with keeping up.
I slowed down on purpose. Not dramatically. Just enough to breathe again. Enough to remember that my life is not a race I am meant to win, only to finish.
Trust, it seems, has a pace of its own. If I do not learn it, I will break trying to keep another.
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