The dishes can stay. The email can wait until morning light finds it. Whatever you carried today — the tight chest, the half-finished worry — you can set it down right here, at the foot of this bed, like a coat you no longer need to wear.
"It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep." — Psalm 127:2 (KJV)
Tonight's prayer Lord, I close my eyes and give You back this day. The hours I spent straining and pushing and trying to hold everything together — You never asked me to grip so hard. Forgive me for the anxious miles I walked in my own head. I think of the sparrows now, tucked into their branches somewhere dark and warm, and I know You see them. You see me. Let my breathing slow. Let my shoulders drop. Thank You for the blanket, the quiet, the mercy that waits fresh in the morning. I am Yours. Amen.
Blessing for your rest May the God who neither slumbers nor sleeps stand watch over you and everyone under your roof tonight — and may you wake to find His mercies already there, new, waiting on the sill like early light.