The dishes are done or they're not — either way, the kitchen will hold them until morning. The emails, the worries you turned over fourteen times today, the thing you said that you wish you hadn't — set them on the floor beside the bed, like shoes you no longer need to wear. He is already holding what you couldn't carry.
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." — Matthew 11:28 (KJV)
Tonight's prayer Lord Jesus, You said come — and so I come, tired and a little frayed at the edges. I hand You the weight I've been hauling since morning: the fear about money, the ache over that relationship, the small failures I keep counting. Take them. Your shoulders are broad and Your invitation was not a suggestion. Let my body feel the mattress beneath me as something like grace — solid, given, enough. Guard the people I love while my eyes are closed. Guard this house. And thank You — genuinely, deeply thank You — that Your rest is a gift You actually mean to give. Amen.
Blessing for your rest May the God who neither slumbers nor sleeps keep watch over you and everyone under your roof tonight. Sleep well, dear one — you are held.