Fullness & Fatigue

Michael Andres

Reading

He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”
Matthew 13:31-32

Reflection

There’s a popular meme I’ve come across more than once online, usually having fun at the expense of the planners and organizers among us. With varied pretexts, the joke goes:

“I am a go-with-the-flow kind of person…as long as I know when the flow is going to begin, what supplies or wardrobe might the flow require, do I need to bring snacks, who else is going to be in this particular flow, and about how long the flow can be expected to last.”

Might hit a little too close to home for me.

As an introvert, I find myself regularly making calculations about the amount of bandwidth I possess in order to “people” well with others—to show up, be present, and stay engaged with the folks I love and share my life with. Maybe some of you are a little like this too, and if not, chances are, you probably know someone who is.

Between our families, our professions, our community, and friends, there is only so much of ourselves we can physically distribute in a given day. (This is true for extroverts too…regardless of our hardwiring as individuals, we’re finite, y’all.)

On good days—the days which feel endlessly and joyously full, the days when our souls feel most alive and when our temporal environments seem to truly reflect the divine and mysterious truth of our blessing as children of God—this delicate balancing act results in us feeling full.

But here’s the thing about fullness: it’s heavy. Even the best days—the ones spent in the company of those we love, laughing until we can’t breathe and our stomachs hurt, lingering in long and sweet places around the table or the living room floor—can leave us feeling the weight of it all. Not in the sense that we’re drained, though our feet and backs and bellies may disagree, but in the way that comes from being completely spent, poured out in the best way possible.

Those days are good.

When God created the heavens and the earth, our faith tells us that the words which followed God’s generative work in the beginning were: It was so good, so very good. I think one of the ways we recognize God at work in our lives is when we find ourselves whispering the same—when we pause, even in our weariness, and know deep within that something was truly good.

We were made for this. Not to hoard time or energy, not to guard ourselves from love in order to avoid pain, but to give ourselves away to what matters most. When we do, we find that even in our fatigue, we are being made more human, growing more into the likeness of Jesus.

None of us are perfect. We’re going to screw things up, not show up well for others, and disappoint them and ourselves too. That’s okay. It’s good news, actually. Because in God’s world, even the smallest things—our presence, our love, the moments we give ourselves away—take root and grow into something more than we could have imagined.

Maybe that’s the promise hidden in the rhythms of fullness and fatigue—that what we pour out in love doesn’t vanish, but becomes a place where others can find rest and goodness. The time we spend, the laughter we share, the ways we show up—they matter.

In the kingdom of God, even the smallest seeds of presence and care grow into something that provides life beyond what we can see.

PRAYER
God, be with me now—
Restore and soothe my soul.
I find my rest in You.
Be here now.
Amen.