for those who don't want God's help, and how to find rest in the mess

I rolled my eyes at God this morning. I doubted the promise of today's Gospel.

And it is not so much the "come to me", or the"bring me your burdens". It is the promise of the "you will find rest."

I just came back from a five day stay in Florida for my daughter's National Cheer Competition. It was hard to leave a family and a home and an enormous pile of work; a life that truly feels overburdened to the point of death. I was encouraged to enjoy the time away from the mess that feels like hands wrapped tight around my neck; to treat this like a well deserved vacation. To enjoy the warmth.

It was exhausting. And cold.

And then I came home to even colder. And snow. And laundry. And a bigger mountain of untouched work. And a mother in the hospital. And an important appointment on the calendar that I had completely forgotten about. The mess I left got messier. The burden got heavier.

I do not feel rested.

And so I roll my eyes because I think to myself, "I do come to you!" And so I sit in my pool of doubt and I question God, and by question, I mean I sort of yell at Him, and I stop praying and I start demanding. "TAKE THIS AWAY."

Because the truth is, I do not want His help to make this burden light.

I want Him to take this burden away.

I just want it gone.

It is hard to learn this. It is hard to trust. It is hard to love the cross. It is hard to accept that He is willing whatever it is we are all carrying that makes us feel weary and faint. Why can't He just take the burden away? If He loved us, He would do this. He would take the pain away.

And we do this.

I do this.

And I see loved ones doing this.

We do not want to accept the cross. Not His. Not ours.

And we do not want help from anyone.

Especially help from Him, who wills this.

We do not want to accept this present trial, to accept this illness, to accept this financial burden, to accept whatever the heck it is we have strapped to our backs, and wrapped around our necks, and we do not want to reach out for help in carrying it.

WE JUST WANT IT GONE.

But that is not what He says to me today.

He does not say Come to me and I will make this all go away.

He says come to me, and I will give you rest.

Unlike the world, that screams get rid of anything remotely uncomfortable or unpleasant so you can be happy, Jesus claims that even with this burden, we can have rest. Just come to Him. Even with.

And soon after I roll my eyes at Jesus, this Father of mine, who puts up with so much doubt from me, His precious and beloved daughter, pulls a memory from just days ago to the front of my chaos filled mind. The memory of sneaking away from a hotel filled with cheer moms and daughters, stress and drama, false idols and competitive glares, to a beautiful church I had found on line, just six miles away. And He reminds me of how powerful that hour in His house was, how myself and my friend both sobbed after receiving the Eucharist, and we did not know why. And He reminded me of how nothing in that hour had changed...not the mess at the hotel and not the mess back at home...it was all still there. And yet, it had hit me like a ton of bricks as I kneeled before Him in that place. THIS was the only place I needed to be. Ever. THIS was home. THIS was where I find rest. Annie looked at me and said, "Mom, this is just like we do at church at home", and I praised God for the Catholic Mass, the Universal Church, the unspeakable beauty that I found myself melting into, not wanting to leave. The rest.

When we left the church, a woman with a warm smile who had learned we were visiting from Connecticut exclaimed, "Well, then, you must feel like you are home!" She was referring to the unusual cold front that had hit Florida. But I took it as a nudge from God. Because, yes....going to Mass and being in God's house is exactly, and was exactly, just that. Like being at home.

His presence, when we actively seek it out, truly is the rest we need. The rest does not come from ridding ourselves of our burdens, but rather, in allowing God to share in the carrying of the load. And it goes against every human instinct I have; the instinct to solve every problem on my own, to carry all burdens by my own strength, to just drop it all on the side of the road and run away when the journey and the wait is just too long. Which is why abiding in Him is really a matter of life and death; why visiting Him and being with Him and kneeling in His home is as essential as air in our lungs. And coffee. Because apart from Him, there is no rest.

He says come to me, and when I do...without rolling my eyes, without the spoiled child demands...I am back home. I have found my soul rest. I thank Him for not leaving this all up to me. And suddenly, those hands that felt tight around my neck, turn into the gentle warmth of His hand on the side of my cheek. And I find rest. The mess is still there. The mess is still right here. But so is He.