Finding God's Grace in Weariness

I’m tired, y’all.

I’m tired of waking up already exhausted.

I’m tired of researching the perfect mix of supplements, vitamins, and herbs, hoping something—anything—will help regulate my body.

I’m tired of feeling sad and heavy with grief.

I’m tired of waiting…and hoping…for a period.

I’m tired of trying to figure it all out.

I’m tired of fighting silent battles.

I’m tired of pushing through fatigue just to do the simplest things—staying caught up at work, keeping my home together.

I’m just tired, yall.

In moments like this, I find myself angry with the Lord, and that anger gets in the way of my prayers.

I imagine myself shaking my fists to the heavens and saying, " You could’ve fixed this yesterday. You could’ve stopped this already, and yet You chose not to.

I imagine how different it might feel if I just had an answer—no or not yet—but instead there is silence. And that silence feels heartbreaking. It feels lonely. It hurts.

But as I lay here in my bed, scriptures begin to surface—ones I’ve heard before, but maybe never needed like this.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

“Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

“Therefore He is able to save completely those who come to God through Him, because He always lives to intercede for them.” (Hebrews 7:25)

And then this one—the one that reaches deep into my memory: “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

That was one of my Dad’s favorite scriptures. When my anxiety was high, and I would come to him overwhelmed, he would let me talk. He would listen. He would let me pour it all out—every fear, every frustration, every tear. And when I was finished, he would gently point to the sign he had written and hung up: Be still and know that I am God.

It felt like a reminder to calm down, to stop worrying, to breathe. But now—now it feels deeper. Now I understand that 'be still' doesn’t mean everything around me has to stop hurting. It means I can stop striving for answers I don’t have. I can stop fighting to hold everything together. I can 'be still' in the middle of the unanswered prayers and trust that God is still God.

In that stillness, I begin to see it—how Christ meets me here.

When I refuse to speak to Him, He stays.

When I’m too tired to pray, He intercedes.

When my heart is loud with grief, He invites me into rest.

Jesus doesn’t ask me to have the right words. He doesn’t need me to be strong. He simply asks me to come—and when I can’t, He comes to me. He stands between me and the weight I’m carrying, praying on my behalf, holding me steady.

Be still now means I don’t have to fix this season. I don’t have to understand it. I just have to know who God is—faithful, present, and near.

And maybe that’s the connection now: the same God my Dad trusted then is the same God holding me now. The stillness isn’t empty—it’s full of His presence. And even here, in my weariness, His grace is still enough.

Signed,

A weary but hopeful woman

Krystal W.