My family traveled to Nashville on Wednesday afternoon and back on Friday evening. As with any Justus League excursion, we had a great time and packed a lot into the two day trip. The drive itself takes just over 3 hours from where we live, depending on traffic and how optional the driver considers the speed limit.

Thursday’s sightseeing helped me reach over 12,000 steps on my pedometer, between the tour of the capital, walking to Broadway, the farmer’s market, and the Nashville monument mall. Despite 4 hours in the car on Friday, I still logged over 10,000 steps for the day. Before leaving town we toured the Nashville Parthenon, and walked all over the Opry Mills mall.

 

I unpacked immediately upon arriving home late Friday night, so that I could enjoy the weekend fully. Instead, I spent my first few hours Saturday morning taking care of adult responsibilities, namely driving to work and all around my neighborhood looking for a package that was delivered Wednesday after we left.

More than just physical fatigue, I had the emotional roller coaster of worrying about the $400+ contents of that package and thinking them lost forever. (Spoiler alert: UPS delivered to the wrong neighbor, but not the neighbor that makes sense. All is now right with the world.)

Yet somehow yesterday, my exhaustion hit me unexpectedly. My emotions seemed to be running the show, with lethargy following closely behind. Despite the work of travel – packing, unpacking, getting the house cleaned to leave, prepping my coworkers on things which would need attention while away – I thought I should come back from this trip refreshed.

Has it really been that long since I’ve been on vacation? I too easily believe the lie that because I’m not a mother, self-care is optional for me. Or rather, because I don’t have children everything I do in life is self care. While it’s true my responsibilities don’t look the same as a mother, that doesn’t mean I don’t have obligations in my life. While I can do nothing to change others believing this lie, I must confront my own belief. Yesterday took me far longer than it ought to assess the situation and realize what I needed.

When I finally realized that not only should I not shame myself for vegging on the couch, but that’s exactly what my body needed, my spirits start to lift. I popped myself some popcorn, cracked open a Pepsi and hung out with Michael Scott and the rest of the crew from The Office until Jay got home from the grocery store. (Coming Soon: A blog about how I love that Jay does the shopping now that he’s all keto-fied.) I helped him carry the bags in, but left him to put them all away. (No seriously he is a tad OCD and prefers to do it himself.) Then we settled in and watched Super Troopers 2, a movie he’s been wanting to see since it first came out.

I’m fairly proud of my ability to (eventually) recognize why I felt the way I did, and to embrace a night of rest. In the (southern?) Christian lady culture, rest seems to be confused with laziness too easily. While Netflix and The Office isn’t quite sitting at Jesus’s feet, we really can learn much from the story of Mary and Martha.

Despite being all over the inter-webs, I needed the reminder. Maybe you do too.

 

It’s okay to rest.

 

If its good enough for the Creator of the Universe, it is most definitely good enough for me too.

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