The weariness of body and soul presses heavily upon you, and you cry out for peace and restful sleep. This is natural, for our frame is dust, and even the most fervent spirit grows faint within a vessel of clay. Yet consider what kind of peace you seek, and what kind of sleep you desire. Not every peace is a good peace, for there is a peace among robbers and a concord among those who conspire against God. The peace that comes from the Father severs us from what is diseased, cuts away the mutinous within our own hearts. It is a peace purchased by the sword of the Spirit dividing soul from spirit, joints from marrow, discerning the thoughts and intentions. If you ask only for the ease of your limbs and the quieting of your thoughts without this severing, you ask for the peace of the sluggard, the sleep of those disciples in Gethsemane who slumbered while their Lord agonized.
You feel exhausted, and rightly so, for this life is a race and the course is steep. But reflect on the example of Paul, who in hunger and nakedness, scourged daily, was yet joyful and went more softly than any emperor. His peace was not the absence of toil but the presence of a good conscience. The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, and this fruit grows only in a soul that has first been pruned by holiness. You ask for restorative sleep tonight. Good. But do not suffer your foot to be moved while you wait for it. The guarding of yourself is not passive. He who keeps Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps, yet He commands you to watch and pray. Lie down, yes, but first examine what has exhausted you. Has it been the honest labor of love, the weariness that comes from bearing one another's burdens? Or has it been the restless churning of anxieties, the smoldering embers of wrath that you have raked over in the night watches, the plotting of deceits, the grasping after what is not yours?
If your exhaustion comes from wrestling with sin, then the rest you need is the rest that remains for the people of God, the rest into which we enter by faith and obedience. But if your exhaustion comes from the ordinary burdens of a faithful life, then hear the Apostle: Rejoice, be perfected, be comforted, be of the same mind, live in peace. And the God of love and peace shall be with you. He does not merely recommend this; He prays it for you, and He promises it. God delights not in your collapse but in your steadfastness. He is not a tyrant who drives His servants until they break. He sets His rewards before you even in the midst of the course, holding them out by the words of the prophets as by many hands.
So pray for sleep, but pray also for the waking that is better than sleep, the watchfulness of the soul that clings to Christ. Ask for strength for tomorrow, but know that His strength is perfected in weakness, and that the power you need will be given at the hour you need it, not before. Your feelings are real, but they are not your master. Even Jesus, in the days of His flesh, knew exhaustion, and He did not rebuke His own endlessly but went apart to pray. Follow Him there. Commend your spirit into the Father's hands, not with frantic pleading but with the quiet trust of a child. The mercy-seat has spoken words greater than any earthly comfort, words about heaven and the life to come, things new and passing understanding. Let those words be your pillow. The night will pass. The earthquake that shakes the prison may come, but the bonds will be loosed and the doors opened. Only do not, when you find yourself safe, think all is well and return to your old securities. Be overcome with awe at the miraculous power that has kept you, and ask the question that alone matters: What must I do to be saved? Then the peace you sought in your exhaustion will find you, not as a fleeting sensation but as the presence of God Himself, the God of love and peace, who will be with you.