My hands were doing the work, but I wasn't there. My mind was already on the next task, and the next one, and the next one. I wasn't living my life — I was just completing it. 😔

I think the best thing for me is to learn how to stop. Not stop working — I could never do that. But stop the constant motion long enough to actually be present in my own life. To notice the animals I love. To taste the tea I drink. To feel the prayer I pray instead of just saying the words. ☕

My babushka used to sit on the porch for an hour after work. Just sit. At the time, I thought she was lazy. Now I think she was wise. She understood something I forgot: rest isn't the opposite of work. It's part of the same thing. You can't truly work without resting. You can't truly live without stopping. 🌾

The monastery teaches that God rests on the seventh day. Not because God is tired, but because rest is holy. Because stopping to acknowledge what you've created, what you've done, who you are — that's spiritual. That's where real prayer happens. 💭

I think what I need most is permission to rest. And not just physical rest — spiritual rest. The kind where I let go of always proving myself through labor and just... exist as someone God loves, not because of what I do, but just because. 🕊️

How can I truly give what's best of me if I never stop long enough to know what that is?