She is busy being busy
For the sake of love,
For the sake of fear.
She works, serves, speaks
Over the noise of her soul.
Rest always has a companion:
Guilt.
She feels guilty.
For the sake of her imperfections.
For the sake of her busyness.
“You must not stop.”
She sees Mary at Jesus’ feet.
“You must not quit.”
She sees Mary behold the glory.
“That can’t be you.”
She sees the peace on Mary’s face.
The clock is ticking
The work is growing
Her soul is shrinking
Defeated.
She turns her face from Mary
She turns to what she knows
Her hands serve, her feet carry, her mind constructs
Exhausted.
Can she keep going?
“You have no choice”
She turns her face from Mary.
She turns to busyness,
The pursuit of nothing.
The clock is ticking
The work is growing
Her soul is shrinking
She rejects stillness
She keeps going.
But then,
A hand on her shoulder.
She turns, expecting Mary.
She does not find her.
She sees him whom Mary beheld.
The thoughts that once crowded her mind,
They are interrupted
With a realization:
The weight of his hand, it lightened her.
And then,
A single voice,
“Come.”