When the sermon hits hard

After all the busyness of the past couple of months, I thought my schedule looked pretty light this past week.

At least it appeared that way, when I sat down to do my planning.

Fewer meetings. Fewer deadlines. Only a few tasks on my to-do list.

I remember thinking, "Wow, this is actually going to be a chill week."

Then I realized I had forgotten something big.

Because even though I'd already written all the content for the Daily Sales Incubator one-day intensive I was teaching on Thursday, I still hadn't prepped any of the slides.

And when you're teaching live for an entire day, that's a lot of slides.

Suffice to say, the week filled up fast.

And once I got into prep mode, that part of me that loves creating new content kicked into overdrive. I was in the zone—tweaking my notes, adjusting phrasing, making sure everything would land just right.

I could feel the energy building, that excitement I always get before I teach something big.

Because I love it. I really do.

There's something about standing in front of a group and pouring into people that always makes me feel like the most authentic version of myself.

And Thursday was magical. The content landed. The conversations were rich. And those breakout groups—where people applied what they learned and gave each other feedback—were on fire.

It reminded me (yet again) that the real transformation doesn't happen when I talk. It happens when people do the work.

But then Thursday night hit.

I had every intention of cooking dinner—I'd already planned the meal and gone grocery shopping. All I had to do was cook. And normally, I love cooking dinner. It's my decompression time. A glass of wine, some music, chopping vegetables—I'm good.

But Thursday night? I was done. Completely tapped out.

I didn't care about dinner. I didn't even care if I ate dinner. I just wanted to sit. Do nothing. Maybe watch TV. Maybe breathe. And definitely go to bed early.

And thankfully, my husband Chuck—who had seen how hard I'd worked all week—told me, "It’s okay honey, you don’t have to do anything. You can just sit."

So we sat. And I rested.

Kind of.

The truth is, even after a quiet night and a slow Friday, I didn't bounce back right away.

Saturday came, and I was still pretty drained. I had wanted to finish decorating for Christmas, catch up on house stuff, knock a few things off the list, be productive—but I couldn't quite get there.

I made some sourdough. Did a lot of scrolling. Listened to a podcast. That was about it.

Then Sunday came. We watched church online, because after not being as productive as I would have liked to be on Saturday, I had a whole list of things I wanted to get done. Planning my week. Cleaning the house. Laundry. Meal planning. Grocery shopping. All the things.

And wouldn’t you know it, the sermon was about rest.

Not just rest like "go take a nap." But the real kind. The kind that's actually commanded in the Bible. The kind that's holy.

The kind I'm not very good at.

We need rest, our pastor explained, because "rest is when God does His work in us."

He went on to explain that the difference between work and rest is that work is anything you do to be productive. So if you spend time in your garden because you love it, and it’s relaxing, and you enjoy the sunshine and it makes you feel closer to God, then it could be rest.

But if you’re spending time in the garden because you need to get those beds weeded so they look nice before your Mother-in-Law comes over, then it’s work.

Oof. It was a lesson that hit me harder than I expected.

Because I love productivity. I love getting things done. I never not have a to-do list or a plan. Even on the weekends.

But what if I'm missing something?

Wayne Muller once wrote, "If we do not allow for a rhythm of rest in our overly busy lives, illness becomes our Sabbath—our pneumonia, our cancer, our heart attack." Along those same lines, Eugene Peterson put it like this: "Sabbath is that uncluttered time and space in which we can distance ourselves from our own activities enough to see what God is doing."

In other words? Sometimes we think rest is laziness, when really it's obedience.

And as my pastor explained it, God doesn't need your hustle. He wants your heart—and sometimes He can only get to it when you finally sit still.

So now I'm thinking—what would it look like to actually build rest into my week? To take a real Sabbath? To step back—not because I'm exhausted, but because I trust that God can move more when I stop trying to do everything myself?

I don't have a perfect answer yet. I'm still pondering.

And honestly? That realization hits especially hard right now, as I'm gearing up for Ignite Your Best Year Yet. Because maybe your "best year" isn't just about vision and goals. Maybe it's also about creating space—on purpose—for God to move.

So here's my challenge for you (and myself) this week.

Take one full hour to rest. Not to scroll. Not to "recover" while multitasking. Actually rest.

Sit. Be still. Breathe. Worship. Pray.

I know it feels unproductive. (Believe me, I know.) But maybe that's the whole point.

Live with purpose, friend, and have an amazing week!

xoxo, Ruth

P.S. If this message hit home for you—if you're feeling stretched thin but still craving more out of life—don't miss Ignite Your Best Year Yet. It's five transformational days to clarify your vision, reset your focus, and make space for what really matters. We start soon. And yes—there's time built in for rest, too.

👉 Join Ignite Your Best Year Yet HERE!

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