It is night, dear one, so sleep.
You have forgotten what it’s like to sleep when your eyes begin to close, to wake when your body says yes. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had a restful night, a lucid day.
But it is night, dear one, and there is one keeping watch, so sleep.
You should keep working, you say. You should get things done. There is one more article to read, one more response to write. There is something somewhere on Facebook that you should find out about, there is someone somewhere that you should write. There is one more dish to wash, one more countertop to wipe. One more dish to cook, one more batch of brownies to make. There is always something else, something to think about, something to do that will make them love you, respect you.
But it is night, dear one, and you do not hold up this world. So sleep.
Dear one, dust you are, and to dust you shall return. It’s easy to believe it right now, in your dustiest of moments. It feels like a failure. You don’t like being limited. You don’t like being dust. You try to find some alchemy that can turn this dust to gold.
But there is grace in this dirt. You do not run this earth with your work and your words. So sleep.
Close your eyes, dear one, and as you sleep, let God sing lullabies over you. You are no immortal. You are dust, a creature, and there is no shame in that. You are loved, even now, as your hands are empty, as you do nothing. Even as your eyes close and you lie here like a child. Put down the world, dear one, and say it again and again until you begin to believe it: You are loved.
It is night, dear one. You are dust, and thank God for that. So rest, dear one. Sleep sound until the morning.