Day 26

Matthew 11:28 “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

You know the feeling.

When there’s nothing left to hold onto—no plan B, no silver lining, no more strength to fake it.

You’ve reached the end of your rope.

It’s a phrase we throw around, but when you’re really there, it’s not poetic. It’s raw. It’s the moment when the busy-ness stops working, when prayer feels like silence, and when every “just keep going” pep talk falls flat.

And yet—that’s exactly where Jesus shows up.

Not with a lecture.

Not with a five-point strategy or 7 magical steps to get your life together.

But with a whisper, “Come to Me.”

He doesn’t say, “Try harder.”

He says, “I will give you rest.”

Jesus has never been attracted to polished people.

He walks into rooms full of exhausted, overworked, over-it souls and invites them to drop the act and collapse into grace.

He isn’t waiting at the top of the rope for you to climb your way up.

He’s already at the bottom, with you.

And where you expect a cold stare or a disappointed sigh, you get arms wide open.

The end of your rope is not the end of His patience. It’s the beginning of His power.

The Gospel is not that Jesus helps those who help themselves.

The Gospel is that Jesus helps the helpless.

He rescues the burned-out, the busted-up, and the beat-down.

He gives rest—not after you recover.

Rest while you’re still limping.

Peace while the pieces are still scattered.

Hope when you can’t see a way out.

Do Something

Where in your life are you hanging by a thread right now?

Where do you feel like the next thing might break you?

Bring it to Jesus.

Not with a plan. Not with a polished prayer. Just your real, tired self.

And hear Him say it again:

“Come to Me… I will give you rest.”

No performance. No pretense. Just presence.

Jesus doesn’t meet you at the top of the mountain.

He meets you in the pit.

At the bottom of the rope.

At the end of your own strength.

And He doesn’t hand you a ladder.

He hands you Himself.

It is finished.

So you can stop gripping, stop pretending, and finally rest in the arms of the One who held you long before you ever started to fall.