She lay there limp, resting in warmth of morning sun pouring through east window, spilling onto bedroom floor.  She found the one small spot and she laid herself down—basking, soaking, resting.

And I watched her.  For moments I watched her eyes closed in slumber, warm rays soothing.

And she looked at peace to me.

Complete peace.

A few hours later, I found her again in another spot—another sun spot where southern light penetrates glass doors creating another small space sized just for her.

And she, the one watching the one resting, she wondered why a dog is wiser than a woman.

While one rested, one prayed.

Oh Lord, I am weary.  The days have been too long with trials.  For three days now, nonstop trials have besieged me and I am done.  I am undone.  Exhausted.  To what can I turn now?  To whom?  Only you can revive a soul like mine in such a place as this.  My fragile, weak, and sinful soul who forgets You in time of great need, forgive me and revive me!  You know my smallness.  You know my weakness.  You see all my sin of self-reliance.  And yet, you smile your holy warmth upon me and invite me to come. ‘Come away with me,’ you call.  But what about my burdens?  They call me loud!  ‘Come away with me,’ I hear you repeat.  ‘Lay your burdens down. Bask in my presence and find rest for your soul.’ Could it be so easy, Lord?  Could rest come so surely?  Just lay myself down—lay my burdens down—and bask in Your presence but for a few moments? 

She wondered why she didn’t come to such places more often and lay her burdens down—burdens that surely creatures can’t carry alone without breaking.  And she considered the creature resting, seeking sun spots, all through the day.  Can she learn?  The one who keeps forgetting and going on in her own strength, seeking peace without the Son through thinking and planning and doing?  In dark spaces she roams, wondering.

She calls it a day and lays her drained frame down to drift into a long night, hoping for some touch of divine while her mind lets go, finally.

And when she awakes she sees a new dawn.

Between dark horizon and thick cloud bank hovering over water, there is light.  A streak of light breaks through, calling a new day, “Come!”

She smiles and gives thanks in the breaking of dawn because He has soothed her in sleep and given her grace to face another day.  Her failures of yesterday are covered and gone, wiped clean away by His love who knows her smallness, her need, her heart that longs for Him.

And she wills to seek Son spots this day, for a dog named Rose reminded that sun burns through the darkest of dark, the thickest of fogs.  And so does the Son, shining love and grace and mercy for all—who come.

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