Pinning up our perfect worlds. It is something we are so wonderful at. There is nothing a gleaming smile cannot fix, or well-timed laughter cannot hide.

I see our beauty, glimmering, and porcelain on a computer screen. Inspiring words and bright eyes fill the pages I scroll through. Who just got married, who just graduated, who's alive and well. It makes sense, of course, to post our most beautiful sides. Why would we want otherwise?

However, I have come to see how my own little world is slipping frantically; those lovely tapestries are falling. There's a lot of discord there, now. There are so many questions, anxious thoughts and a heavy heart. I wonder how I can ever have the strength to hold it all up. It hurts, trying to fix it.

I think this is where I will always fall short. Recently, as I sat in a counseling course, one recurring theme was consistently present, "You can't fix it." As desperately as one may try to work, to smooth over what has been hurt, the pain cannot be mended with words alone. This healing, this time of repair, is not something that can be done alone but is something methodical, something that will take ample time.

A friend gently reminded me, in the midst of this burden, of what is found in Matthew 11, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

It is hard to silence a mind. To coddle and reassure it that everything is fine. If the birds do not have to worry, if the flowers refuse it, why can't I? I don't speak these words because I have finally untangled the worry in my heart, I speak them because I've come to a point where I don't want a convenient Jesus, I need a victorious Savior.

Our time with God is not something that is convenient, that's casual; it is something the soul desperately desires. We need to know when to stop, when to silence our minds wanderings and rest in a design that perfect hands have built.

I do not believe this rest is something simply found within eight simple hours, within one small Sunday at the end of the week. I believe it is something we must discipline ourselves in. If not, the sheer weight of these burdens will one day collapse upon us.

And lastly, we cannot build our structures from a shattered foundation within. Our questions, our doubts, do not fall on deaf ears. These things are okay, welcomed even, and will only root us deeper in understanding. As odd as it may sound, you cannot fix it, and that is okay. You are only called to rest, now.