Hi folks! Erika here. My novella Fear Not Tomorrows is being published in Wild Blue Wonder Press’s collection Springtime in Surrey along with novellas by seven other authors. (You can preorder the book here or join the blog tour here.) Rachel’s story The Odd Duck Society is one of them, and I’ve been honored to work with her on this collection over the past several months. Today she’s sharing some thoughts on rest with us!
I’m Rachel Leitch, and I’m so honored to chat with you on Erika’s blog! I’m the author of The Odd Duck Society in Springtime in Surrey. Whether it’s in The Odd Duck Society, one of my young adult historicals, or a blog post, I love talking about self-love. The good kind—resting and content in who God created you to be physically, emotionally, and mentally.
At this point in my life, I balance writing (which will eventually be my full-time career) and working as an elementary school paraprofessional. A couple months ago, a kindergarten classroom taught me something important about that kind of rest.
One of the interesting things about that job is getting to see how different teachers manage different situations. It’s neat to watch how their unique personalities influence the simplest of things.
Like morning meetings, where all the students gather on the rug and have a little chat first thing.
Some teachers use it to update kids on what’s going on during the day or the week. Some use it as a chance for students to share about their previous week or evening. Some use it as a teaching opportunity to work on behavioral concerns.
And the kindergarten teacher I work with uses it to teach students about mental health.
Every morning, she asks her students to give her a thumbs-up, thumbs-in-the-middle, or thumbs-down to show how they’re feeling that morning. Then they may say one thing they want to say.
When a student gives her a thumbs-down, she doesn’t freak out or demand to know why they feel that way. She simply asks them if they’d like to share why.
Sometimes they do. Other times they don’t say anything at all. And other times they say something completely unrelated.
Their teacher doesn’t push for answers that may not be there. She just lets them share how they feel and listens carefully.
Many mornings, I wish I had a spot on the rug. That someone could ask me how I’m doing, and I wouldn’t automatically jump to the “I’m good” reaction. That I could say I’m not having a good day and not feel as if I have to give the three-hour explanation as to why. But on the other hand, I wish I could honestly say what’s on my mind.
But when I thought about it a little bit more, I realized it’s not that people don’t ask. It’s that I don’t answer.
Do you ever feel the same way?
Rest in this: it’s okay to not be okay.
It’s okay to give a thumbs-down. Everybody has bad days and it’s time we came out and said it.
In Marissa Meyer’s Alice in Wonderland inspired novel Heartless, the Raven says, “To be all right implies an impossible phase. We hope for mostly right on the best of our days.”
We’ve got this idea that if we’re all right all the time, we’re somehow stronger than the rest. We’ve got this idea that stronger automatically means better.
We forget so quickly that Jesus didn’t come to save those who were perfectly find and had it all together. He came to save the ones who were lost, who were sick, who were not okay.
We forget so quickly that God told us outright that we will have trouble, but that in our weakness, He makes us strong.
I love Marissa Meyer’s quote, because it points out that even the people we think have it all together are really just mostly right, even on their best days. And it’s a reminder that even on our best days, there’s something far better coming.
We’re living in the beginning of our eternity right now, and what we have coming is going to far outweigh the sorrows we feel now. To be frank, I don’t understand how that will happen, because the now hurts a lot. But I think I can believe it will.
Author Nicki Koziarz adds, “It’s okay to not be okay, but it’s not okay to never be okay.”
To say that you’re having a bad day, or to allow your friend to tell you they’re having a bad day, isn’t saying that life is all bad or that it always will be. You can’t help a sick person unless they tell you their symptoms. You can’t begin turning a bad day into a little bit better one unless you admit that things are not okay.
Rest in this: It’s okay to not have the reason why.
Some days you just don’t feel good. Other days you know exactly why you don’t feel good, but you wish you didn’t have that reason.
I am very much an internal processor. When something stressful happens, it might take me hours or even days to be able to put into words what I’m feeling.
So often when people know something upsetting has happened and they ask me, all I know is I’m not okay.
In one of those times, a coworker simply gave me a hug when we met at recess. I say simply, as if it were something small. It wasn’t. “Are you okay?” she asked.
She does this every day, so I didn’t see anything different about it. I didn’t realize she was aware of the situation, so I simply said, “I’m good” in a fake cheerful way that I’ve perfected for just such an occasion.
“Really?” she asked.
Something clicked and I realized she knew. But I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t have the words to tell her what was going on, what I was feeling, that it felt like every emotion was colliding at once inside of me. But I felt like I needed to say something, that she expected some answer.
She said exactly what I needed to hear right then. “I don’t know the details. And I don’t need to know. But I’m here if you ever need anything.”
Her response reminded me that I don’t have to have it all figured out. Even when I don’t understand what I’m feeling, God knows perfectly and has had it all figured out from the very beginning. He knows how I got here and exactly how He’ll bring me out. He’s not confused at all.
Rest in this: It’s okay to explain why.
Venting is not complaining. While there is a very fine line between the two, there is a difference.
Sometimes I need to get the words out to understand that they are only feelings. Sometimes you have to get the feelings out before you can see the facts and reconcile the two.
It’s okay to be sad something happened. It’s okay to be angry. It’s what we do with those feelings that defines it.
Earlier this week, a coworker I haven’t seen in a while subbed for a teacher on the playground. We work in different areas of the school, but do similar things, so she asked how I was doing.
I knew her and was comfortable enough with her to tell her that I wasn’t doing okay and to explain some of the stress I’d been under at work.
She didn’t have all the answers. But she listened and she made me feel safe to say that I wasn’t okay with what was going on.
When I experienced the first death in my extended family, someone told me God wasn’t afraid of my feelings. I struggle to remember that sometimes. It’s just so easy to think I have to submit a pretty, polished prayer. That I can’t have questions or hurts. That I can’t ever speak out of turn.
Prayer is communication with God. And He already knows what you’re feeling and isn’t turned away at all. He is patient.
So get the words and feelings out, even if they seem silly. Just getting them out is one of the best things you can do, and there is no safer person than Jesus. Lay them before Him and allow Him to help you make sense of them.
Maybe that will happen quickly. Maybe it will take years. Maybe you’ll never know.
Maybe today you can start by imagining that you’re sitting on that kindergarten rug. Everybody’s going around the circle sharing how they feel—you’re surrounded by people who love and care about you. Maybe it’s a thumbs up today. Maybe in the middle. Maybe it’s a thumbs down.
Maybe you’re the one that needs to admit you’re not okay. Maybe you’re the one who needs to be vulnerable.
Or maybe you’re the one who needs to listen. To not need all the details and to just be.
Any way it goes, you know you’re going to be listened to and loved.
Because the reason that it’s okay to not be okay is because God loves us. He loved us when we were sinners—when we were definitely not okay. He isn’t afraid of our mess or of anything that we feel or experience. He knows we’re not perfect and He’s preparing a place where everything will be entirely okay, entirely all right forever.
But for now, He listens carefully. He doesn’t push for answers that aren’t there. He doesn’t overreact or need to know all the details.
He just wants to love us.
Kind of like a kindergarten teacher.
I’m excited to explore this rest in my story The Odd Duck Society. I hope that this anthology will be a breath of fresh air, a sigh of relief for you.
Rachel Leitch lives her own adventure in northern Indiana, with her parents, three sisters, two brothers, and a dog who thinks he’s the hero of her story. She writes young adult historicals with a dash of adventure or a spark of magic. When she’s not hidden away writing, she’s trying to fit all her reads on her shelf in a somewhat organized manner, obsessing over character arcs, drinking chai, daydreaming at the piano, or teaching students to be just as bookish as she is. In all her adventures, she learns how to shine brighter for the Father of Lights.
Fantastic thoughts on rest, Rachel!