Summery hues are skipping into view: deep green verdant hills, bold beach-towel stripes, drippy, fruity popsicles. Suddenly, we find ourselves creating road-trip playlists, building s’mores to eat under the stars, singing with the crowd at a baseball game, or smiling as we scrub garden soil from under our fingernails.
A word is floating on the breeze: Rest.
As the six of us respond to the theme of Rest, notice what emerges in your own soul. Here is Julianne’s perspective:
I swim beneath the surface in deep, indigo water. Of course I can’t breathe but if I could, my breath would be quick and shallow; I am terrified. The bedrock is miles below. In vain I stretch out my legs and try to reach it. There is nothing to stand on. To make it back to the surface, it’s all up to me.
Panic sets in. I start to thrash about, reaching up and out, pressing and pulling and pushing as hard as I possibly can. I make no progress. The water is heavy and dense. My stomach drops. Already I am spent. It seems the abyss might swallow me whole.
Suddenly—mercifully—I wake up.
It’s a recurring dream that preys on a great fear. I suppose that makes it a nightmare. And while the experience happens on a subconscious level, I find I often carry a similar sense of overwhelm into my actual, wide-awake life.
When I am gripped by worry, anxiety and fear…
When a looming decision or bitter regret keeps me up at night…
When I see how she does it compared to how I do it and clearly, I need to do better…
When the expectation is elusive and I rush to go further, strive to climb higher, seek to accumulate more, more, more…
When the never-ending scroll hijacks my attention…
When the pressures to prove and perform crush my spirit…
When insecurity and discontent stare me down…
When I seek to control and over-function every step of the way…
When force and frenzy lead…
When the strain of trying to hold it all together refuses to relent and I quickly unravel…
…my soul thrashes about in the abyss. I live drowning and exhausted. Maybe you can relate?
I long to catch my breath. To find my inner footing. To feel less frantic and more free. To live from a place of rest—steady, safe, secure.
My subconscious returns to the deep, indigo water. This time, though, I float. I glide to the surface and slowly take in a gulp of clean, crisp air. Each breath—deep and full—quells any panic or terror. I am at ease.
The bedrock is still miles below, yet I feel no urge to reach it. It’s as if a piece of it is already embedded within me—the Bedrock of my being. It is not heavy or burdensome; it is gentle and kind. It acts as a buoy, carrying me, sustaining me, upholding me in the midst of the current.
While the abyss remains, now it is far less daunting. I can dive into it, explore it, move freely within it—refreshed, relaxed, restored.
What might it look like to live that way? To be easy for a moment, even when circumstances are not? To trust and remember the Bedrock of our being as it settles the scramble, quiets the chaos, keeps us afloat?
May the vision become reality. In my life and in yours. Amen.
Julianne is a spiritual director, podcast host {check out the remind{h}er podcast on Apple or Spotify!}, writer, and speaker who helps others remember God's presence, love, and call in the middle of it all. She lives in Florida with her husband, Brad, and their two dogs and cat. Visit www.withjulianne.com to connect and learn more!
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© Julianne Elaine Clayton 2026
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