My kids have the flu, and I think I do too. It’s exhausting caring for sick children while feeling sick yourself. Yesterday was the first day of the spring semester back at the university where I adjunct teach. I wanted to call out, my body needed rest, and my kids needed a mother’s TLC. But since it was the first day of school, I didn’t want to set a bad example by calling out on day one, so I mustered what I had and showed up anyway.

My high school daughter took one for the team and stayed home to help watch the younger kids while I went to work. By the end of the day, she wasn’t feeling well either, and the house was a disaster. I don’t know if I made the right choice because after a full day at work, I came home exhausted. I got into bed and didn’t have the energy to get up and keep up with the Tylenol, Motrin, and cough medicine doses. Instead, my four-year-old son came to my bed with his silly blue plastic toy glasses, a doctor kit, and a jar of Flintstones vitamins to make me better. I didn’t even ask how he got them in the first place, yet I dreadfully knew, it involved climbing on top of the cabinet.

I find myself wishing for a retreat. A writing retreat. A spiritual retreat. Time away to rest, pray, and be alone. I think about Jesus. I wonder how He found the energy to speak to crowds, day after day. Did His voice grow hoarse? Did He feel tired and weary?

We know He sought solitude. We know He withdrew to pray, to the desert, to the sea, to quiet places away from the crowds. We know He also spent time with friends who restored Him, like Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.

Even wishing for a retreat shows how far I have to remove myself from my life and responsibilities to get rest. I don’t make rest part of my lifestyle, even on Sundays. The Sabbath is supposed to be part of our Christian way of living. And yet, who truly unplugs? Who really stops? On any given Sunday, you’ll find me doing laundry for the week, finally tackling the dishes, decluttering the house, grocery shopping, catching up on everything I didn’t get to during the week.

There are weekend things that lift my spirit: attending Mass, going to the library, and taking a walk. I used to volunteer at a Respect Life center and at a horse rescue ranch. I realize now that volunteering felt easier than resting because I was still doing something. It’s actually doing nothing that I need to work on.

So, what’s the problem? Why is rest so hard?

We feel guilty lying down when work remains undone. Doing nothing feels irresponsible, especially for mothers. Lying sick in bed reminds me of O. Henry’s short story, The Last Leaf. Johnsy is sick with pneumonia and convinced she will die, when the last leaf falls from the vine outside her window. Her friends come together to care for and encourage her, but Johnsy has already given up. She has decided that her life no longer has value. Could it be from her bedridden state? Does she feel useless, a burden to her friends?

An old artist named Behrman paints a leaf on the wall during a storm, which ultimately costs him his life. Johnsy never sees the sacrifice. She only sees the leaf that made it through the storm. That quiet sign of beauty and resilience restores her will to live.

Behrman’s sacrificial act is Christlike. His final masterpiece teaches Johnsy that the world around us is a gift from God, that we should seek the meaning of life in the beauty God gives us. He restores us with flowers, birds, a breeze, and love.

Today, my kids are in the living room watching Disney shows while I rest in bed. It’s raining outside. The house is a mess. The dishes need to be done. And yet, because we’re all sick, I’ve given myself permission to stop.

That’s the part that unsettles me.

Why does it take being incapacitated for me to rest? 

I still have far to go in trusting God with unfinished work, sick children, and a life that doesn’t always look productive. For now, I’ll accept this rainy day as a small gift from God, a remedy for my soul.

copyright 2026 Janet Tamez