After a hard day’s work of demanding effort there is a place that I long for that is only a moment. It’s just a moment to stop, to cease, to let go, to be still for the sake of being still, sometimes for sanity. And then the ask comes. Not from one place but from several places. Sometimes simultaneously. From my wife, from my daughters, even sometimes the cats. We let go of our moment and give more than we think we have. Sometimes our body language, our sighing, our short words tell a story that rises above that moment of quietness. It screams something deeper and honestly less holy than we often consider. There is a cost when we let go grudgingly of what we want to do in a moment, and it is often the people around us who pay it.

Mark records a day when rest was planned and did not arrive on schedule:

“The apostles returned to Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. And he said to them, ‘Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.’ For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a desolate place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they ran there on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. And he began to teach them many things.” (Mark 6:30–34, ESV)

Mark takes the need for rest seriously. The invitation came from Jesus Himself, and Mark gives the reason: the apostles had no leisure even to eat. Then the plan meets a crowd. Mark does not tell us whether they rested at all during the crossing. He records what Jesus saw when He went ashore, and why He had compassion: the people were like sheep without a shepherd. The Lord who had just called His apostles to rest answered the crowd’s need by teaching them many things. Both needs were real.

We are often tired. Scripture does not ask us to pretend otherwise. What matters is what we see when the voices calling our name reach us before our rest does. We can see interruptions, or people running up a debt against our patience. We can also see the people we love, each with a need of their own, whether or not the timing suits us.

Paul comes at the same moment from another direction. Writing to a church that prized its spiritual gifts, he insisted that even the most impressive activity without love amounts to nothing, and then he described what love looks like in practice:

“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (1 Corinthians 13:4–7, ESV)

“Not irritable or resentful” speaks to the short words. We can complete exactly what was asked and still answer in a way that makes someone reluctant to ask again. It would be easier to be judged by what we did, since we did give more than we thought we had. Paul never mentions sighing, and a sigh can mean nothing worse than exhaustion. But when the sigh or the short word carries resentment, his description of love reaches it. Then the tone reveals the source.

If we are honest, what the sighing and the short words are screaming is leave me alone right now. Needing a few minutes alone is not the problem; Mark has already shown us that. But we can need those minutes and still be wrong in how we ask for them, and when the asking comes out as resentment, the people we love are the ones who feel it. Paul explains what controls his own life, and he roots it in Christ’s love, death, and resurrection:

“For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised.” (2 Corinthians 5:14–15, ESV)

Christ died for all so that those who live would no longer live for themselves but for Him, and that purpose reaches us even at the end of a day of giving, when all we wanted was a moment. The resentment that sometimes rides along with our need insists on its own way, and Paul has already told us that love does not. Each person calling our name is someone for whom He died.

None of this means every request must be met the instant it is made. The same Lord who had compassion on the crowd had first called His apostles away to rest. Scripture does not give us a set of steps here, but love might look something like this. We can ask someone to wait without making them feel guilty for asking, by saying honestly that we need a few minutes and asking whether it’s urgent. If it isn’t, we come back when we said we would. When our answer has already come out sharp, we can own it plainly without offering our tiredness as the excuse, rather than leaving the people around us to carry the hurt.

I’ve gone back to the person — my wife, my children — when I am short, when I am impatient, when I am frustrated, and asked them to forgive me. I ask God to forgive me too and pray for more of what’s needed in the heart to not get lost in these moments.

The Shepherd stepped off the boat, saw the crowd that had beaten Him to the shore, and had compassion on them. He is the same Lord who died so that we would no longer live for ourselves. Going back to the people we hurt, and to God, is part of learning to live for Him.

Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2016.

Drafted with AI assistance from Herbert Berkley’s own words and reviewed by him.