What Easter shows us about compassion, rest, and responding to ourselves differently
Last weekend, I noticed something.
I felt off.
Not physically more tired. Not emotionally overwhelmed. Just… not quite right inside. I wasn’t entirely sure what I needed, but there was a quiet sense that kept coming back: you don’t have to make this a work day… you can slow down.
And if I’m honest, I don’t think I would have listened to that before. I would have ignored it. I would have made a “to do” list because there is always a “to do” list in my mind. But this time, I paid attention.
I don’t talk about this often, but I believe deeply that God is at work within us. That the Holy Spirit can guide our thoughts in ways that aren’t always obvious. Not dramatic or disruptive, just steady and present in a way that can be easy to overlook if we move too quickly.
Sometimes it’s clear. A pain that tells us that we need to rest. Fatigue that makes us realize we need to stop. Those moments are easier to recognize because they interrupt us.
But other times, it’s less clear. It can feel like a passing thought or a quiet awareness, something that doesn’t demand attention, but is still there. And often, that’s what gets missed.
As I thought about that moment later, I realized how easy it is to move in the opposite direction, to keep going, to fill the space, to stay productive even when something feels off. There is a strong urge for pushing through.
Or is that just from my strong Dutch heritage… from parents who came through the war, where you kept going no matter what?
Either way, that pattern runs deep. And over time, it can start to feel normal: to keep moving, to override what we notice, to continue on simply because we can.
This has been on my mind especially as we move through Easter week. Because when you look at how Jesus moved, there is a steadiness to it that stands in contrast to that kind of pressure.
He didn’t rush people who were struggling. He didn’t place added weight on those who were already carrying a lot. He met people where they were, without urgency and without expectation that they should be somewhere else.
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28
“The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.”
— Psalm 103:8
There is a consistency in how He responded. A willingness to meet people in their need without asking them to push past it first.
And if that is how Jesus responds to us, it’s worth considering how we respond to ourselves.
It’s easy to override what we’re noticing and continue on with what we had planned. To move past that quiet awareness and stay focused on what still needs to be done. And then, often without realizing it, to add pressure on top of it, expecting more from ourselves than what’s actually there to give in that moment.
That afternoon didn’t change anything on the outside. But it created space.
Space to step out of the pattern of filling every moment. Space to let things be unfinished. Space to sit without trying to turn it into something productive. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough for that day.
When you look at the way Jesus moved, gentleness wasn’t occasional, it was consistent. There was no rush, no force, no sense of pressure being placed on the people who came to Him. There was room for them to be where they were, and that response itself was part of what brought healing.
That same kind of response is something we can begin to allow in our own lives as well.
If you’ve noticed that kind of quiet awareness lately—that sense that something is off, even if you can’t fully explain it—you don’t have to ignore it. You don’t have to turn the day into something productive just to justify it.
You may simply need a little space. A moment to step back. Time to refill in a way that isn’t rushed or forced.
Sometimes, the next right step isn’t doing more.
It’s responding with care to what’s already there.