If you’ve been feeling weary without fully knowing why...

And part of you wants to keep going—growing, creating, producing, staying in motion—but you just don’t have the energy, motivation, or even the desire right now...

You're not alone.

This is exactly where I'm at today.

Fallow

Lately, I’ve been learning about the importance of fallow.

By fallow, I mean the farming term—when a field is intentionally left to rest.

A field isn’t left fallow because it’s failing. It’s left fallow because it’s valuable.

In farming, land is rested so the soil can replenish its nutrients. That rest is what makes future fruitfulness possible.

Fallow isn’t inactivity—it’s preparation.

If a field is constantly seeded and harvested—seed, harvest, seed, harvest—it can look productive for a while.

Crops still grow. Fruit still appears. But underneath the surface, the soil is quietly being depleted.

Eventually, the land loses its fertility. You could say it burns out.

And at that point, no amount of effort can make it fruitful again—until it’s allowed to rest.

You can outproduce your soil before you realize you’ve lost your depth.

This Season

This is something I’m learning in this current season, and it’s new to me.

It came on unexpectedly.

Just before Christmas, I experienced some heavy opposition that shook me more deeply than I anticipated.

Opposition itself isn’t new—I’ve faced it all throughout my Christian journey in different forms—but this time it landed differently.

As accusation often does, it left my soul tired and weary.

What’s surprised me most is how long the recovery has taken. I don’t fully understand why.

Learning about fallow has helped me make sense of this.

I don’t think the opposition is the sole cause of this season. I do think it’s also connected to the level of output and fruit over the past year—content, travel, speaking, coaching.

All of it done from a place of rest, and I've built the capacity to do so over the years.

And yet, I’m realizing there are still deeper dimensions of rest than I’ve known.

Religion tends to say, “Rest once you’ve produced enough.”

Jesus says, “Abide first—and fruit always follows.”

Religion fears pausing. Jesus honors withdrawing.

Religion treats rest as a reward. Jesus treats rest as the starting place.

Letting The Field Rest

Through this fallow analogy, I’m beginning to understand that this season isn’t just about recovery. It’s about replenishment.

This time is for creativity. For revelation. For depth. For future fruit that can only grow in unhurried soil.

Some fruit requires rest before it can exist.

I’ve come to a mature enough place to embrace this.

There are parts of me that want to produce, create, and output—because I genuinely love doing that. But I’m also aware of the lack of energy, creativity, and even desire right now.

That’s created a bit of tension, because part of my work—especially in online coaching—normally involves producing content and showing up publicly.

Some might even ask, “Doesn’t your income rely on your content?”

And I can thankfully say: no.

Coaching isn’t my source. My good Father is.

The algorithm isn’t my concern. Abiding is.

And this isn’t about my output or my ability to keep producing. It’s about His finished work—and His ability to produce His life and fruit in me.

Forcing myself through this—pushing, striving, powering on—would be harmful.

That wouldn’t be honoring the field.

It would be refusing to let it lie fallow.

Effort can’t replace fertility.

A Deeper Kind of Rest

There’s also a quiet layer to this season that I’m only just noticing—the value of withdrawing.

Not in a negative sense. Not avoidance. But in the way Jesus often stepped away from crowds and demands, to stay rooted in the Father.

Withdrawing with Jesus isn't escapism, it's essentialism.

I'll unpack this more in a later piece of content.

Final Words

Sometimes stepping back isn’t a loss of purpose—it’s a way of staying aligned with it.

So I’m learning rest at a whole new level.

Not rest as disengagement. But rest as trust.

Not rest as stopping life. But rest as letting life settle.

As Thomas Merton once wrote:

"There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumb: activism and overwork."

That line feels quietly confronting.

I don’t have neat answers or clear conclusions yet.

I’m not even certain that everything I’m articulating here is perfectly accurate—which is the essence of these HeartNotes.

But this is where I find myself.

It feels new. Unfamiliar. And yet—quietly exciting.

Rest is one of my core messages. And it’s humbling—and honestly beautiful—to realize there are still greater depths of rest I haven’t yet experienced.

If God is inexhaustible, then rest is deeper than we think.

I’m looking forward to sharing from that place—when the soil has had its time, and the fruit is ready to grow again.

1. Where have I been wanting to keep going, even though my energy and desire aren’t there right now?

2. What might my weariness be trying to show me, rather than something I need to push past?

3. What would it look like to trust rest as preparation, not failure, in this season?

For the next few days, release yourself from producing anything new. No fixing. No catching up. Just notice what shifts when you stop trying to create fruit and allow the soil to rest.

Bonus

• How to abide in Christ? Watch this

• Feeling restless? Watch this

• How to be still? Watch this