We live in a culture that often equates rest with laziness.

I went to bed last night with the greatest intentions. With the big kids gone, I planned to do all the chores I never get the chance to do when three needy, grasping children are always two steps behind me. I was going to clean my bathrooms, conquer my laundry pile and organize my bedroom, which of late has become a dumping ground of sorts for clean clothes.

But I woke up this morning on day five of a nasty cold feeling drained. Baby E was cranky and his nose was drippy. We lasted an hour before we both crawled back into bed. Our afternoon didn’t fair much better. We played a little, but I had absolutely no energy. And again we both ended up back in bed.

By the time this evening came, I had folded one load of laundry and started the washer for another.

I felt guilty. I did practically nothing. I was lazy, but I needed the rest.

But wait?

Why does rest need to equal lazy? Is it possible that after five days with a cold, going to and from work, juggling the house, a husband, and three kids that just maybe what my body needed was rest! It needed to catch up on a weeks worth of restless nights. Can I actually let my body recuperate during the first chance it has had without feeing that sinking feeling of guilt?! That’s not to say that I wouldn’t love to look around right now and see piles of folded laundry and sparkling clean bathrooms, but at what point can we as women cut ourselves a break? So right now I am going to let go of the expectations I had of the day, and my disappointment for falling short and accept that today I did exactly what I needed to do. I rested. And it was good.