Feasting on Truth: A Better Way to Start Your Day

The floor is cold beneath my feet as I step into the kitchen, flipping on the tea kettle with a quiet click. Steam curls into the air as I reach for my simple, white mug, the warmth of it settling into my hands moments later. I sink into my recliner, tucking my Snoopy blanket around me, content to sit in the quiet.

But before I can even take a sip, the thoughts begin their slow, creeping tide.

I’m so tired.
I don’t want to go to work today.
There’s too much to do, and I don’t have the energy for any of it.

I don’t say the words out loud, but I don’t have to. My body already knows them.

My jaw tightens. My shoulders creep toward my ears, the tension curling around the back of my neck. The weight of too much to do presses down before the day has even begun. And with it, a quiet dread settles in—coloring everything before I’ve taken a single step.

It’s automatic now, this murmuring under my breath—complaints woven into my morning routine like muscle memory.

I’m not lying.
I am tired.
My to-do list is long.

But I’ve started to notice something: rehearsing these thoughts doesn’t lighten the load. It adds weight to it.

A guest speaker at church recently told a story about a friend who had been out jackrabbit hunting. He described how the wounded rabbit cried out in pain, its sharp whines piercing the stillness of the desert. And then he said something that stopped me cold—

The sound was drawing in predators.

The jackrabbit wasn’t alone in its suffering. The coyotes had heard it. And they were coming.

I couldn’t shake the image.