Nancy and I tell each other what day of the week it is. Often in the middle of the day or when we are sitting on the couch in the evening.

“This is Thursday,” we say.

And we laugh. And we’ve given up feeling bad about not being able to keep track. I’ve worked on Sundays at the hospital for the last seven years, and on Mondays. And it used to be Wednesdays, but now it’s Tuesdays. And some other random days.

So holiday or not, I’m there.

And Nancy’s schedule has shifted, too. And we don’t have anyone in school. So the usual routine markers that help us keep track in a week are something we usually don’t have.

So we tell each other and ourselves what day it is. Embedded in that is information about what we do or don’t have to do today. What we’ve got a couple days to prepare for.

Which is important because we also have another thing we say.

“I’m tired.”

We say that as if we shouldn’t be tired, as if all the conversations and schedule shifts and working and walking and running should leave us energized and constantly refreshed.

It’s hard to rest, to accept that the work we are doing may be as much as we can or should be doing on any given day, in any given week, for our given life. We tend to be oriented toward not measuring up rather than being oriented toward living as being loved.

But just for this week, consider this.

It’s Thursday. Of course you are tired. But remember, you are loved. At least by God. And probably by Nancy and me.