What does the soil of your heart look like?

For me, in these last months of 2024, it’s mostly felt contaminated. Dirty.

But here’s what I’ve realised: the thing that dirties the soil of my heart the most isn’t sin. It’s not pursuing unholiness, nor is it malicious intent. It’s something seemingly “innocent.”

It’s busyness.

Busyness, where I’m so overwhelmed by my inability to say “no” to the endless demands clamoring for my attention. Functions, meetings, places to be, responsibilities—each one legitimate, but together they’re suffocating. Overcommitting. Biting off more than I can chew.

Busyness isn’t gracious. It doesn’t extend time to pause, reflect, or forgive. Instead, it’s the perfect breeding ground for irritability, snappiness, and frustration. The sheer weight of too much to do makes me short-tempered and edgy. The demands are relentless, leaving no margin to be extra loving, kind, or understanding.

When my heart is muddied by busyness, I’m far from my best self—overworked, overtired, and stretched too thin. I become someone who is quicker to take offense, slower to extend grace, and less inclined to reflect the patience and love of Christ.

Perhaps the remedy to a hurried heart is found in these words: “Just as God rested from His works, so we must rest from ours.”

Rest. Not just physical, but a deep, spiritual rest. The kind that stops striving and starts abiding. The kind that makes room for the Father to tend, mend, and replenish the soil of my heart.

Because when I refrain from time with Him—when I allow the urgency of “now” to edge out time for God—the soil becomes hard and dry, unable to sustain life. It’s in those quiet hours, those sacred pauses, that He uproots the weeds, heals the wounds, and nourishes me with what I need to stay spiritually, emotionally, and physically healthy.

But in an age that whispers, “There will be time for God later,” the truth is this: later never comes.

The soil of my heart cannot thrive on leftovers. It needs time. It needs tending. It needs Him.