What Ruby Taught Me

What you’re looking at here is a real-life image of power.
This is Ruby Jane, age 3, absolutely thriving.

Wrapped in her favorite blanket.
Fresh from the bath and glowing.
New mani/pedi from her older sister, Lila.
Cucumbers on her eyes.
Hydrating mask in place.

Not a care in the world.

She wasn’t performing rest. She wasn’t trying to prove anything.
She just let the moment hold her.

As funny and adorable as it was to witness, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was teaching me something.

I think that’s sort of the gig as a dad—if you’re paying attention, you catch these little flashes of something bigger and let them work on you a bit.

I’ve never been great at rest.

I like building. Creating. Solving problems. Moving things forward.

Rest has often felt like a pause I had to earn.
If I’m honest, I’ve spent a lot of my adult life confusing rest with laziness.

Somewhere along the way, I bought into the lie that movement equals value.
That my worth was tied to how much I could carry, how quickly I could move, or how well I could hold it all together without flinching.

And while that drive has served me in a lot of ways—built things I’m proud of, pushed me through hard seasons—I’m learning it’s not the whole story.

I don’t want to lose my bias toward action. That’s in my bones.

But I am learning to quiet the voice that says I have to earn rest.
I’m learning to trust that being still doesn’t mean I’m falling behind.

It’s a heavy way to live—always proving, always pushing.

But the older I get, the more I realize:
Sometimes, forward looks like stopping.
Sometimes, growth looks like stillness.

And every now and then, something interrupts that pattern—quietly, beautifully—and reminds me of a better way.

So maybe this is just a post about a 3-year-old with cucumbers on her eyes.
Or maybe it’s about something deeper.

Maybe it’s about remembering that rest isn’t weakness.
That stillness isn’t laziness.
That sometimes the most courageous thing we can do is stop striving long enough to remember we’re already loved.

Ruby wasn’t trying to earn anything in that moment—she was just receiving what was offered.

And maybe that’s the invitation for all of us.

To slow down.
To be fully where we are.
To let the moment hold us.

That’s all for today.

Godspeed.

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