We also offer you our fatigue this evening,
because we are a bit tired
from the various events of this day,
as on many other days.
We are content, Lord,
to offer you this fatigue
because it is our daily vesture.
—Carlo Maria Martini, SJ

I received a tiny prayer book on my retreat, something I vowed to return to after completing my Lenten studies. I’d honestly forgotten about it until three month later, searching through my desk drawers for something else. But in the lull of Ordinary Time, this seems a good time to start.

This is an excerpt from a larger prayer introducing the book, and something I so often forget—offering our weaknesses to God.

It seems such a mundane thing. What could He possibly do with my fatigue? With my mental and physical weariness? I can’t do anything with it. When I’m tired, I’m wiped out. And I feel tired a lot. The last thing I want to do is sit down in honest prayer, lethargic even to communicating with God. There are moments I’m too tired to find the words. I’ve even fallen asleep during prayer. This doesn’t seem all that worshipful, or respectful.

But Jesus Christ himself desires this sacrifice of us.

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest… for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. —Matthew 11:28, 30

He desires our fatigue and our weariness. Not our laziness. (That’s a different matter.) But we’re tired. We work, we struggle, and we fight. But as a result, we get worn down. It’s often too much for us to handle, but it’s never too much for Him.

When I wake in the morning and don’t feel well-rested, offer that up to Him.
When I stare at the piles of work and don’t want to tackle any of it, offer that up to Him.
When I begin to feel the slump of mid-afternoon, offer that up to Him.
When I just want to give up debating the same issues with a friend, offer that up to Him.

Offer Him our fatigue. Our weaknesses. Our hopelessness.
It may seem useless and meaningless.
But anything we offer Him is not.