There is a specific kind of exhaustion that sleep cannot fix. You know the one. It’s that heavy, static-filled feeling in your chest where your "to-do" list is screaming, but your soul has gone completely quiet. You’re moving, you’re producing, you’re showing up: but you feel like a ghost in your own life.
If you’ve been feeling disconnected from your purpose lately, I want you to know something: You aren't "broken," and you haven't "lost it." You’ve just drifted away from the sanctuary of your own heart.
For me, that drift usually happens when the "hustle" replaces the "holy." As someone who moved from the high-stakes world of finance into the deep, messy work of chronic illness advocacy and publishing, I’ve had to learn the hard way that purpose isn't something you chase: it’s something you return to in the quiet.
Welcome to the first of our Sunset Sabbath series. This isn't about rigid rules or checking a religious box. It’s about a gentle invitation to find sanctuary in the middle of your storm. It’s about moving from a "doing" relationship with God and yourself into a "romance with stillness."
In the Western world, we often view "rest" as a lack of activity. We think of it as a nap, a Netflix binge, or finally clearing the laundry pile. But in the biblical account of creation, rest was something much more profound.
In Genesis 2, the text tells us that on the seventh day, God finished His work and He rested. But Jewish scholars, like Abraham Joshua Heschel, point out a beautiful nuance: something was actually created on the seventh day. That something is called Menuha.
Menuha isn't just "not working." It is a created state of peaceful, joyous stillness. It is the atmosphere of a world at harmony. When we enter into a Sabbath: a sacred pause: we aren't just taking a break from our jobs; we are stepping into the sanctuary of Menuha. We are giving ourselves permission to exist without needing to justify our existence through productivity.
When you feel disconnected from your purpose, it’s often because you’ve spent too much time in the "doing" and not enough time in the "Menuha." You’ve forgotten the sound of your own voice because the world’s demands are so loud.
I grew up with the Sabbath. It was part of the rhythm of my childhood in Harare: the morning prayers, the hymns, the specific way the air felt as the sun began to dip on a Friday evening. But as I got older, especially during my years in London’s corporate sector, the Sabbath started to feel like another "rule" I was failing to keep perfectly.
I had to shift my perspective. I had to stop seeing it as a law and start seeing it as a romance with stillness.
Imagine a date with your own soul. No phones, no deadlines, no "shoulds." Just you, a candle, a warm cup of tea, and your journal. This is where healing begins. This is where your healing journey finds its map.
If you’ve been looking for a manifestation journal or a self-care journal, what you’re really looking for is a tool to help you hear what God is whispering to you in the dark. Our Still Rising journal was designed specifically for these moments: the "in-between" seasons where the old you is gone, and the new you hasn't quite arrived yet.
Before we dive into the prompts, let’s set the scene. Healing doesn't happen in a vacuum; it happens in an environment of care.
Choose 2 or 3 that resonate with you tonight. Don't rush. We aren't rushing here.
Healing isn't a straight line. It’s a series of returns. You return to the breath. You return to the page. You return to the belief that you were created for more than just survival.
At Chiedza Innovations, we believe that transformation begins when you give yourself permission to write your own story. Whether you are navigating chronic illness, a career shift, or just a heavy season of the soul, our resources are here to hold you.
If you’re ready to start your healing journey with more than just a blank page, explore our collection of guided journals and digital resources. And if you want more reflections like this delivered straight to your heart, join us at The Gentle Resolve.
Let the sun go down. Let the work wait. Your purpose is still there, waiting for you in the stillness.
Stay soft,
Ngonie
