True Rest

A few weeks ago I finished the edits on a large project, hit send, and padded to our dining room window, gazing across our frozen lawn, as the sun began to dip in hushed descent. A bright cardinal pecked at the feeder, tilting its head after detecting my presence behind the window pane. His brilliant crest stood fluffy in the bite of rushing wind and I smiled, permitting my mind to relax and simply be.

I love to labor, to persevere, to work, and to finish. Whether it is writing, layering shepherd’s pie, tidying the living room, scrubbing the kitchen sink, wrestling with a difficult text of Scripture, knitting a blanket, or weeding the flower garden, I am a happy worker.

During the past six months, which have been filled to the brim with various jobs and commitments and a fair bit of odd drama swirling like an unwanted cherry piled atop my normal rigamarole–the songbirds dotting our yard have carried on in their work: singing merrily, flitting from branch to shrub to feeder, eyes round and alert. They feast on the meaty seed I keep stuffed in the dangling feeder. Yet come early evening, they stop and rest.

It is a lovely pattern.

In this maiden voyage of diverse multi-tasking, I have spent little time in the quiet, pleasant observation of these feathered darlings. I see this only now, detecting a loss of this simple pleasure lodged firmly between my shoulder blades.

A loss of what?

Rest.

For as long as I can remember, savoring nature has been a soft blanket of leisure for my heart and mind, country mouse that I am. While I have continued walking the trail this year, my mind often remained at work, neglecting mental rest. And this is the thing I now see with a rush of hindsight-clarity: I am not made to stave off rest until the i’s in my work are dotted and the t’s in my relationships are crossed.

Silly isn’t it? To keep chugging like a machine?

I am no empress, hovering over my kingdom of work as though the outcome of the next 24 hours is fully dependent upon me. Because it is not. Satan cackles at this silly mantra, licking his chops, because he knows that self-dependence paired with pleasing people will smother my walk with Christ, weaken my spirit, and leave me limping along in life.

To place work above rest in Christ is arrogant. We are fragile, fleshly beings harboring souls—both of which require a ceasing beyond the normal nightly sleep.

We have a chunky wooden sign displayed on our dresser that reads: Give it to God and go to sleep. Isn’t that the way? It is a productive rest, trusting that God is always working on my behalf. Although it seems counterintuitive to productivity, the Lord is glorified when I rest in Him, as such stillness proves a humility born of right standing: He is God and I am not. (Psalm 46:10)

I have learned an important lesson this year–one that I will prayerfully carry into next year as I erase some good things to make time for better things, such as rest.

I invite you to pause in stillness, making time to cease for an entire hour or a full day or even a week. Marvel at the kindness, the goodness, and the faithfulness of God. Feel the peaceful calm that washes over you as you slow down.

Work hard? Yes, as unto the Lord.

And then, like our feathered friends, stop, and remember that true rest sings a song of quiet beauty. Such reliance on the Lord is deeply good.

Be still and know that I am God. ~ Psalm 46:10

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