The art of rest

There are times a crisis hits, and times we cry out for a breakthrough.

And then there are times that we feel almost guilty asking for a breakthrough, almost ashamed of ourselves for not being able to cope, because after all, we're not going through a storm - surely we should be able to hold it together. Yet slowly we feel that we're sinking, being pulled under by meetings, deadlines, to-dos, and day-to-day demands on our time and energy. Like quicksand, this often happens a bit at a time that we don't even realise it, and all of a sudden we find ourselves neck-deep in over-commitment, double-booked calendars, and frenzied multitasking.

At times like that, it feels foolish to ask God for help. Surely I should be able to manage my time better, discipline myself better, continually bask and abide in His strength and presence and love - if other people can cope with the same demands and pressures of life, why can't I? Who am I to ask for special favour and respite from the busyness when other people have to deal with so much more?

But I ask anyway, because I've read that His burden is easy and His yoke is light. And I've heard His voice saying, "Come to me, all ye who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest". So in the midst of my frantic day, as I try to hold it together on this outside, my heart inside is begging God for just a bit of space to breathe.

That's all, God. I'm not asking for a giant miracle or a fiery pillar in the sky. I'm not testing you by setting out a fleece and asking you to prove to me that this is where I'm meant to be, this is what You've called me to. I know You are real. I know You exist. I know You have called me here. It's just my heart is heavy and my hands are tired, and I just want to know You're going to hold me if I start to fall apart. 

And He answers. Not by a bright, blazing message in the stars, not in a mighty voice or a wondrous sign, but in the still, in the quiet. In a meeting that ended unexpectedly early. In a slow drive home and space alone, to think and reflect. In half an hour to grab some coffee and read - slowly, savouring each word, without skimming or speed-reading like I've become so good at doing. He answers in creating time to take a dip for the very first time since I've moved house in the swimming pool at  my condo. In the first home cooked dinner in months, in being able to sit in the living room and listen to my younger brother practice his guitar and realise how good at it he's become.

As I submerge my body beneath the cool water and the noise of the world fades to silence, and all I hear is my breathing and the sound of air bubbles climbing their way to the water's surface, as I listen to gentle melodies strummed from the guitar, as I slide my fingers over the textured pages of a book and inhale its old, familiar scent, as I hear pots and pans clanking and smell a hearty meal cooking away, I feel a little bit more human, a little bit more myself.

The good can be the enemy of the best

I'm reminded of a prayer that an Elizabethan sea captain and legendary explorer once prayed:

Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess we have lost our thirst for the waters of life; Having fallen in love with life, we have ceased to dream of eternity. And in our efforts to build a new earth, we have allowed our vision of the new heaven to dim.

The good can be the enemy of the best, it's often been said. And it's in this feeling like falling apart that I'm learning not to lose sight of what really matters. In my efforts to lead a full, productive, meaningful life, I need to remember the importance of things like rest. I need to pay more attention not to what the world is saying - that I need to do more in order to be more, but to what He's saying, and has always been saying: that His final gift of creation, His pièce de résistance, is rest. His fourth commandment, the command that bridges the first three (how to relate to God), and the remaining six (how to relate to other people), was given to help us relate to both God and people better.

"Remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy..." By honouring the Sabbath, a day of rest, of surrender, we are recognising that the world doesn't go round because of our efforts. We are acknowledging a greater Source to it all. We are remembering that our time and our days don't belong to us, but to Him. That it is our duty to steward that time wisely. That in our efforts to make the world a better place, it is still not our home, and only in knowing that are we able to let go of the cares and worries of this world and find a deeper, truer rest that comes from knowing where we're going.

In today's 24/7 world, we feel almost embarrassed to admit that we need a break. As if resting is something only slackers and lazy people people do. But it takes a certain strength and grace to go against that current, just drop everything, and tune out to reconnect with what really matters. Yes, God gave me extra time today, but I also had to do my part - I said no to other things I could have filled it up with, and I cleared my calendar for dedicated rest.

It is an art to carve out pockets of time and space for your soul to just breathe. Popular author Stephen Covey calls this art "sharpening the saw", and this ancient art is probably the antidote for all of our 21st century problems - burnout, the collapse of relationships, depression, and all the modern illnesses related to chronic stress.

"Come to me, all ye who are heavy laden..." This invitation is open to all, if only we would take it. He is always there, speaking in the silence, if only we would listen.