When I come to Jesus trying to fix things and in despair over my humanity, His response is usually the same: He invites me to rest. Always I want to do more, and always He invites me to do less. This has been a consistent pattern for years. It is hard for me to be still and know that He is God (Psalm 46:10). It is hard for me to be still and allow myself to be human.

Growing up in the faith tradition called Seventh-Day Adventism, a 24-hour seventh-day Sabbath is a central component of my faith story. This has its pros and cons. As a performance oriented person who has trouble sitting down and who feels uncomfortable when I’m “relaxing”, growing up with 24 hours of down-time built into my week was an incredible gift. With no effort on my part, I developed a habit that would have felt like sheer torture had I tried to develop it later in life. One of the cons of growing up in a religion centered around Sabbath is that resting on the seventh day can start to work its way up to the level of importance of Jesus’ death and resurrection. There was an unspoken idea (well, occasionally it was blurted right out) that I better not work on the Sabbath if I wanted to be saved. But while avoiding work on the Sabbath was a priority, no one actually talked about what rest looks like (or I wasn’t listening). So here I find myself, keeping a faith tradition of Sabbath that may be as old as time, but I can’t tell you what it means to rest in a Biblical sense. And yet… I am catching glimpses.

October – While reading a novel, I am surprised when tears spring to my eyes at the words of Ellie Whitcomb: “Today’s news is always tomorrow’s liner for the canary cage” (from the novella Engaging Father Christmas by Robin Jones Gunn). This soul-tiredness, this sense of deep responsibility, this desire to get life right – it weighs heavy on me. Knowing that today’s news is no longer news tomorrow is comforting. I take a deep breath. I learn that taking today less seriously might be the oxygen of rest.

October 17 – Lord, will You give me courage to feel sadness, and is it too much to ask to not get lost in it? “Take a deep soul breath,” You say, “You are seen and loved.” Maybe now is not the time to ask You to show me my sin as I was planning to do. Or perhaps this is my sin: trying hard instead of resting in You, and then disconnecting from everyone because trying so hard takes all my energy. I don’t know. I can see You with me all along – waking me up at the exact right moment, giving me the idea of supper by the fire when I was too tired to cook for Friday supper – and Michael suggesting a smoothie and making ramen noodles. You’ve been there in music and stillness and walking me through a lot of days without worrying about my to-do list. I just hate it when I feel like a liability instead of an asset. I want to be strong and good and positive and energetic all the time. I don’t like tired and sad and lonely. But as I sit here I am confident of Your presence in spite of my confusion. And I know You are teaching me that You are in the mess. Perhaps as You embrace me in my messiness I can learn to rest even in the mess. My heart doesn’t have to be vacuumed and dusted for You to be comfortable there. In a way You bring Your own cleanliness with You. And that’s a relief, because if You were waiting on me You’d never be able to move in. Thank You for quieting me with Your love. Sometimes rest comes in getting more comfortable with brokenness. It’s ok to not be ok. This too shall pass. I am called to a life of resting in God’s faithfulness, not a life of trying to be good (or energetic).

October 29 – I feel lost. Am I supposed to have a sense of purpose? What ties together parenting and wifeing and cleaning and texting friends and taking meals to people and being a church? My life feels so scattered. I feel scattered. I have a feeling that the purpose that ties all together is love… but that feels so ethereal, so not me. I’m still selfish and controlling and think the world revolves around me. What does it look like to claim my identity in Christ? He lived and died to accomplish something, right? Why do I still feel like I’m not getting it? God, what are you doing? Where are You at work and how do I join You? …You say I’m already joining You in Your work. You say my messiness is a distraction. And I say, How could it not be? It’s like someone screaming in my face while I’m trying to meditate. I know Your first goal is not to fix me… what do You want? I’ve got nothing, Lord. So whatever is my part better be easy or be something I’m doing already. “Rest,” You say. “Let your full weight down on Jesus. Breathe in His love. Let Him figure everything out. Release Every Single Thing to Jesus: R.E.S.T. in Jesus.” Release writing and reading, pictures and parenting, scheduling and holiday preparations, yard work and cooking, wifeing and friending, praying and sleeping, cleaning and to-do lists, caring for others and inviting them to Your kingdom, crocheting and quilting, applesauce and sweet relish, my emotions and my thoughts, my purpose and my heart, getting up in the morning. Sometimes rest comes in trust. I can take a deep breath and let God be perfect and faithful, not me. I can let go my strangle hold on all the things.

November 1 – When I read the Bible I learn that rest is not a state of mind I could somehow put myself in. It is a gift. “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest,” Jesus said (Matthew 11:28). Maybe my next move toward Jesus is about doing less, not more. Come to think of it, hasn’t He been telling me that for a year? No, I think longer. I remember declining to help with Vacation Bible School as a turning point, summer of 2016; and the year of therapy in 2017. I don’t think it will ever stop, this untangling from lies. Rest comes in letting God be the “untangler” and letting myself be the “rester.”

December 4 – God has whispered stillness to me in this chorus (sung to the tune of Jesus Is The Answer): “Tobi’s not the answer for the world today. Above her there is Jesus, Jesus is the way.” It is humbling to realize how often and how deeply I want to be the answer. Not only do I want to live my perfect life, I want to help everyone around me live theirs. If they need money, I want to give it to them. If they need marital advice, I secretly hope God will give me perfect words to counsel them. If they need emotional support, I want them to join my small group. In my own life there is a continuous supply of situations that need to be fixed: the dirty house, the kids’ attitudes, the broken toys, the snafu with extended family… But when I remember Jesus is above me, I can take a deep breath. I learn that letting Someone else be in charge can be freeing.

January 7 – I soak in these words from Michael Card: “Trusting Him is no more than the simple awareness that He is holding you.” I learn that rest comes in trusting that I am held.

February – I am afraid of not being in control. Somewhere in the underpinnings of my psyche I believe that if I’m not in control of myself and the people around me, all is lost. There is a sense of catastrophe that squeezes at my chest in the everyday moments that are out of my control – schedules changing, kids in a yelling match, spilled paint and spilled milk, watching my husband react to the kids in a way I don’t think is helpful. I feel an awful mix of being overwhelmed and helpless. I fight by taking control, or flee by going deadpan. I’m afraid to engage, to show up. Parenting has a way of throwing this fear of losing control up in my face over, and over, and over again. These are the moments when it is hardest to take the deep breath God is offering. The Holy Spirit within reminds me: It’s ok when other people don’t do what I want. I don’t have to control. God is my provider and His resources never run out.

February 8 – At bedtime I realize I cannot possibly sleep in the state I’m in. I am anxious. My heart is heavy and it tells my body to hold on tight – to what, I’m not sure. I fetch my phone and begin listening to music, letting the tears flow. In music I find hope, I find permission to be broken. I meet the Spirit of God, holding me yet again. I begin to breathe. I listen to a song my sister shared with me over a cup of shared brokenness: You Can Do This Hard Thing, by Carrie Newcomer. The words give me permission to be sad, and in the sadness I find courage: “You can do this hard thing. You can do this hard thing. Its not easy I know, but I believe that it’s so. You can do this hard thing.”

So rest comes: in music, trust, better knowing who God is, loosening my grip, getting comfortable with brokenness, receiving the Gift, letting God be the One in control. Sometimes rest in body and spirit happen simultaneously, but often it is one without the other. I think God wants all of us to experience both – to enjoy quietness of mind and body; to enjoy both inner peace and physical stillness. I have never been good at either. But God is persistent – almost pesky – with His offering of rest. Thank you Father/Jesus/Spirit.

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