Today I sit with my morning latte, sipping it slowly at 9:30 while dirty dishes teeter and soiled laundry languishes until later. Dinner will be whatever one can find.
I decided last night that half of today I would rest. I would not exercise and I would not get things done. My phone’s “do not disturb” setting is on and my ringer is off.
This season has been bursting at the seams with tasks and busy-ness. And while much of it has been good, it’s felt as if the “un-cancellations” of the pandemic + our typical spring schedule have conspired to wear me slap out.
Note: they have succeeded.
This rare moment of stillness gently takes my chin in its hands and asks, “How do you feel?” I answer without hesitation, “Like I cannot move.”
Why am I telling you this? Because I know I’m not the only one. We live in a culture that does not honor limits, that considers busy-ness a badge of honor, that worships productivity as a sacred virtue.
I’ve been studying the book of Genesis this year and in one of the first few weeks I learned something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about: Rest is what set God’s people apart. They were to be known by others as a people of rest.
Note: this is not how we are currently known.
In her book, Rhythms of Rest, the late Shelly Miller wrote that “the day God chose to rest is the first time he names something holy.”
Yet here I am on an April Monday, trying hard to shake off the guilt for receiving something God has called holy.
If you need someone tell you it’s okay to press pause, to take a nap instead of doing the dishes, to say no to a good thing because you are at capacity, to spend cash for a sitter so you can sit outside with an iced coffee and stare at the sky, to take a day or three off so you can get your wits about you—consider this post your permission slip.
Sabbath has to show up differently for each of us depending on the season and our vocation, but no one can force you to take it. Only you can accept the gift of rest for yourself. And if it’s a gift you need like I do, receive without guilt, knowing it is both good and holy.
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