“Come to me.

Get away with me and you’ll recover your life.

I’ll show you how to take a real rest.

Walk with me

And work with me –

Watch how I do it.

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.

Keep company with me

And you’ll learn to live

Freely and lightly,

Love Jesus.”

Matthew 11: 28-30 The Message

 

Aborting Sabbath

Empties me

 

And I go round

Melancholy,

Short-tempered,

Overwhelmed

Easily.

 

Hollowing out space

For Sabbath

Is painful.

It means I need to use the word,

“No.”

And the people pleaser in me

Cringes.

 

 

I didn’t even meet his eyes

Though he deserved at least that.

I didn’t acknowledge him

Honour him with words,

Explanation, gentleness.

I just said sharply

(and it still echoes in my head)

“I’m not interested!”

like a growl

and I let the screen door

slam.

 

It should have felt satisfying.

I’d always wanted the gumption

To reject a salesman like that.

Now I had it.

And I’d done it.

And I felt sick after.

 

His voice floated after me,

“Have a good day.”

Generous soul.

More generous that I was.

For sure.

photo courtesy of Christi Faith Visscher

 

A good day.

That would be nice.

Why?

Why would I call this day anything but good?

Because I rushed.

Why?

Because I didn’t listen

To those gentle prods

To take it easy.

Instead I jumped in

Over my head at work,

When I was already

Running on fumes

And it was only Monday.

 

That drive to

“Do more!”

pushed.

The drive to

“Please everyone!”

pushed.

 

All the driving

And pushing

And pleasing

Drove rest

And pushed God

Right out

Of a day

That could have been

A good day.

 

 

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,

in quietness and trust is your strength,

but you would have none of it,” Isaiah 30:15

 

 

I painted this Scripture on my classroom wall.

I didn’t paint the second part.

That’s the part that hits home

On weeks like this.

“But you would have none of it.”

 

 

 

Lord, have mercy on me.

Forgive me

For the rushing,

For the rebelling,

The refusing

To listen.

For ignoring

Your patient prods,

Those gentle checks.

Forgive me for elbowing You aside,

For crowding Holy Spirit,

For doing it my way,

Bull-ishly pushing ahead,

Playing god,

But really not having

Any fun

At all.

 

Here

In the rushing

My work, once a delight, lacks quality.

Here

In the ignoring,

I run on fumes instead of fresh revelation.

 

Here

I make mistakes

With the people, with the stuff you’ve given me,

Instead of treasuring, instead of serving.

 

And here is the clincher.

If I slowed, listened, waited

The project would have had quality,

And it would have been done in time,

Your time,

Not mine.

And the experience would have been

Cheerful, peaceful.

I would have been present,

Intentional, kind to the people,

And no striving would have happened.

And no screen door would have been slammed.

 

 

How many times do I re-learn this lesson?

I think it’s because of pride.

I want to be in charge.

I think it’s because of fear.

I don’t trust You with what is important to me.

I think it’s because of a misconception,

That the harder I work, the longer I work, the more I do, do, do

The better it will be.

This life. Me.

I’m striving ahead for something ahead,

Not seeing all that’s here.

Or Who is here and only here

In this present now,

Waiting.

 

 

Here’s the truth.

I finish this to-do list,

It reincarnates itself the next day.

I bull doze ahead manicly,

Then I run on low batteries the next day.

I wear out.

I walk over people I love,

I stop being inspired to serve from a place of
“want to” and I start “shoulding” on myself.

 

 

Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.

 

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,

in quietness and trust is your strength,

but you would have none of it,” Isaiah 30:15

 

 

So I repent.

And I rest. Intentionally.

And I am saved.

Saved from the sin

Of pride,

Of fear,

Of valuing the future

Over the now

The present

And your Presence

Here.

 

So I quiet

Till I can hear

The gentle nudge again,

I resist the urge to forge my own path,

I trust that

One little obedience

After another,

This act of constant communion,

Will take me forward

Get what’s most necessary done,

Maybe not the way I’d do it,

But done nonetheless,

And take me somewhere,

Somewhere good.

 

And I receive strength.

Strength because I stopped sapping myself.

Relying on myself.

Running on empty.

Playing god.

 

I choose it.

I choose to have all of it.

All of You.

And I know I’ll need to re-make this choice,

Re-repent, re-rest, re-quiet, re-trust…

 

And there You are.

Showing me the way to live

Gracefully,

Freely,

Lightly,

Unforced,

Rhythmed,

Inspired,

Kind,

Valuing,

Submitting,

Resting,

Being still

And knowing

You are God.

I choose to embrace,

cultivate,

protect Sabbath.

I choose to choose rest,

not just once a week,

but daily.

Resting in this walking and working with You.

This free and light journey.

This unbroken communion.