Tag Archives: Rest

Be a Tree

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace, Scripture

Journal 2018

Two days in a row I rose from my bed feeling weary. Is this mild depression? Driven to get some fresh air and exercise, on Saturday I donned a light jacket, packed what I needed for the day, and headed to the Greenway. I snapped some photos and tried not to think. Just walk. Bare trees and brown hues dominated the landscape in the winter chill. I saw a red-headed woodpecker, two fat robins, some ducks on the water, a cardinal, and several squirrels with nuts in their mouths. Under one overpass, I was shocked to see how high the water had flooded at some point. Leaves twined tightly around branches above my head.

Returning to the trailhead, I sat on a bench to rest, but my body felt antsy, jiggly. As I tried to relax, I heard God say, “Be a tree.”

“But a tree doesn’t move!” I exclaimed.

“Precisely.”

A tree. Rooted. Still. Unmovable. Sturdy. Stable. Allowing the animals to come to me. I don’t have to find them; they will find me. Just be. Be still and know that I am God. Be still. Be still.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him. Psalm 37:7 (NIV)

In awe of this simple injunction from the Holy Spirit, I began to walk again. But it wasn’t enough. I could still feel the dread of having to be “on” at my next meeting.

I came to another bench warmed by the sun and stretched out on my back. I needed to release whatever load I was still carrying. In my mind I saw a steel cord across my chest with weights on the ends, holding me down. I heard the word responsibility.

Again? Still? Why do I keep struggling with this?

I asked the Lord to cut the cord or remove the balls, and surprisingly He refused.

What? A weight too heavy for Him to lift? I don’t understand.

“OK, Lord, do it your way.”

And I watched as He lifted the cord a few inches off my chest, suspended lightly on His index finger. Now I could choose to stay or to move. That felt better.

And so I walked some more.

“Is there more, Lord?” I still feel tired in my soul.

Then I saw a closet door. When I opened it, a mass of material goods tumbled out. “What a mess!” I cried. “I don’t have the energy to clean it up and sort through the pile.”

“Your decision-maker is tired,” He said. “It’s time to sort and tidy your environment. You’ve been living in clutter and chaos in your home for six weeks now with Christmas, company, family messes, extra meals, and three big projects completed in three weeks. Your office and sleeping space are not restful or peaceful. It’s time to take back your place and create a peaceful environment.”

“That I can do,” I thought. And with that, the oppressive, heavy feeling began to lift.

“Be a tree. Be still. Look to Me to make your decisions. Declutter and find peace once more.”

All during church the next day I tried to process, to rejuvenate, to just sit and soak in God’s presence. I visualized a part of my heart like a squirrel scampering around the tree, so many branches to explore, unable to settle. Then I saw one branch overladen with fruit (and perhaps some excess stuff) drooping to the ground. It represented my to-do-list responsibilities, my ongoing projects, my schedule, and my ministry relationships. It represented the month of January and the burdens I’ve been carrying. I knew the little squirrel needed to stay away from that branch, but he lusted after the fruit. Perching on another branch on Sunday meant trying to focus on other things for a while, but that simply did not work. And so, I gave up the escapist, self-disciplined route to focus on what it might feel like to venture out onto that over-burdened branch. I was afraid it would snap and fall to the ground, and the fruit would rot before it could ripen.

And that’s when I saw a metal bar (God’s strength) underneath the branch supporting the weight. Now the squirrel could perch on the bar and still reach various fruits without breaking the whole limb. That felt a whole lot lighter and safer.

The next morning, I felt more rested and alert instead of groggy and grumpy. And that evening I did not get overwhelmed when we hosted a Super Bowl party for our entire family. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. Psalm 1:3 (KJV)

Like a cedar of Lebanon he will send down his roots; his young shoots will grow. His splendor will be like an olive tree, his fragrance like a cedar of Lebanon. People will dwell again in his shade. Hosea 14:5b-7a NIV

Back-paddling at a Waterfall

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Peace

Journal  2006

I’m feeling peevish today—I need a week to work uninterrupted. As an introvert, I thrive on solitude, but for the last month, I’ve had to be “on” with people—either needy ones or as company in someone else’s home. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my life, but I just need a break from it. When others around me are struggling, it affects my mood. I feel like I keep giving and giving without getting replenished.

In the River of Life, I would prefer to float on my back and watch the sky. Instead, I’m back-paddling at the top of a waterfall.

When I finally stop rowing, I fly over the waterfall with a God-given parachute. But at the bottom, my boat spins in an eddy, and I white-knuckle my grip to keep from capsizing or slamming into the rocks. I’m in survival mode and must remain vigilant for more rapids ahead. This wild ride is no longer exhilarating or fun. I’m cold and wet and want to get out and dry by a fire.

Endurance. Perseverance. Steadfastness.

I feel the weight of people’s woes and my responsibility to meet their needs. I feel the burden of maintaining friendships and working to contribute toward our family’s finances. I could spend all day at the feet of Jesus, but the house won’t clean itself, and the food doesn’t cook itself, and I have to think about my health, prayer obligations, books to read, goals to accomplish, and, and, and.

Balance. Rest. Pleasure.

I’m a linear thinker who knocks off my to-do list one item at a time, but relationships, interrupting phone calls, and the messiness of life get in the way.

I think it’s about losing control. I used to have control over my own life, but now I live at the mercy of other people’s choices. It makes me feel lost at sea without my oars.

Jesus asks my permission to handle the oars. All I have to do is sit and watch and wait, He says. When He commands, “There’s a fish; let down your net,” I obey. And when He says, “It’s time to rest,” I can lie down on the cushions and sleep, knowing He is in charge. And sometimes He hands me a Karen-sized oar and says, “Now paddle hard!” because we’re about to go over some rapids.

A 2025 Update. Reading this entry makes me tired! I am in such a different place now emotionally. I am at peace, unhurried, at rest. Perhaps my circumstances have changed, but I suspect I’m simply at a different place in my healing journey as a recovering co-dependent.

Burgess Falls

Needing to Rest

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace

Journal 2006

Yesterday was a test of endurance. Three people called to unload their woes on me. Then last night I didn’t know that our middle daughter was coming home to spend the night, and I could hear her rattling around the house till 2:30 a.m. At 4:30 a.m. I heard a terrific cat fight. Since K-C is an indoor cat, I didn’t think much of it, but the noise fully woke me, and I got up because I was hot. That’s when I discovered the back door was ajar and the porch light was on. The neighbor cat shot out the door leaving his sprayed male scent and fur on the floor and a terrorized K-C. For the next seven hours I tried to return to sleep without success. I was burned out from the night before, trying to get ready to teach my first class.

K-C did not last long at our house!

I think I handled the first interruption okay, worse with the second, but by the third, I just gave up and gave in. I had to quit thinking and start preparing for the class and wing it with what was left in me.

I need a Sabbath day of rest! One month with family, holidays, company, starting a new job, and driving our youngest to college leaves me with no downtime. I want to be a little bird, soaring on the wind, or a duck peacefully floating on a warm pond with the breeze ruffling my feathers. I want to be a cat, content to curl up in my mistress’s lap and go to sleep, knowing my needs will be met. I want to jump onto the highest counter to escape the world and survey the humans below. But when I do, I see the mess the world is in. Too much pain, heartache, and stress, and my world has been crazily spinning out of control, off on tangents instead of staying on its axis.

Peaches, our current feline

Am I crazy to take on a teaching job again? What was I thinking? But the offer dropped in my lap after I asked God to supply our needs. He’ll have to help me juggle my time. I’m through worrying about it. Meanwhile, how to get my body rested and my mind to relax … I’ve been on a treadmill for too long, and I need to get off. I’ll have to WORK at resting!

I need balance. Demands or requests for my time from other people collide with my to-do list. Are interruptions always about God’s timing? Are they sometimes Satan’s interference? How does one discern which it is? I know that people need to come before things in my priorities, but what if the “thing” is a service for someone?

When someone calls, for example, wanting prayer, do I stop what I’m doing to minister to them? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. If I’m on my way to a meeting at church and I get a phone call, do I forgo my small group time or, like last night my commitment to nursery duty, to process with this person? No, I can say a quick prayer for them and urge them to make an appointment. It’s okay to manage my time.

On the other hand, like today, I was at home preparing for my class when I got three phone calls that interrupted me—each needing a listening ear. One I gave my full attention to; the second only half-heartedly, and the third I put off till later. Should I have done that? I burned out by the end of the day. Had I rested long enough from my work to minister and pray, I might have gotten more work done.

A 2025 Update. I learned better balance from my days of imbalance. I learned that your crisis is not my emergency. I learned to listen to my body and, most of all, my emotions that drove that imbalance. It’s better to be at peace than to have to pick up the pieces.

Psalm 36

Posted on by under God, Inner Healing, Peace, Scripture

Journal 2003

The broken and bruised Little One lurched forward onto the desert stones, her parched lips whispering a desperate, “Help.”

A large-winged, iridescent creature glided swiftly from the sky, casting shade over her limp body. In one motion, he lifted her high above the earth. The wind cooled her fevered brow, and she slept. When she opened her eyes, they were soaring over a mountain and descending into a lush green valley where she spied a ribbon of river sparkling in the sunlight.

The creature landed gently near the entrance to a cozy cottage. As if on cue, the heavy oak door swung open, and a kind-faced, elderly gentleman reached for her as her spindly legs crumpled beneath her.

“Come in, my child,” he invited.

A warm glow from the fireplace revealed a table spread with a feast beyond compare. Exotic fruits and colorful vegetables spilled artfully around platters of venison, quail, and racks of lamb. Never before had she seen such abundance.

“You may eat all you want, but only a little at a time, as much as your stomach can handle.” And he began to feed her from his own hand. When she had eaten her fill, she fell asleep at the table, dreaming of lamb chops and fresh fruit and homemade bread.

The next morning, she awoke in a bed of feathers, refreshed but weak. Where was the old man? She wandered outside to explore. There by the cottage ran the river she’d noticed from the sky. And in the middle, standing chest-high, a young man beckoned her to join him. When he saw her fear, he waded to shore, offered his hand, and led her close to the edge where she tested the water with one toe. Surprised at its warmth, she allowed him to pull her further in, waist high. The mineralized liquid soothed her aching muscles and cleansed her wounds of the poisons. Finally, she plunged completely under and came up splashing and laughing. The dirt and the grime of a lifetime dissolved into a rainbow of bubbles. The man smiled, enjoying her fun. She could have stayed in this River of Delight all day, but the man had more he wanted to show her.

“Come,” he said—in the same tone the old man had used.

Curious, she thought.

He wrapped a soft towel around her shoulders and handed her a robe. Strangely unselfconscious in his presence, she slipped out of her dirty rags and let the shimmering white garment fall neatly to her feet, covering her bony frame.

“It’s beautiful!” she murmured.

She followed him down the path and around to the back of the cottage. A kaleidoscope of color met her eye. In the center of the garden stood a massive fountain with flowers and vines of all varieties growing out of its walls. A stone bench circled the base of the fountain where small pilgrims could climb to reach the water or the elderly could sit. The man reached for a dipper, scooped up some of the pristine liquid, and held it out to her. Again, she felt fear surging up from deep within.

“It’s safe,” is all he said. And she drank. And she felt life in her bones, and her flesh felt restored, and her spirit revived.

For a year the Little One stayed in this valley of paradise, learning lessons from the Master Teacher, until one day he spoke these words:  “You are strong enough now, my child, to venture forth. Invite others to come here—but you must show them the way. And if, like you, they’re too weak to travel by foot, simply call, and I will send my winged spirit to carry them here.”

And the Little One, strong in the power of His might, went forth and gathered in the lame, the blind, the broken, the bleeding, and the wounded, and brought them to the feet of the Master. And they, too, experienced fullness of joy in the River of Delight. And the cottage swelled with happy voices—but was never full—for there was always room for one more. And the Fountain of Life never ran dry.

Psalm 36:7-9 NIV

How priceless is your unfailing love, O God!

People take refuge in the shadow of your wings.

They feast on the abundance of your house;

you give them drink from your river of delights.

For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light.

Photo by Hilary Halliwell on Pexels.com

The River of Life

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God

From my 2009 Journal

When people and things disrupt my workflow, how can I tell if an interruption is a distraction or a God-event? Is it like a child’s bumper lane in a bowling alley, meant to keep me out of the gutter? Or is it a snare, a stick-pile in the river?

The rapids are the events over which I have no control, and I’m glad I have an experienced Guide with me Who knows where the hazards are. He expects me to use my paddle as I’m able and engage in the fight to stay upright, but He’s strong enough to keep me on an even keel.

Sometimes, when I’m about to be dumped into the river, I just hang onto the sides for dear life. But I’m not going to drown (unless it’s my time to go Home). When He comes to rescue me, I must relax and not struggle against Him. He has the lifeline in His hands. Thankfully, not all of life is rapids. Sometimes it’s okay to drift and to rest.

So, whether I encounter shallows, a stick-pile, or the rapids, I don’t have to figure out its source. I just need to navigate what comes with patience, faith, and grace.

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Thunderstorms Over Your Head

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Peace

Journal 2005

Being in the presence of people in a bad mood is like standing under their rain cloud. It’s their choice to stay there getting drenched, and it’s their choice to grumble and complain because they’re cold and miserable. But what is that to me? I prefer not to get wet (or worse, struck by lightning), and the easiest solution is to just walk away.

But what if I want to help that person? Or what if I’m in a love relationship and choose not to retreat? Am I willing to get wet? Take the chance of getting zapped?

Jesus says: “I am in the eye of the storm. Rest there with Me.” And the swirling wind about me will move people’s rain away so that I can be near them. I don’t have to be affected by their weather patterns.

Lord, keep me in the center of You.

On the Edge of a Cliff

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace, Prayer

Journal 2005

Going for an Oral Interpretation major in college, I once performed a reading with a powerful visual about standing atop a cliff, desperately trying to stop people from going over the edge (presumably to hell). The point was to urge believers to evangelize. I even know one missionary who went overseas because of this visual. But all I ever felt was guilt, helplessness, and powerlessness.

As I sit with my emotions, I notice there are danger signs at the edge of the cliff. In fact, there are warning signs before the danger signs. I’m praying desperately for people to open their eyes and take notice, and if I take my eyes off the scene, I’ll miss someone. Still I feel helpless. I have to DO something. If I sit down to rest, I’ll get stampeded! Where do responsibility and trust intersect?

Jesus says, “Back away from the edge of the cliff, find a bench, sit there and wait. Offer cold drinks and sandwiches to the weary travelers. Invite; don’t panic. Invite them to rest with me and talk. Tell them about the cliff and encourage them to share the news with the other travelers on their path. And if while I’m talking to one, and another passes by, I can just wave and smile. And if I need to sleep for a while, I can ask Jesus (or an angel) to tap me on the shoulder when I need to wake up and pay attention. Whew! That feels better.

Sabbath Rest

Posted on by under Choices, God, Scripture

From my 2016 Journal. Every Sunday, my missionary parents practiced Sabbath rules according to their own definition. We did not enter a restaurant or store, travel, cook, play table games, or indulge in handwork on that day. I began to question this logic when I discovered that Jewish Sabbath occurred from sundown to sundown Friday to Saturday, and never mind that we didn’t keep the rest of the Levitical laws.

Mosaic Law gave general rules for Sabbath (Shabbat) observance: no lighting fires in your house or cooking (Exodus 35:3) and limited traveling (Joshua 3:4-5). The ancient Pharisees interpreted and refined Sabbath rules according to their own parameters, and today their legalism extends to not pushing elevator buttons, turning on electric lights, or using any device-driven means of transportation.*

Jewish law prohibits work on Shabbat, but while resting is implied, the word Shabbat literally means “to cease” or “to sit.” God didn’t need rest after creating for six days. He simply ceased.

Reform Judaism says, “One should avoid one’s normal occupation or profession on Shabbat whenever possible and engage only in those types of activities that enhance the joy, rest, and holiness of the day.”

With this in mind, if I were trying to “keep the Sabbath” I would avoid housework, computer work, and the business end of my ministry. It would not preclude ministry itself according to Jesus’ example. He preached and healed all week long. You’d think He’d refrain on the seventh day and take this day off, but apparently His work wasn’t classified as labor.

I may not be Jewish, and yes, Jesus is my Sabbath rest, but I do need to “cease.” I need the change of pace, the chance to recoup, refresh, and recharge my body, mind, and soul.

So . . . once a week, I often turn off my computer, refrain from cleaning house, and occupy myself with things I enjoy doing—guilt-free, such as reading, doing a puzzle, or golfing with my husband (after church of course!)

What does your Shabbat look like?

*How far am I allowed to walk on Shabbat? – Shabbat (chabad.org)

*Laws of Shabbat for Beginners (aish.com)

Fighting Fires

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace, Prayer

From my 2016 Journal. I feel like I’ve been fighting fires for months—rows of houses are ablaze or burned to the ground, and I’m tired of holding the hose, climbing ladders, and rescuing people. I’m weary, and the fires keep spreading. I also see gleeful little gremlins throwing gasoline over the houses.

Lord, I need your help!

A strong wind blows the fire back on itself, and water from the sky douses the flames. But suddenly the scene shifts and my perspective changes. The water is actually coming from a watering can, and the blaze is no bigger than a campfire. I’m just a little ant, so everything looks enormous—unlike from God’s perspective. All my effort and fretting just made me tired.

And so I ask the Lord, “What is my role? Do You want me to hold fire hoses or stand back and watch you work?” I think of Moses who obediently went to Egypt, but it was God who did all the work once he arrived.

I’m tired before going to my next appointment.

“Just show up and obey My instructions,” He says. “And I’ll do the rest.”

That helps. I can rest in that thought.

He Restoreth My Soul

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Peace

From my 2007 Journal. I seem to be in a rut, a slump, a feeling of monotony, sameness. Where’s the excitement in life? I long for fellowship without the work of making it happen. I want things to get stirred up a bit!

Jesus whispers in my ear, “Come on an adventure with Me.”

I’m intrigued.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Trust Me,” He replies. “I have all the necessary supplies for the journey. You’re dressed just fine. If the weather changes, I brought rain gear. Will you come?”

Of course! How could I resist such an invitation?!

I see a valley spread out before me, and a long, long line of tables filled with a feast fit for a king. When I get closer, I see both sides filled with people—hungry, poor, ragged. They’re so absorbed in their meal, they hardly acknowledge me. I’m disappointed.

food

“I thought this feast was just for You and me,” I say. It feels like a trick. “Now I suppose You expect me to help feed the ones without arms, wash their feet, wipe their runny noses . . .” I’m tired just thinking about it. I feel peevish.

“Sit down,” He invites. “I’ve reserved a spot just for you.”

“For me? Whom do I get to sit by?” I ask suspiciously. “Am I going to get stuck next to one of those chatty people? Or a silent one? Everyone seems so self-absorbed.”

I sit. He sits beside me.

“What would you like to talk about?” He asks.

“Oh, stuff . . . like how come You made snow cold? Or how’d You dream up a rainbow or a sunset? Did you really have to create fleas and flies and snakes?”

He laughs. I made Him smile, I think.

“Had enough to eat?” He asks. I’ve barely touched my food. I’m too fascinated by His face—the way His eyes twinkle, the lines, the crinkles. He has restored my soul just by being in His presence.