Rest in Truth

My mom used to wake us up with pots and pans.

My brother and I would be sleeping soundly in our respective rooms, ignoring our alarms and Mom’s best efforts to lure us out of bed to get dressed for school. Eventually, up the stairs she’d come, banging a wooden spoon on a steel pot, or whatever was handy in the kitchen, with a big grin on her face.

Evidently, rest was not a challenge for me when I was younger, no matter how loud life got. 

Speaking as the girl who still struggles to wake in the morning, I’m uncomfortable with rest because it means loosening my grip. It means slowing my feet and temporarily, or even permanently, forfeiting my plans. Rest begs me to relinquish control—to cease striving and trust. These reasons are precisely why rest is so key to our call to abide in God and His Word.

Read Matthew 11:28–30. What instructions does Jesus give for finding rest?

Mary of Bethany is my favorite example of someone who rests in Scripture. While her sister Martha scurried around the house, doing what needed to be done, Mary sat at Jesus’s feet. She ceased readying her home, and she even ceased serving Jesus for the opportunity to sit with Him.

Open your Bible to Luke 10:38–42, and read the story for yourself. Do you see yourself more in Mary or Martha? Why so?

When I need written permission to rest in the presence of the Lord, I go to the Psalms. Those poems are like a permanent hall pass when I’m overwhelmed, a doctor’s note to skip class when all my papers are overdue. Read Psalm 119:114. The Hebrew words here for “shelter” and “shield” mean exactly that—a covering. The psalmist runs to Scripture for cover! God’s Word calls us to trust Him by setting our striving aside and acknowledging God as our haven. 

Friends, there is nothing we can do with our efforts that our almighty God cannot do by His Word. Likewise, there is nothing you or I can do to negate the truth of His Word. We cannot make it more true, and we cannot make it less true. No, our job is to rest here in its truth.

Tonight my mom came to visit (I haven’t seen her bang any pots or pans lately, but she’s still a champ at relishing). When it came time for her to leave, I watched as the taillights of her car meandered down our gravel driveway. A flicker in the distance caught my eye—countless fireflies dotting the dark treeline along the creek. They looked choreographed yet whimsical, like strings of Christmas lights in July.

I stopped to watch, and I stayed a while. No running, no doing, no striving. Just resting. It was one of the most beautiful and productive parts of my day.