When you need to rest

Categorized as Rhonda's Posts

Turning out of my drive, hands on the wheel, I look up. Over the pond in the early-morning black, I see them. The stars, they shine, winking just there atop the neighbor’s log house.

“When I consider thy heavens,” I say it out loud, “the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou has ordained. What is man?” I look once more at the pinpricks of light. “What is man, that thou art mindful of him? That thou hast crowned him with glory and honor?”

Perhaps every day should start like this. For one look at the heavens can set a girl straight. Can bring heart and mind right round, gazing up, bending low in worship and love. What is man? What is woman, that He’s mindful?

The stars, they keep shining. The moon slivers bright ‘cross the sky. My thoughts, they’re turning. One thing…still, this one thing left.

So I do the thing I know to do: I say it out plain. I tell it  to my Father. Holding nothing back, I spill it right out, desperate for His counsel. (He’s promised this, I know.) “Why? Why can’t I lick this thing?”

And just like that, He speaks. “You don’t know how to rest yet.” I’m silent, driving along. Those blessed stars, they keep shining, and the girl is listening and the Father, He’s talking.

“You don’t know how to rest.”  For a lifelong worrier, a girl who’s sucked fear right up into her very bones, there’s not been much rest. There’s been frantic activity and ruthless self-examination, but not nearly enough rest.

The truth, it soaks like rain into dry, aching bones. For trust, fullest trust, means rest. Believing Father, really believing with all my heart and soul that He’s got me covered and that He keeps His word, this is the rest I need.

Arriving at the coffee shop, I settle at my table, mug in hand. I have a meeting with a shepherd boy. My daily bread, it’s tucked into the Psalms. And it reads like this, “Be still and know that I am God.”

This is the key. This is the salve. This is the cure for that one last thing. I chew it slow, this bread of life.

The steam rises from the cup. My heart quiets; stills; rests. The stars, they’re gone, eclipsed by the brand-new day. The sun, it’s shining, and I am at rest.

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