The days run into one another like watercolors blending along edges. Smudged and undefined.
Maneuvering through blurred lines of life and a house with ten people and two dogs can undermine the strongest of adults.
For a two-year-old, it can be daunting.
Cal is a genuinely happy and chatty little guy. He tolerates the two dogs trying to eat his food off his highchair. He shoves them aside when they try to sit on him. Anytime he’s outside, he heads for the pond, teasing his mom with his laugh and speed. He doesn’t jump in; he plops down on the edge, pats the grass and says, “Sit, Mama.”
He wanders through life with a gentle spirit and a contagious laugh. Even when he’s upset, he’s easily distracted.
He’s not a fan of rest.
He needs a nap, but he resists. Leaving fun behind for the quarantine of a pack and play is unconscionable. He lets his desires be known with his cries and whines.
I’d do the same thing if I thought it would change anything.
My favorite posture of his, however, is when he needs rest and chooses it. When he admits he’s tired and climbs on his mom’s lap. He leans back, his hands behind his head, and sinks into her embrace.
Not a care in the world.
It takes him a while to get there. He isn’t fond of admitting he needs to slow down.
I may be quite a bit older than Cal, but I find it difficult to admit a need for rest in my own life. I have this deep, inner drive to help and encourage others so they’ll like me.
On the plus side, that’s a very empathetic posture. On the negative side, it’s the inability to say no or have margins in my own life.
A people pleaser.
During a time of limitations and new norms, rest seems even more challenging for me. I don’t do well with being told I can’t do something; restrictions feel unnecessary. I know myself well enough to know when enough is enough and responsible enough to accomplish what’s expected of me.
Rest is part of the rhythms of life that we are bound to. We need meaningful work, food, and rest to experience the fullness of all that God made us be.
I’m one of those workaholics whose mantra is “I must”. Even when I can’t.
Rest is much more than a practice. It’s a relationship, finding wholeness and peace in Jesus, knowing He is my enough. I picture myself climbing into His lap and leaning the full weight of my worries and anxieties on Him, knowing His embrace is full of love and His full knowledge of what I’m going through.
He doesn’t ask me to do or accomplish something before I come to Him. He says come. Rest. Lean the weight of all that is on my heart into His powerful and protecting hands. No fear of rejection; no sense of me being too much or not enough.
Cal is more aware at two of what he needs than I am at my age.
God’s lap is beckoning.
Will you respond?
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