What would it be like to truly be at rest? To have that spinning hamster wheel of worry in our brains go still; to have the inbox empty, the to-do list deleted, the cacophony of all our electronica—the cell phones, the blackberries, the iPads, the netbooks—go quiet, no need to answer any calls or respond to any questions or be sent into any new eddy of crisis; to not be in conflict with those we work with, or those we live with, or those we avoid at any cost and yet are never quite free of.
To not feel tired.
To know our needs are known; to know our needs are met; to be fully alive in the moment we are in right now; to just be.
Such an art, such a power, such a grace, eludes us. Even with all our advancements and all of our knowledge, it is always just beyond reach—that oasis of rest, that dream in the desert, evaporating in the onslaught of our effort.
If only we could remember that true rest, deep rest, the rest of peace, the rest that knits the raveled sleeve of care, comes only as a gift from God. The God who offers us the shelter of his wings. The God who bids us cease striving and know that he is God. The God who is above all, in all, through all for all time. The God who enables us to be because he is.
Let us go to him, we who labor and are heavy laden, and he will give us rest.
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