The True Benefit of Rest
At the Island. Pull up a chair. Stay a while.
I have a genetic issue with resting. Stopping and being still feels so unnatural that even though I can recognize it and know what it is and where it comes from, it doesn’t change the nervousness, guilt, and anxiety that it causes. So much so that for a good part of my life I would work myself into exhaustion to the point my body would force the issue and make me rest. As I write this, I am yet again avoiding the rest that would likely be best for me. A fracture in my wrist has put me in a thumb-immobilizing splint, and instead of resting, I am sitting here pressing through, typing in such an awkward way that it is as exhausting as it is painful. I can almost imagine God chuckling wryly to himself and saying: “There she goes again,” under His breath as he motions to a backup guardian angel or two to jump into the game.
Somewhere along the way, it became ingrained in me that I had to work for acceptance and approval. What I could bring to the table was the sum of my value. My identity. The difference between being seen and being invisible. Sometimes the value that I could bring was what kept me invisible and out of harm’s way. Whether that was unwanted attention from a harsh teacher, or a chef who resented having a woman cook in his kitchen. I forgot who I was in Christ, but that is a story for another time.
On a recent YouTube podcast, I listened to a minister discussing his theory that rushing, hustling, and multitasking were earthly spirits sent to distract us from our relationship with God. That we have ultimately given away our power to choose a deliberate, prayerful pace for our lives and become enslaved to false idols and the god of “more, bigger, and better.” That concept landed so hard on me that I didn’t have time to be offended at such an idea because I was squarely convicted.
So, how and where do we get off this crazy train and return to the wellspring of life?
Let’s take a look at some other people who had been ingrained with anxiety, nervousness, and want.
The Israelites had been enslaved to Egypt for years. Exodus 13:40 states that the sons of Israel were in Egypt 430 years. Sit with that for a while. Generations of Israelites lived and died and never enjoyed freedom but learned to submit to their taskmasters and accept their lot. They prayed diligently for freedom, but in those terms, it was probably what we would call today: “a pipe dream,” and when it came, the years of conditioning kept them dubious, cynical, and as fretful as a toddler missing their nap.
God had to retrain his chosen people to listen to Him and trust that they would be provided for and rest. [Exodus 16]. When He gave them manna in the desert and commanded them to only gather what they needed for one day. Some couldn’t wrap their heads around it and took more than necessary and suffered the consequences. God instructed them to gather twice as much on the sixth day of the week and prepare it all so that on the seventh day they would rest as he did at the dawn of creation. Some didn’t listen which didn’t work out well for them either. Talk about a complicated relationship! They had lots of issues to deal with in the desert before the Promised Land came into view.
Isn’t it amazing how much like the Israelites we are even on our better days? The demands of modern life and the enslavement we have allowed technology in our lives turn our heads and turn a blind eye to the truth of Exodus 16:29. God gave the sabbath to rest. He rested, and he wants his people to rest as well. Mark 2:27 tells us that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.
Exodus is not the last time we experience God offering means to rest and regroup. First Kings 18 & 19 show Elijah doing a lot of what could only be labor that was as mentally taxing as it was physically taxing. Elijah had just been part of one of the most extraordinary demonstrations of God's power recorded in Scripture. He had stood against the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, witnessed fire descend from heaven, and seen God answer his prayers. Yet here he was, frightened, exhausted, and so thoroughly overwhelmed that he wanted to die. And God let him sleep. Not once, but twice. There was no immediate lecture about having more faith. No demand that Elijah pull himself together and get back to work. There was bread, water, and the opportunity to rest.
Think about that for a moment.
As a cook, I find something especially beautiful about that. God understood that Elijah needed more than encouragement or another assignment. His body needed nourishment. His mind needed quiet. His spirit needed restoration. Only after Elijah had rested and eaten did he have the strength to continue his journey. God was far from done with Elijah’s story but without rest and restoration, do you think he could have heard that still small voice?
How often do we deny ourselves that same grace?
I can recognize exhaustion in someone else almost immediately. I can tell a friend to go home, eat something, get some sleep, and leave the rest until tomorrow. I can offer compassion and understanding when someone has reached the end of their strength. But when it comes to myself? I have an entirely different set of rules. There is always one more thing that needs to be done. One more responsibility that cannot possibly be farmed out to someone else. One more person who might need something from me whom I want to make sure feels heard and valued. And I convince myself that delegation or stopping would be irresponsible.
Yet I cannot find anywhere in Scripture where God commands us to exhaust ourselves to demonstrate our devotion.
Quite the opposite.
In Mark 6:30–32, the apostles return to Jesus after teaching and ministering to the people. They have been so busy that they haven't even had an opportunity to eat. Jesus doesn't congratulate them on their productivity and send them straight back into the crowds. He invites them to come away to a quiet place and rest.
Even good work, important work, and work done in service to God does not exempt us from needing rest.
And perhaps that is where I have misunderstood the whole thing.
I have treated rest as something I earn by completing my responsibilities. Something I can enjoy once everything is finished, everyone is satisfied, and there is nothing left demanding my attention. Which, of course, means I have made rest practically impossible because there is always one more thing.
Elijah could have refused the bread and water and continued running until he collapsed. The apostles could have insisted that the crowds needed them too much to withdraw. And I can keep typing with a fractured wrist, telling myself that surely this one last thing won't hurt.
We can be remarkably creative when it comes to justifying our refusal to stop. But what if rest isn't the reward for finishing everything on time or ahead of schedule? What if rest is one of the ways we acknowledge that everything doesn't depend on us? That is a much more uncomfortable proposition for me. It requires me to recognize that my usefulness is not the measure of my worth and shut down those false agreements. It charges me to embrace the fact that God does not love me more on the days when I accomplish everything on my list, nor does He love me less when circumstances require me to accomplish nothing at all.
It requires trust.
Trust that the world will continue turning when I step away, because it hasn’t stopped yet. Trust that the work waiting for me will still be there tomorrow. Trust that the God who provided manna in the wilderness, bread beneath a broom tree, and a quiet place for weary apostles has not somehow forgotten what His people need today. And perhaps most importantly, trust that I am allowed to open my hands and receive His provision without first proving that I deserve it.
Rest creates space for restoration, discernment, and relationship with God. King David was a big fan of rest, I imagine. Psalm 23: 2-3 says: “He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his namesake.” In recent years, I have found that the passage “He leads me beside still waters” speaks to me of emotional rest. I imagine taking a walk down by the creek on my family property with warm sunlight filtering through the trees and a gentle breeze caressing my face. Those walks bring me peace like nothing else.
Sheep aren’t smart animals. It takes a shepherd to encourage them to stop wandering.
I can relate.
Perhaps my fractured wrist isn't a divine message. Sometimes injuries are simply injuries, and I don't believe every hardship needs to be assigned a spiritual explanation. Although truthfully, this injury was more like a result of poor judgment. It has certainly provided an opportunity to examine something God has been inviting me to understand for a very long time.
Rest is not the absence of purpose.
Rest is not laziness, weakness, or a failure to meet my responsibilities.
Rest is an acknowledgment that I am a human being with limitations, created by a God who understands those limitations far better than I do.
And there is freedom in admitting that.
In Matthew 11:28–30, Jesus invites those who labor and are heavy laden to come to Him for rest. He does not ask them to finish carrying their burdens before approaching Him. He invites them to come as they are. Weary. Burdened. Unfinished. He will carry the load. Be it the most recent argument with a spouse. The false accusations of a colleague that have wrapped you up in HR hell. General exhaustion that makes everything feel a thousand times harder while the clothes go unfolded, the weeds multiply unchecked in the yard, and that fifty-cent pack of college throwback ramen looks better by the minute.
I wonder how much of my life I have spent trying to arrive before God with everything neatly completed, when all along He has been inviting me to put it down and sit with Him. Let’s face it– It is hard to be a Mary in a Martha world. Maybe the true benefit of rest isn't simply waking up refreshed, thinking more clearly, or having the energy to accomplish more tomorrow. Those are wonderful benefits without a doubt. Yet, if I rest only so that I can become more productive, haven't I simply turned rest into another tool for accomplishing more?
Perhaps the deeper benefit is the relationship that becomes possible when I finally stop long enough to be present like Mary and sit at the feet of Jesus. To listen instead of planning my next response. To pray without mentally rearranging tomorrow's schedule when the infinite love of my Savior should be the subject of my focus. To recognize the blessings already in front of me instead of concentrating on what I haven't accomplished as I choose to stop for the day. To remember that God created me for fellowship with Him, not merely for the work I can perform in His name. And to understand that being still in His presence is not wasted time.
So, how do we get off that crazy train?
I suspect the answer is both simpler and more difficult than we want it to be.
We choose to stop.
Not when everything is finished to our satisfaction. Not when every obligation has been satisfied when we shouldn’t have even taken on that last thing. Not when we have finally earned the privilege according to someone else’s estimation that we have done enough. We stop because God has given us permission to rest, and because accepting that gift is itself an expression of faith.
For someone like me, that may require a lifetime of practice. But I am beginning to understand that the work of my hands was never meant to replace the peace of my soul. And perhaps the next time I find myself struggling to put away my work, or scratching out one last idea, I will remember Elijah beneath the broom tree, the Israelites gathering enough manna for the Sabbath, and Jesus inviting His weary disciples to come away with Him.
Then I might actually listen.
Although, given my track record, I suspect those backup guardian angels would appreciate it if I started practicing sooner rather than later.
Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father, thank You for the gift of rest and for Your patience when I struggle to receive it. Forgive me for the times I have measured my worth by my accomplishments and allowed my responsibilities to crowd out my relationship with You. Teach me to trust Your provision, recognize my limitations, and find peace in Your presence. Remind me that I am loved not because of what I accomplish, but because I belong to You. Give me the wisdom to know when to work, the humility to know when to stop, and the faith to rest in Your care. Amen.
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