Real Rest: Feeding What We Claim To Love

It will come as no surprise that my favorite way to rest is with a book in my hand. Bonus points if I’m in a hammock or there is a large cup of tea or coffee involved. But it may also not come as a surprise that I’ve struggled with where healthy boundary lines are for my reading and what it would look like to find better ways to rest.

To be frank, I like to write about my struggles only after I’m done dealing with them. This makes me look good to my readers, which really boosts my ego. (Healthy, I know.) And it also keeps this blog from turning into a confessional. (Nobody needs drama like that.)

But a while ago, I wrote about sharing from the Messy Middle, about letting others into our stories when there isn’t a neat bow on the lesson yet. So, here we are. Or rather, here I am, throwing myself gracelessly under the bus in the hopes that I can grow a little (just not taller) and maybe drag some of you along for the ride with me.

The truth is that I like to avoid reality by reading junk fiction and then claim that I’m resting. Sometimes, I am legitimately resting, which makes it difficult to know when a line has been crossed and I’ve blown right past rest and into unhealthy life choices.

I know, I know. Some of you are out there thinking, “Reading is an unhealthy life choice? Really, Marian? There are people out there with legitimate issues and you’re worried about your reading?”

But let me put it this way: any time we see ourselves consistently choosing to find comfort and rest in something that doesn’t draw us to appreciate Jesus more, we are selling ourselves short. And I don’t want to sell myself short. Not even if selling myself short means doing something that should be good for me.

Let me explain. And I’m sorry, but in the process of explaining, I’m going to use a word that some of you will find crass in order to make this point stick. Once I’ve used it, you won’t be able to stop thinking about what I’m about to say (I know because I haven’t been able to), and so I think it’s going to be worth it for both of us.

Last year, when I started attempting to deal with this issue in my life (and trust me, it’s been two steps forward, one step back ever since then…and sometimes one step forward, two steps back), I found an image in my mind that helped me visualize how I’d been wrongly thinking about rest.

I envisioned myself sitting in a colorful inner tube, large sunglasses on my face, a stylish hat shading my face and shoulders, an icy drink in my hand…”floating” in a shallow puddle in a parking lot about ten yards away from a brilliant blue green ocean with little frills of white waves, and God standing there looking at me like:

There I am—reading my books, zoning out meaninglessly via Facebook or Pinterest or Instagram, scrolling through the kindle app to see what other lives I can choose to distract myself from my own—and what I’m really doing is sitting in a puddle with my ass on the asphalt, not realizing that God has a whole ocean worth of real rest for me.

Let me be clear, what I’m aiming for here isn’t a legalism issue (obviously, since I just used a less than savory word for the sake of memorable alliteration). This isn’t about making more rules. What it’s about is making more room in my heart and my life for more of what really matters. What it’s about is realizing that God has more for me than what I’m settling for.

So I find myself asking: what does it look like to imagine more?

How much better could rest be? How much wiser, stronger, kinder, funnier could I grow if I wasn’t settling in this area? How much more of God could I have? How much more could I love Him? How much more could I love others? How much more could I love myself?

Years ago, I wrote down this simple equation: nourish + cherish = flourish. I called it math for my soul, and it helped me to pray through how I wanted to parent and teach our kids. If the Man and I fed their hearts and minds and bodies and loved them well, what would grow out of it?

Lately, though, I’ve been using this equation to think more about my own rest culture. The answer isn’t making more rules for myself (no more junk novels! no more novels at all! stay off all social media! throw your phone away! join a modern day monastery!). The answer is more about looking honestly at what I’m feeding my mind and heart and seeing if it lines up with what I claim to love.

And then, if I’m not feeding what I claim to love, the first step is probably to pray for help.

Lord, help me to love what you love. Lord, change my heart so it lines up with yours. Lord, keep me from settling for less than the undiluted joy of your presence.

Because if we’re honest, a lot of us have grown really comfortable with the concrete digging into our bikini bottoms. We’re sipping that cold drink and feeling pretty good about our self care, and we’re missing that God has a whole ocean of rest that could blow our little minds.

And we need God to change our hearts.

About the time I started thinking through this issue in my life and trying (AND FAILING) to make measurable progress, I read about Amy Carmichael’s habit of praying simply, “Come and sit with me.”

Maybe when we see Jesus sitting next to us in our puddle, we’ll start to realize that we’re about due for a change of scenery.

Can you imagine? Squashing Jesus into a puddle with us when a whole ocean awaits?

So instead of making new rules for my social media consumption or my reading life (and who knows what this might be for you: maybe shopping habits or alcohol intake or gossip tendencies), I’m trying this.

As I scroll through Facebook: Jesus, would you come and sit with me?

As I read on the couch: come and sit with me?

As I pick my next book on Libby: can I first pause and just have you come sit with me?

Naturally, some days this goes better than others. Some days it helps me do a necessary pivot. Some days I legitimately forget. Some days I want what I want and so I “forget”. Some days I go through the motions, but I’m really resenting the fact that I remembered. Some days I think it would be easier to just make a new rule.

But the Jesus we see in the New Testament doesn’t show up with more rules. He shows up with Himself.

These days I’m seeing: Jesus will sit with me in the puddles of life, but he’s offering me a lot more. God tells us that He is the Great Physician, the God of all Comfort, the Wonderful Counselor, our Peace, our Helper… All this and so much more.

So if I listen… I might just hear God calling me to body surf in the crystal waters of His presence. I might see him offering me unbelievable riches. I might experience a transformative rest that has me reaching, not for my next fluff novel, but for an overflowing abundance of true life.

Wouldn’t that be better than sitting around in a mud puddle, ass on the asphalt, thinking I’ve got it made?