We returned last night from a long weekend in Portugal. Colorful, sunny, delicious Portugal. I picked up the dog from the kennel and he doesn’t appear any worse off for being the unfortunate victim of my craziness prior to leaving. I sincerely hope I am not the only person who forgets they have a dog, or an appointment, or–hypothetically speaking–a child waiting to be picked up at the bus stop. I feel like I’m rushing to catch up, only I never do.
I’ve thought a lot about rest lately, spiritual rest, the kind where your soul lies down in green pastures and is restored. Every time I sit down to write about it, I can’t. I circle round and round the idea in my head, but I can’t seem to get the words to trickle down into my fingers. The best way I know how to express it, is to say it’s a longing. I long for a deep rest of the spirit, the kind that has nothing to do with my schedule, my responsibilities, or my feeble attempts at keeping all planets revolving around me.
I woke up early on Saturday, to the sun breaking across the sky and the sea. Clouds sat above water, hugged by earth, lit in a golden glow. Each element knew exactly where it belonged, hung and held and revolving around the Son. I watched the day break and I knew I had seen the thing I long for. Rest is knowing I am not the sun or the Son. All things do not live and move through me. Responsibilities exist, lists must be made, but instead of allowing the light of the Son to shine on those places and bring me into a place of restoration, I try to become all things. I try to be the sun and the earth, the sky and the sea, when all He desires is for me to simply be.
I feel the light of the Son wooing me, calling me to come, to be, to rest. And I feel the longing again, to answer the call with a quiet yes.