Why is it that rest comes
easy at times and not at others?
Last week we arrived at a
beautiful lodge on Lake Quinault in Washington state. It was near the end of a vacation in Seattle
and around the Olympic National Park loop. As my husband and I walked to our
room, we saw a sign proclaiming “The Rest Comes Easy.”
I stepped out on our
balcony and took in the view of mountains in the distance. Just below the
balcony, hydrangeas boasted shades of blues and deep purples. Tall spruce and
firs towered at the edge of a pristine lake. The water shimmered like a just
waxed floor. I breathed in the cool air and exhaled admiration for the Creator’s
attention to detail in His work of art. It was stunning.
We
decided to stay an extra night and take in that view a little longer. Tomorrow
would be a pure day of rest to just stay in and read.
We
revisited our decision when the wireless service flaked out. For the next hour,
we went through the angst of our dilemma. If we were completely disconnected,
we could count it as a blessing and find even greater rest, right? But we would
be out of touch. What if something happened? What if our kids needed to reach
us? What if we missed two days of Facebook news from our friends? What if we
couldn’t watch the stock markets fluctuate? And what about NetFlix? “This is
ridiculous” I concluded to my love. “Do you hear what we’re saying? If we can’t
disconnect for a day or two, we are way too addicted to connection.”
I wish I could report that I had a lovely day of reading, not once wanting to check social media. The network wasn’t down long but by then I had
imposed a goal to disconnect anyway. I did spend the morning with my nose
in a book, but a long line of distractions queued up to visit me that afternoon.
I wanted to pick up my phone and check on the world. I put my book down and
joined my husband, watching reruns of “Frazier” because we were near his
Seattle home. I got sleepy. That’s ok, a nap qualifies as rest. I woke up and
tried to return to my reading on the balcony.
Everything around me begged for my attention. Lovers, young and old,
walked along the trail at the edge of the lake. Young families played
horseshoes on the grassy lawn. A little girl entertained imaginary friends
under the gazebo. Friends gathered on Adirondack chairs and chatted. I wanted
to text my kids. I longed to check Facebook. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t sit
still. The rest did not come as easy as I anticipated.
Fast forward to the next
week at home after vacation. Laundry calls. Flowerbeds need weeded. Errands
need run. And I wish I could stay in my chair
and read all day. The rest would come so easy now. And therein lies the answer
to this human dilemma. When we can’t do something, we long for it. And when we are free to do it, we
lose interest or get distracted.
Psalm 42 begins describing
our longing to be in God’s presence:
As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for
you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When shall I come and appear
before God?
When I am turned away from His presence (although He is
always right there), I long to enter into His rest and spend some time together.
But when I get in His presence, distractions bombard my mind. Because that is
the nature of being human. So we
practice the discipline of spending time in His presence. There we do not empty
our minds, but we fill them. With Him. With His Word. With His Spirit. And His
rest does come easy.
