Rain has finally come to our parched Texas hill country. Enough wet, soaking rain came down as a gift from God to transform miles of dirty, brown, ragged, singed, dusty land into a luscious green oasis.
He also sent me a beautiful night’s sleep Sunday night. The kind of sound, restful, peaceful, deep sleep that transformed my disgusting disposition into joy.
Far too often, I take things for granted. Vital things, sweet things, healthy and beautiful things. Until the ground is scorched and I am exhausted.
The time has come when I must learn how to rest.
Seriously; rest does not come easily for me. My mother tried desperately to teach me to sit still, walk slowly, and speak quietly. She insisted that I sit with my ankles crossed, knees together and covered, and my hands folded quietly in my lap. She implored me to ask few questions, listen more than talk, and at nap time to lie down and stay quiet!
I learned many things from my sweet and godly mother but I NEVER mastered the art of being still and lady-like nor did I learn to rest.
Now in my seventh decade, I’m tired. Through circumstances I wonder about, for the past few months I have followed the blog of a young friend who writes every Wednesday on keeping a Sabbath with Jesus. Every week, I read—with wonder—her words about being quiet and spending specific time with her Holy Father.
Finally, after church last Sunday, I stopped.
And I rested.
I spent a long time in my sunroom. That’s the quiet place in our house where I pray. It has plants, pictures of all of our children, grands, and greats, and from my comfortable chair, curled up in the blanket one of my granddaughters made for me, I can see for miles across rolling hills. Normally, I rush in, pray, and rush back to my chores. Sunday, I settled in for a few hours.
I wrote in my journal, read Scripture, and made a specific decision to fast from begging prayers. You know the kind… those please-God- send/give/do/fix/heal prayers…… Perhaps my mother had a point about keeping my mouth still.
Later that day, I walked down to our gate and back—without stopping even one time to pull a weed. I did not turn flowerpots around or pick off dead petunia blossoms. I sat in our gazebo swing for a long time gazing at the horizon and counted church steeples across town. I studied our trees, leaves, limbs, weeds, wild flowers, and cows in the next pasture.
I said “Thank You,” many times.
Rest is a very good thing. Apparently even our Holy Father thought so!
“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath of the Lord your God…” Exodus 20: 8, 9
By the way, I promise that you’ll find a serious blessing if you check Megan's blog at http://meganwillome.highcallingblogs.com
In His Quietness,
Liz
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