Reflections on Rest

As a cross country runner in high school, I always loved the beginning of a race. At the firing of the start gun, the herd of runners dispersed, releasing a quiet thunder of hundreds of feet striding over the grass-covered route. Supportive shouts from friends and family broke into the stillness of early morning. I felt weightless in my running cleats as I ran up and over hills and through patches of fall-tinged forests, sweat dripping down my back and immediately evaporating in the crisp air. 

For the first two miles, I was steady, composed, running determinedly at a quick, clipped pace. Yet, every time I hit that third mile, the pain inevitably crashed down on me. My lungs started to burn, and a wave of exhaustion hit. My body cried out in protest, Why are you doing this to me, Elizabeth? And my mind replied, Just keep running. You’re almost there. Keep pushing forward. Then, you can rest. An annoyingly cheery proverb, invented by my cross coach, flitted into my mind: “The faster you run, the faster you’re done!”

As I ran, I held open my hands, asking God for strength. After what seemed like forever—I finally made my way across that finish line, collapsing and gasping to regain my breath.

For better or for worse, this dogged determination to keep going until I reach the end of the race is often the way I approach my work in life. It goes against my nature to stop and rest before I’ve successfully crossed the finish line. 

Yet, throughout college and as I entered the working world, I realized that, often, the finish line is less well-defined than I would like. Once I complete one task, there are still ten more to go … and then ten after that. The race never ends. Because of this, I’ve learned that I have to create my own mini finish lines and mile markers, realize my limits, and stop to rest a while before moving forward.

This is hard. It’s hard to recognize my limits and make adequate time for stillness and rest. The word “limitation” carries a negative connotation in our fast-paced culture. It’s a hindrance, an annoyance. As tasks pile up around me, I just want to keep going and get them done.

And I have to believe that I’m not alone in this. The very structures and habits of society reflect our culture’s disdain for limits and aversion to rest. Tish Harrison Warren, author of Liturgy of the Ordinary, comments, “We’re people of twenty-four-hour big-box stores, wee hour drive-throughs, and all-night coffee shops … We have five-hour energy shots available in the grocery store check-out line.” 

Our tendency is to keep running the race.

But the truth is, this is not the lifestyle we were created for. We were made with limits and the need for rest. Something that I am slowly beginning to understand is that limits are not hindrances—they are vital reminders of our finitude. Limits force us to stop, recognize our profound dependence on God, and remember that we are just as valuable in God’s eyes when we are working as when we are resting.

Ashley Hales, author of A Spacious Life, describes rest in this way: “When we sleep, we admit our limits: we are needy creatures … The order of the universe is always grace first: we receive first and then we work in response to the rest and care we’ve been given. We do not work for rest or in order to earn our rest. We start with rest.”

Hearing these words completely altered my understanding of the relationship between work and rest. I had always thought that if I ran hard and fast, at the end of the day, I could collapse into well-deserved rest.

In truth, the race never began with my own efforts. It began with God’s grace. Rest is not a reward at the end; it is a gift at the beginning.

Jewish culture seems to understand this concept well. According to Warren, “In Jewish culture, days begin in the evening with the setting of the sun … The day begins with rest. We start by settling down and going to sleep … seemingly accomplishing nothing at all … resting, drooling on our pillow, dropping off into helplessness.” This Hebrew evening/morning sequence is a powerful safeguard against the faulty philosophy of merit-based rest.

Moreover, Warren goes on to explain that even as we begin our day in this helpless state of sleep, God is already at work in the darkness: “growing crops, healing wounds … protecting, guarding, mending, redeeming.” When we awaken, it is not to begin our work, but rather to join in with the good work He is already doing.

A right attitude towards rest is still something I am working on. It’s easy for me to get sucked into the culture of busyness and prioritize faithfulness to work over faithfulness to rest. However, I’ve learned that to choose rest, is to humbly accept God’s grace in our lives.

Sleep and stillness are not hindrances to our work, they are the very fuel that allows us to move forward in the first place. And, more importantly, they remind us of our deep need for Him who never sleeps nor slumbers. 

“Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchman stays awake in vain. It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep.”  ~ Psalm 127:1-2