This is a House of Rest. I will invite others to participate in this rest…but first, it’s just for us.
I remember so clearly looking out the front windows of my new house, holding my babies along with my shattered body and soul, thinking that this would be a place for our healing.
And it was, and it is. But not in the way that I thought it would be.
If you’ve read my recent essay, How to Blow Up your Life in Five Easy Steps, you know that we came to this place in the Palmer Divide, (where we started our small family farm) after a shattering in both our faith community, and in our own family experience as the result of a severe birth trauma.
Leaving the city where we’d experienced so much wounding was its own kind of balm. Moving here certainly didn’t fix anything, but what it did provide was distance, time, and space.
I do not believe that time is always a healer, but sometimes with enough time, distance, and space we can begin to see our wounds as they truly are. We can begin to name these aches we’ve carried around like so much baggage—and in that naming, we can begin to let go of what was never ours to carry.
A House of Rest
What makes a house, a House of Rest is not how beautifully its decorated, or whether it has the most comfortable furniture, or even the quality of the cooking. (Though all those things can certainly help to facilitate a restful atmosphere.) What makes a house, a House of Rest is intention—and though I’m not sure if I knew all what twists and turns this home was going to hold me through on my faith journey, I knew that what I was creating here needed to be a place where I could finally experience enough peace and safety that I could begin to process all that had happened, and try to heal.
For those of you who grew up in strict religious environments where sabbath was celebrated but perhaps, not in a way that actually felt restful to you—thinking of your home as a House of Rest might feel difficult at first. Likewise, those of you who grew up in a religious environment that conveniently “forgot” about Sabbath being one of the ten commandments as long as you were “doing something for God,” you may also find yourself feeling a little twitchy. These are two kinds of Spiritual wounding that I hear about often when I begin to talk with people about Sabbath, and both can be quite damaging. The legalism, the shame, the heart pounding anxiety of “resting wrong” if you even “rest” at all—it can take a long, long time to undo.
But that is not what God intended for the gift that is Sabbath.
Jesus spoke so clearly that Sabbath was made as a gift for us, and not we for it. He said this to combat accusations about his followers picking heads of grain when they were starving. He was also was very firm in his correction of the religious leaders who had a problem with him healing on the Sabbath saying essentially, “if something/someone that belonged to you, fell into a well on the Sabbath, wouldn’t you rescue them?” But this too has somehow been warped to mean that all “spiritual” work is exempt from the Sabbath Resting rule.
Let me give you some good news that might sound bad at first: you are not infinite.
You are a finite human being, with limitations. Burnout, even from “good work” is a real possibility if you don’t lean in to rhythms of resting.
Oh how I have hated the finite parts of myself—especially as a recovering people-pleaser/perfectionist with a spiritual background. I have wished a thousand times that I could be all the things to all the people, help everyone, carry all the burdens, and fix all the things that are broken.
But that is not mine to do.
Mine, is only what God calls me to in each specific moment. What is mine to do, is just what God puts in front of me each day, the callings he has placed on my life. It is mine also, to rest.
Resting allows for space enough that I can sort through what is, and *is not* mine to carry the other six days of the week. Rest reminds me that I am not God—I am not infinite, and that’s actually a really good thing. Rest gives space for connection with my people, and a little bit of distance from the noise of the outside world for a time.
Some days, what is mine to do—is to do nothing. To just BE.
This too is Holy.
Sabbath for the Spiritually Bruised
We attended a church service a few weeks ago for a family member’s baptism and it was so deeply painful we practically ran out the door the moment the service was over.
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