Come to Me

I well-remember the exhaustion I felt as a mother of two pre-school daughters, working full-time for a large corporation. There were numerous occasions when I wouldn’t even hear my night-owl husband, Ray, gently close our bedroom door as he crept out after we’d said our prayers. I could have been featured on a sleep clinic commercial, along with the old adage, “asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.”

A few fleeting years later, emotional weariness joined my physical fatigue. My beloved spouse died unexpectedly, felled by a fatal heart attack weeks after his 39th birthday. Suddenly left alone to parent my daughters (7 and 10 years old at the time), I clung to God for daily strength. Above all else, I prayed for wisdom. And I repeatedly petitioned Him to let me live long enough to raise my girls. Unbearable thoughts of them being orphaned fueled my pleas.*

Nonetheless, some nights found me too worn-out to formulate a coherent prayer. In the brief moments between crawling under the covers and drifting off to sleep, I counted on the Spirit’s knowing my unspoken needs and interceding for me with groans too deep for words. (Romans 8:26-27) Furthermore, I imagined myself in my Father’s lap, wrapped in His loving arms. “Please, Lord, just hold me. I’m so tired.”

Though I’m often reminded this world is not my home, I’ve been acutely aware of the ever-present brokenness in my not-Home in recent days – from malfunctioning printer technology to discord in cherished relationships, from self-doubt to minor frustrations to major misunderstandings. I’ve grieved my own short-comings and been disappointed by those of others. Day after day, my heart has cried out to the Lord for relief and restoration, longing for peace and beauty and the promised perfecting of all things.

Jesus bids us come. All who are weary and burdened. He promises us rest. Not just any rest, but rest for our souls. (Matthew 11:28-29) Our gentle Savior took on flesh and walked this world. (John 1:14) He knows how difficult it is, how fear and anxiety and hopelessness can produce tired, troubled souls. Not only does He invite us to take His yoke upon us and learn of Him, but He:

  • Promises to never leave us or forsake us. (Deuteronomy 31:8)
  • Invites us to cast our cares on Him because He cares for us. (1 Peter 5:6-7)
  • Tells us not to be anxious, but to bring our prayers and petitions to Him. (Philippians 4:6-7)
  • Advises us not to worry about what we will eat or drink or wear. (Matthew 6:25-34)
  • Instructs us to fear not. Though we will have troubles in this world, He has overcome the world. (John 16:33)
  • Reminds us He is preparing a place for us and will return to take us Home. (John 14:2-3)

Throughout these difficult days, I’ve felt God’s comforting presence. His tender ministrations have manifested themselves in ways as varied as my heartaches:

  • A blog post from a fellow writer which provided encouragement to keep writing and bolstered my diminished confidence.
  • A phone call from my daughter who listened patiently to my sob-punctuated litany of sorrows which burst forth upon hearing her concerned, “Are you ok, Mom?”
  • Lunch with a long-time spiritual sister whose wisdom and calm presence I cherish, one who helps me regain a proper perspective.
  • An extended phone conversation with my other daughter, who I see at least twice weekly but rarely have time to chat with because of the three little ones clamoring for our attention.

And then there was Saturday, beautiful, soul-satisfying Saturday, spent in my garden. When I went out to water my thirsty plants, God bestowed upon me a tiny glimpse of the way it will be in His Garden. As sunlight filtered through the floriferous branches of my 7-27-2013, My beautiful crape myrtlecrape myrtle, sights and sounds of early-morning re-awakening greeted me. Two glistening gold finches balanced atop gently-swaying stalks of verbena, expertly extracting the tasty seed. All kinds of busy pollinators buzzed in and out of colorful blossoms. A bejeweled hummingbird hovered near the lantana. Butterflies zig-zagged lazily in the breeze. Birds chirped and frolicked in the sprinkler spray. My heart exulted.IMG_6301

One day the children of God will be revealed. The groaning will stop and all things will be made new. (Romans 8:18-21; Revelation 21:4)) Until then, may our world-weary souls find rest in Him and may we have eyes to see and ears to hear the evidence of His lavish love all around us. (Matthew 7:11; James 1:17)

 

*God not only graciously granted that prayer, but I’m now Grammie to three precious grandchildren.

Rest

The weather in metro-Hotlanta isn’t supposed to be this nice on the last day of July. Don’t get me wrong, a break from the seemingly-incessant heat and humidity of the past couple of months is a welcome relief. But it’s certainly not helping my post-surgery frame of mind. Even though an operation to relieve carpal tunnel and trigger thumb wasn’t optional, a steroid injection in May gave me some flexibility in scheduling. Thus I chose July 25th, the heart of summertime. I reasoned the customarily-oppressive weather conditions would soften the blow of not playing in the dirt while I focused on recovering in time for the fall gardening season.

Yet here I am, a mere six days after being anesthetized, cut on and sutured, clamoring toIMG_3952 be outside pulling weeds and swinging my mattock on this glorious afternoon. Although a passing glance at the back of my hand belies last week’s trauma, a quick flip of the wrist reveals a palm more befitting the Bride of Frankenstein. Black stitches protrude from my bruised, slightly swollen flesh like tiny whiskers, while the surgical road map sketched out by my doctor, though fading, is still visible.

I reach instinctively. My hand quickly reminds me it’s not ready to lift or grip or even hug. And so I rest.

In spite of my whining, I am thankful to be on this side of the surgery, thankful to have awakened from the anesthesia[1], thankful to be home. The windows are open for the first time in weeks, allowing me to savor the breeze. From my vantage point at the kitchen table, I’m entertained by numerous birds of varying kinds – daughter Jessie refers to them as my twitter following – as they flit from feeder to deck to branch, some with hungry fledglings in tow. As I sit and reflect, my body is hard at work healing, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.[2]

Making time to rest is challenging for wired-to-work me. I’m a list-making, check-it-off, don’t-slow-down sort. Yes, I’m like Martha by nature, but am called to become more like Mary. Commended by Jesus for having chosen the better part, she sat at his feet and drank in his teaching instead of bustling about with her sister.[3]

Be still and know that I am God.[4]

Taste and see that the Lord is good.[5]

“This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to Him!”[6]

God ordained rest. He who needed no rest, set us an example from the very beginning, when everything was still “good”.[7] Then, at the appointed time, the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.[8] Fully God, yet fully man, Jesus knew hunger and thirst and fatigue. He, too, set us an example, affirming man does not live by bread alone[9]; promising living water[10]; taking time to be alone with His Father.[11]

When I had carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand two years ago, Mom told me multiple times a day, “Don’t hurt your hand!” My reply, “I’ll take care of my hand, otherwise I’ll only be hurting myself.” This now-humorous litany is repeating itself. Being a doer herself and having undergone several surgeries, Mom knows how difficult it is to endure forced rest.

Lord willing, I’ll be off the disabled list soon, back to the garden in time to accomplish my fall-season objectives.[12] But when my health is restored, may I remember rest is not optional, especially when it comes to my spiritual well-being. If I don’t take time to seek His face[13], to listen for His still, small voice[14], I’ll only be hurting myself.

The One who lived a sinless life on our behalf that we might live with Him forever[15] bids, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”[16]

Rest for our souls . . . the very best rest of all.

 

[1] I do NOT like to be put to sleep and my first thought upon regaining consciousness is usually something along the lines of, “Thanks, Lord, I’m still here!”

[2] Psalm 139:14

[3] For the full recounting of the sisters’ story, see Luke 10:38-42

[4] Psalm 46:10

[5] Psalm 34:8

[6] Mark 9:7

[7] Genesis 2:2-3

[8] John 1:14

[9] Matthew 4:4

[10] John 4:1-26 records the story of Jesus’ exchange with the Samaritan woman by the well.

[11] Luke 5:16

[12] James 4:13-15

[13] Psalm 27:8; Psalm 105:4

[14] 1 Kings 19:10-13 tells of Elijah’s encounter with the LORD.

[15] Romans 5:1-11

[16] Matthew 11:28-30