When Rest Comes Knocking on the Door

It’s early Monday afternoon and my husband decides to rest for a few minutes. We’re preparing for a cookout at our house later in the afternoon. I jokingly look at him, “Rest? Why do you need to rest? We still have stuff to do.”

“I just need a little break. I feel like I’ve been going all day. I’ll get back to it.”

“I’m busy every day,” I reply.

I never rest, I say to myself. It’s slightly a badge of honor, but at the same time part of me mourns. I wonder what it would be like to rest. To truly rest and not have an agenda. To take a break and not think about all that I have to get caught up on.

[And it's not that I have so much more to do than everyone else...it's that I'm a sinner with a bent toward perfection and a perfectionist doesn't rest until all is perfect. See the problem?]

I aim to wake up between 5-6am every morning*  and I’m on the go. I don’t stop until I crawl into bed around 10:30 or 11pm and I’m up again 2 or 3 times at night with the baby.

I open up my Google Reader this morning and read this,

A Labour Day Reflection: Because the Work’s Done

I already know where she’s going. I don’t want to go there. Rest is too hard for someone like me.

“The strength of a stiff neck and two sure hands can be hazardous to the soul.”

How I know that all too well…

Before I can read any further, there’s a knocking at the door. Me in my lounging clothes and the boy still in his, we answer. It’s a delivery man with a box from Amazon. He hands it too me with a “Have a good day.” I say thanks and close the door.

Amazon? I didn’t order anything. I don’t remember anyone saying they were sending us anything. And it’s addressed specifically to me.

I open up the package to find this,

The book from our swag bag at Relevant. The book I never read. The book I sold to the used bookstore.

No invoice. No paper at all. Just Jesus Calling.

Is it a sign? I immediately open up to today’s date, September 6th,

Do everything in dependence on Me.

I close it.

Now I wonder…that man who delivered the book? He wasn’t our regular UPS lady. He wasn’t wearing FedEx colors. I haven’t seen him around this neighborhood before.  And the postman doesn’t deliver packages that will fit in the box. I didn’t really look at him…blue jacket, dark skin, hat, jeans.

Was it an angel? It sounds silly to even say that, but it could have been.

God is obviously trying to tell me something.

Not only am I a reluctant sojourner, but I walk with Jesus along the path and when he says, “Let me carry that for you.” I shift under the weight of my own burdens and sin and say, “Oh, no. I’m fine. I want to show you how good I am.”

I’m not quite sure where all this is going. I think rest might be somewhere on the horizon.

 

(*Lately it’s been a little later.)