Remember and Rest
Trusting that slowing down might actually move you forward
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Rest
Maybe, like me, you are (always) learning how to rest.
Not just the kind of rest that looks like collapsing onto the couch after a long day or squeezing in a quick nap between meetings, but real rest. Soul-deep rest. The kind of rest that quiets the noise, stills the mind, and settles the heart.
It’s not something I’m good at, but I hope to become better at it.
Because here’s what I know about rest:
Rest is holy.
Rest is vital.
Rest sustains.
And yet, I resist it.
My friend Barrett tells me, “We work from rest; we don’t rest from work.”
And I believe him. I really do. But believing something and living it out are two very different things. Because if I’m being honest, I don’t want to rest first. I want to move, create, build, and cross things off the never-ending list. There is always something to write, to fix, to clean, to accomplish. There is always someone to text, call, or meet up with. There is always more to do.
But what if rest is where we begin?
What if rest isn’t wasted time but the wisest way to use our time?
What if slowing down is actually the way forward?
Moving forward often looks like being still.
It’s almost as if …
I need to step away in order to come back.
I need to pause before I press on.
I need to sit back so I can lean in.
I need to shut it off and breathe before I get to work.
Because to rest is to trust.
Trusting that God can do more with six days than I can with seven.
Trusting that when Jesus says He will give us rest, He means it.
Trusting that I don’t have to hold everything together, that I was never meant to.
And I like how that sounds.
So, maybe today, I begin with rest.
Trusting that the rest will follow.
With Hope,
Tanner Olson
Remember and Rest
A page from my book, Walk A Little Slower.
And again I’ll breathe in deep and exhale all that is heavy as I remember Your grace and mercy.
I’ll lay down what’s aching within as I lie down inside.
If my hope rests in You, so will I.
Lead my wandering mind to sit with the silence and remember all You’ve done as I wait for You to arrive.
Teach me to hold on and lean in and stay hopeful when I think of where and who I have been.
Unfold these white knuckled fingers and bring these hands to hand over what is keeping me from being still.
Restore to me the beauty of child-like believing, like before I heard about disease and death and before the war in my heart and mind started to steal my breath.
Push back my shoulders and set me straight as I pause in a world of constant motion.
Won’t You remove what remains pressed on my chest so I can simply wait and rest?
And again, I’ll breathe in deep and exhale all that is heavy as I remember Your grace and mercy.
And again, I’ll breathe in deep.
And again, I’ll exhale all that is heavy.
And again, I’ll remember Your grace and mercy.
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"Unfold these white knuckled fingers and bring these hands to hand over what is keeping me from being still."
Love this whole piece, especially this line. There is no rest in holding onto what we cannot control, and yet so often, we continue to hold onto it rather than release it.
“To rest is to trust” is so beautifully true.