Rest

Down here in the valley
Nothing's able to grow
'Cause the light's too low
Folks spend their days
Digging 'round for diamonds and gold
'Til they just get old
And they don't know anything else
They don't know they're breathing bad air
But I'm tired of living like this
And my soul cries out, "If You're there...

Will You lift me up with tender care?
Will You wash me clean in the palm of Your hand?
Will You hold me close so I can thrive?
When You touch me, that's when I know I'm alive
(from the Newsboys song, "Thrive")
As I've thought about my dad today, I think about him being in heaven and I wonder what things stick out as being important now that his story here is written. As we talked in the days before his death, he mentioned things that he was happy about, things that validated his time here. He tried so hard. He was hard on himself, and sometimes hard on us closest to him. I think striving sometimes felt like the best option, particularly if the alternative was slacking off, taking things for granted, letting them slide, perhaps failing. But if I think of him now, being with Jesus, I can picture him finding rest. True rest - not the self-indulgent slogginess of indolence - but the rest of being at peace with himself, with his own need and ability to receive forgiveness and acceptance. After all, the story of the Christian is the story of someone who has reached the end of his (or her!) ability to keep all the plates spinning, all the balls bouncing, all the people around happy. No one is perfect, it's true - but to really acknowledge that in yourself, to admit your need for Someone beyond yourself - that's the crux of switching from "my will be done" to "Thine". And that's where Rest begins.
I just got back from a week scrambling over mountainsides in Colorado, and it's funny how different a mountain looks from the top than it does from the bottom. All the obstacles, switchbacks, striving, work and effort of getting yourself to the top are forgotten as you rest and look out and ahead. I wonder if that's what my dad is doing now. I think of him singing hymns two nights before he died, finding in those words and God's presence a peace and rest that his frenzied body couldn't grant him. I think of the song quoted above and the chorus not being about frenzied striving, but allowing God's love and comfort to surround you. And - for those of us still down here - I'm thinking that rest can sometimes look a lot like activity, but it sometimes requires allowing yourself to fall back into the love and protective care that await when you let go.