On Rest

On Rest.

I think I forgot how to rest once I became a mom.  –but I feel like I’m starting in the middle, so let me backtrack, I don’t want to lose you.

We used to say of Keary, when he was little, that he had two speeds, asleep and full-speed (and nothing in between).   My mom commented to me that she thought I was very much like Keary when I was young.  Anything I did, I did at full speed, all out, 110%.   And looking back, I think that’s probably pretty accurate.  When it comes to general disposition, Keary is very much my clone.  I remember, as a kid, hating to go to bed (or even down for a nap) because I didn’t want to miss out on anything.  Rest, to me, wasn’t a necessary part of life, it was time in the penalty box, in which the game kept going, but I was not allowed to participate—or even watch. 

I have carried that feeling quite into adulthood.  Sleep for me isn’t rejuvenation.  I can’t enjoy it.  It’s necessary downtime.  I know that after a while I get fumbly and less efficient and my mental sharpness goes and short-term memory quits working, I start making mistakes—and it’s time to sleep.  But as an adult I have only slept 4 to 7 hours at night—the very minimum to recharge whatever needs recharging.  I’m keenly aware that I only get so many hours of life, and I don’t want to “waste” a third of them sleeping—missing life.

In the same way, I have found it very hard to really “rest”.  I blame part of that on being a mother.  I mean, once you become a mother, you are changed forever.  There is never any going back.  There is always someone else you are thinking about, praying for, planning for, training, feeding, cleaning up after, molding, loving….I remember, when Laura was not quite a year old, having a dream in which I walked to the store.  No big deal.  Just walking from my house down the street to the store.  But toward the end of the dream I realized Laura wasn’t with me and I had no idea where she was—did I leave her with a sitter?  Was she at home? Did I leave her at the store?—it was the first time I realized that even in my dreams I was a mother—there was no going back, there would never again be a time when I didn’t have her on my mind.

At least….not until April 2015.   (If you need to know what happened then, see previous blogs).

I believe April 2015 was the very first REAL rest I had since---EVER?—or at least since childhood. 

I do remember, as a child, the feeling of the last day of school, knowing I didn’t have to get up and do any kind of routine the next day…that feeling that you could just let all your breath out and relax.  Though I enjoyed school as a child, I don’t think I particularly liked getting up in the morning, early, and the rush out the door to the babysitter’s….. As an early elementary child, my summers were mainly spent in Hazel Dell, on a small “farm”—not really a farm, but they did have acreage and a horse, blackberries and fields.  One of my “happy places” where I go when I need to relax from stressful situations is on the hill in the pasture beside their house—lying in the tall, soft grass, surrounded by daisies, looking up at the few clouds sailing in the blue sky, listening to the birds, just breathing in the “nothing to do” summer air.  Ahhhh. 

And I remember that “end of semester” feeling, or that “last day before Christmas break” or “last day before Spring break” feeling, when all the homework is done, the testing is over, I can clear my mind of school and just rest…School books are left at school.   It’s all put away and I can really rest. 

In college, it was the end-of-term feeling, when all the papers were in and the finals were done and the only stress left was waiting for grades to be posted. 

But even as much as I enjoyed that lack of stress-lack of schedule—lack of someone-else-running-my-day, I lacked an appreciation for having nothing to do.  There was a kind of stress in not knowing what to do—in having nothing to do, in having to come up with ways to be productive or to keep my mind occupied—because my mind only ever had two speeds—coma or full-on—so most of my life, even while sleeping, my mind was full-on. 

Seriously.  When I was about 11 or 12, I got this puzzle that was a long flat piece of wood with an oblong hole cut in the middle of it.  Through this oblong hole was a string and on either end of the string was a bead and a flat diamond of wood.  The bead would not fit through the slit in the  wood, but the diamond would.  Over the two strings was a metal ring that would not fit over the wood diamonds.  It would fit over one end of the wood with the hole in it, but not the other end.  The object was to get the ring free of the strings, so it was separate from the puzzle.  The only rule was that you could not untie the knots at either end of the string, and you could not cut the string or in any way damage the puzzle.  I played with this puzzle for YEARS.  I would slip the ring over the wood and past the slit, thinking that if I could somehow get the string out, I could slip the ring back off the wood and it would be free…but the beads were too big to go through the slit.  I would pick the puzzle up and put it aside for months at a time…and pick it up again….and put it down. 

Then one morning, I woke up just knowing how to do it.  For decades I had been going over this puzzle in my head, in the background, even while I slept, apparently, and one morning I woke up and knew how to do it. 

My amazing brain figured it out while I was sleeping.  I used to do this all the time in high school.  I would go to bed working on a difficult math problem, and when I woke up in the morning, I knew how to solve it. 

But in April 2015, I rested.  I think even my brain rested.  For a time, I had no children, no home, no husband, no work, no responsibilities, no animals to feed, no land to care for.  I didn’t have to worry about eating or getting dressed.  I was fed and clothed and bathed by someone else.  I didn’t have anything to do and didn’t know I didn’t have anything to do.  There wasn’t even the “pressure” of finding something to do.  It was just me and God.  Other people flitted in and out, and it was good, but I had no connection to them…they were just clouds that sailed by in the blue summer sky.  It was just me and God.  And in all my life, I have never felt so completely free to just be me—to flit and dance and bubble and frolic—all-out, full speed.  No one saying, “Shh” or “slow down” or “eyes only” or “be careful”—no “governors” (in the engine sense).  No expectations.  No responsibilities.  No schedules.  It was the most peaceful I have ever felt.  And the most loved.  And the most accepted.  And the most fearless. 

Years ago, when Gary had his stroke and I was losing my vision, bills were mounting and I was overwhelmed, Matthew 6:25-34 was my command and my promise. 

      25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life[a]?

      28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

And in April 2015, I finally learned what it FELT like to truly be able to not worry for a short time.  And when all those things came back—a knowledge of time of motherhood, of home and husband, pets and work—it was all good; I was so thankful to have them all back.

But I learned what it means to rest, to really rest.  And, though I’m still a mom, time still flows, work still calls, and I have to think about what we are going to eat; I have a new “happy place”.  And I’m starting to understand that “rest” isn’t a time-out from life, in the penalty box, while the game is going on without me—but rather, it’s a place to go where I can check motherhood and work and responsibilities at the door, and just be with the One who loves me, in His presence, frolicking—or just snuggling—and that all those things will be waiting for me when I get back.