The Power of Rest

Last night I was more tired than I have been in a very long time.  My entire house was (mostly) moved to my new house, and with the rain and some unforeseen complications, it took nearly 10 hours. 

Then, after all was said and done, I had to go back to my old house to get all my bedding and a bunch of other things, so I fully loaded my Ford Bronco once more, and then trudged another thousand steps or more to get it unloaded. 

By the time my bed was made and I  was ready to climb in it, I was so exhausted that the thought of getting up and writing a Devo seemed like an impossible task.  I told my fiancée about this, and she said, "Why don't you write about that?"

So I did.  Only this morning I'm rested, clear-headed, and about to drink my second cup of coffee because at the last minute I remembered to bring my coffee maker over last night.  And I've been thinking about the power of rest, and how infrequently most of us allow ourselves to embrace it. 

When we are weary—truly weary in both body and soul—it can feel as though rest is a luxury we cannot afford. There is always more to do, more to fix, more to carry. Yet the deeper truth is this: rest is not a reward for finishing everything; it is a gift that makes life itself sustainable.

The writer Anne Lamott once said, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” Her words carry a gentle wisdom. We are not designed to run endlessly. Like any good creation, we require pause, renewal, and stillness in order to function as we were meant to.

Scripture echoes this truth again and again. In Psalm 46:10, we hear the invitation: “Be still, and know that I am God.” Stillness is not inactivity—it is sacred awareness. It is the quiet space where we remember who we are and whose we are. Jesus himself extends a tender call in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Notice that he does not say, “Come to me once you have finished everything,” but simply, “Come.”

Rest is an act of trust. It requires us to loosen our grip on the illusion that everything depends on us. It asks us to step away from the tyranny of the urgent—the endless noise of what demands our attention—and to return to what truly matters. When we rest, we declare that our worth is not measured by productivity, but by being beloved children of God.

In a restless world, choosing rest is a quiet form of resistance. It is a way of saying that your soul matters, your body matters, and your life is more than a checklist of accomplishments.

So carve out space. Breathe deeply. Sit in silence. Take a walk without rushing. Turn off the noise for a while. In that sacred pause, you may discover that God has been waiting—not in the urgency, but in the stillness.

Prayer
Gracious God, when I am weary and burdened, help me to come to you. Teach me to rest without guilt and to be still without fear. Restore my body, renew my spirit, and remind me that I am held in your care. Amen.

Reflection Questions

1. Where in your life are you feeling the greatest weariness right now?

2. What practices might help you create intentional space for rest this week?

3. How might trusting God more deeply allow you to release the pressure of constant urgency?