This week’s post is by Becca Wellan. A volunteer at Redeemer and full-time nanny (aka: superhero).

Be thankful.

I have a pretty good guess at what you’re thinking: It’s not Thanksgiving yet.

I am notorious (in my own head, anyway) for associating certain emotions and concepts with specific holidays. I can’t be the only one. The word Immanuel means “God with us.” The word Immanuel also makes me want to hang up Christmas lights. And I can make a good guess at what song is playing in your head right now (does this mean I’m psychic?).

I do this with the word “thankful.” Maybe you do too. I think of cozy sweaters, the smell of cinnamon, the laughter of friends and family as we eat ridiculous amounts of food, and the pumpkin cheesecake I make us each year that never turns out right. Ever.

Last night, I went for a walk with my dear friend and roommate, Kyla. Actually, she was longboarding and I was panting like a lost puppy trying to keep up with her.

“Hey Becca,” she called out, roughly two miles ahead of me. “Let’s do the thankfulness ABC’s.”

… but it’s not Thanksgiving, goofus.

I just laughed and went along with it. We were thankful for everything, from “Apples” to “Zaaa! For pizzaaaa.” Our conversation was a fun, silly exercise but it got us talking. How would our hearts change if we started to actively cultivate a daily awareness of the wonder and blessing from God in our lives?

When we aren’t thankful, our hearts may grow cold and we may not see just how truly, deeply, unbelievably blessed we are. A thankful heart opens your eyes to blessings in your life that, let’s be real, may go unnoticed as real-life tears at your skin and threatens to steal your joy.  
 

This year, I’ve cried my fair share of ocean tears. I’ve learned that on Christ the solid rock I stand, sit, lay down and cry. So have you, in one way or another. 2016 has been an incredibly trying year for many in my Redeemer family. We’ve been heartbroken, individually and collectively.

In the midst of deep hurt and sorrow, God pours out His love in abundance. What if we started to notice it and talk about it? The bible encourages a thankfulness that runs deeper than circumstance, rooted in the goodness of Jesus and everything that He has already done for us.

...giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. // Colossians 1:12-14

We can praise God, always, because He already rescued us from the domain of darkness. Even when we feel darkness surround us, it’s not our home anymore. Darkness isn’t our identity. We are redeemed, forgiven, and qualified to party in heaven one day, where He promises to remove all sorrow, pain, and death forever (Revelation 21:4). Until then, we have a God who promises to never leave us, no matter what battles we may face (Deuteronomy 31:6).

So what are you thankful for?

I am thankful for:

• A brand new awareness of my weakness and sin that has driven me deeper into the arms of Christ.
• A God who calls me His cherished, forgiven, deeply loved daughter, in spite of me.
• My friends who have extended their forgiveness, even though it was undeserved. Who sat with me and let me be broken. Who reminded me of the gospel when I couldn’t remind myself. Who gave me their wisdom, and food (I love food).
• My beloved church family at Redeemer. Even all the nerds in my Gospel Community. I love you all.

The list could run for miles. 

Let’s be a community who together recognize and talk about the power of Christ at work in the mundane, the suffering, and the joy that life brings.

So, what are you thankful for?

It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to your name O Most High, to declare your steadfast love in the morning, and your faithfulness by night. // Psalm 92:1.

 

This week's blog was written by Theresa Adams, a wife and mother who loves to tap dance. 

The other night my little family of four trooped down to the beach in search of a sunset. And sunset we got. God did not disappoint. His handiwork was all over the sky and the water reflecting below. As we sat, okay my husband and I sat while our boys bouldered and climbed, gazing on His Glory there was a Heron not far away. It was so still it almost looked as though it had been placed there by a sculptor for our viewing pleasure. The sun was behind it just so that it was a still silhouette unmoving yet full of grace. As the sun continued to dip and the horizon played with yellows and pinks, still the Heron stood. It paid no attention to the voices calling out in loud delight (our kids) nor to the never ending bark of the delighted dog in the surf (not ours). It simply just was. Whether it was asleep, getting ready to eat, or also admiring the view, I'll never know. But, what I do know is that I could learn a thing of two from the Heron. I could learn how to "just be" amidst the countless distractions and chaos of the world around me. I could find out how to still be full of grace even as the circumstances around me shift and swirl.

 A verse that is often read on well-meaning magnets and wall hangings is Psalms 46:10 "Be still and know that I am God."  Synonyms of the word, still include motionless, stationary, immobile. "Rooted to the spot, as if turned to stone." That would lead us to believe that "being still" is a passive state requiring very little of us. I am pretty sure that those of us who've gone through any season requiring us to be still know that the act of being still is a very involved and engaging place to be. To intentionally choose to "just be" in the season you are in. To not look ahead to what is next and to not be fill up the present. There is nothing passive about guarding your time or safekeeping the now. Maybe it's just me, but I find being still a difficult place to be. In this fast-paced-busy-is-best-time we find ourselves living in it almost goes against our nature. It certainly goes against our culture.

This particular season of being still that I find myself in is new to me. Both of my boys, whom I've stayed home with since they were born, are now in school full-time. It's something I've long anticipated, but now that it's upon me I'm not quite sure how to navigate it. I am continually met with questions and comments such as "What are you going to do with all of your spare time? Are you going to be getting a job? Wow, that must be so nice!"  Yes, it is nice, okay some days is downright lovely,  but the thing is I don't have an answer to those other questions. And that is by design. But at times, when peppered by inquiring minds, I can forget the intentionality behind not knowing. And at times whether it's my insecurity or the fear of being looked down on for not having a plan or because I'm not able to satisfy other people's curiosity I can forget that my security isn't in what I do or don't do. I can get amnesia about where my identity lies. It's then when I'm misplacing my identity, which I start to justify my choices, or I elaborate on what I do with my time. Anyone?

The thing that I have to preach to myself time and time again is that my identity is rooted in what God has said who I am in Christ. It doesn't matter what anyone else says. Even well-meaning friends or dearly loved family doesn't get to decide who I am.  When you are in a season of being still whether you are there due to a self-induced prescription while learning the art of saying "no" or whether you are there because that is where God has placed you, and you don't know for what reason or for how long, it's almost as if you have to get used to the silence. 

You need time to grow accustomed to the pace or rather a lack of. To slow your thinking from constantly looking ahead and re-learn how to look at the now with fondness and thanksgiving. To remember that who you are has worth. No matter what you do. No matter how much you make. Regardless of where you live or what you study or how you score. No matter how full or free, your calendar is. Our identity and our security are not tethered to what we do or don't do.

 If I could imagine what that Heron had running through his or her mind as it stood there on the beach, I suppose it wasn't much. I don't suppose it was preoccupied with its identity as a Heron being linked to his movement.  I don't think it cared whether others thought it was insignificant because it wasn't busy being busy and I don't believe it was thinking ahead to the next season of life and how it couldn't wait to be done standing on that rock. I am fairly certain it wasn't even making a plan for how to get off of that rock. It simply just was where it was. Easier said than done, but let's not rush past it or dismiss it. 

Let's try, rather, to embrace the in-between. Look to being still as a gift of rest or quiet or refreshment. No matter why you end up there or no matter how long you find yourself there I hope that you, and me, can find enjoyment in simply being still.

Blog post by Ashley Bowie - natural habitat; cozy chairs near sources of coffee.

There might be better places for an epiphany than standing on the precipice of a known avalanche sight, but I didn’t plan ahead. I have a history of this. Once I was staring down at a deep blue gym mat attempting the splits at an age that is unamusing to talk about when I had a similar “wrong moment for this” epiphany. I’m always exhausted, worn thin and not entirely ready to think when those moments find me.

This time I had agreed to a sunset hike. I had not gotten much sleep the night before, put in an early, full shift at work and then set out for the wilderness with a handful of fun and interesting people. By the time we reached the trailhead it was early evening, drizzling and cloudy all around. You should know that the whole point of a sunset hike is to get somewhere with an amazing view of the sun. This was a huge gamble; there was no way to know for certain if the clouds would clear in time to see any hint of a sunset. But we pressed on.

The mountain was stunning. A few sturdy summer wildflowers were left over and the first kiss of fall had painted a few of the leaves for us. At a certain point talking becomes unreasonable, and you are left to your thoughts. The rain kicked up from drizzle to pour and a brisk wind whipped around the exposed part of the mountain trail we were following. But we pressed on.

At a certain point in the trail you can look below you and see the tarns, small glacial lakes set in the nearby valleys. It is a delight to behold. We didn’t stop for long though, because we were all soaked through and if you stop, you turn to ice. So we pressed on.

The trail was now muddy, covered in loose stone and steep, avalanche steep. But we pressed on.

At the view point for the tarns there is a deep temptation to stop. Stop right here, get warm, get fed, and get home. You look in front of you and can feel the struggle it will take to actually arrive at your destination. You might think to yourself; “This is more than most people would do, I could see the sunset from here, it can’t possibly be any better at the top.” I considered it for half a moment, then there it was. Off to the side of the trail, a small stack of rocks that someone had set up, one balanced on top of another.

Ebenezer; the Lord has brought us this far.

The word filled my mind as I took another step. I was standing then, on a thin slice of trail where the ground falls away just inches from my left shoe. I could see the landslides at the bottom. Not quite as steep to my right but enough to light a nerve on fire at my toe and send fear all the way through me. I pressed on.

I need to tell you about the “OK plateau.” The OK plateau is something I learned about a few years ago, just before I was faced with that blue gym mat and a shouting kung fu teacher insisting I become more flexible. The OK plateau is where you are comfortable, maybe you worked hard to get where you are, maybe you’re happy and content, maybe you don’t want a full split in your cache of talents, and maybe you can just watch the sunset from here.

But maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe it’s fear holding you back, maybe you have sinned or have been sinned against and you can’t figure out how to make yourself take the next step. The OK plateau is fine because you aren’t exposed, your sin is comfortable, your fear is familiar, and your anger makes you feel like you are actually accomplishing something.

That is where the Israelites were. They had sinned, they had stayed on the OK plateau and set up camp. They had wandered away from God and were being sinned against. They were pressed on all sides by Philistines and by fear. Samuel made a sacrifice for the people of Israel, then set up a stone and called it Ebenezer, “Thus far the Lord has helped us,” He said.

In spite of the sin of Israel, the Lord helped. Though they had become comfortable in their ways, the Lord helped. Though they were being pursued in war, the Lord helped. Though they were overcome by fear, the Lord helped.

I pressed on. I took one icy step after the other and summited the mountain. The clouds came with us, we couldn’t see. We got out dry clothes, we got warm, we ate, we smiled at one another and were grateful we had made it. Then in the space of a few moments, the clouds cleared. The sun hit our faces and lit the hills at every angle. We all laughed. What a sight! Wisps of cloud burning orange in the sunlight, green hills, Mount Baker not so far off.

Then I turned and got a clear look at what I would have missed if I stayed down on the OK plateau. I have never seen a circular rainbow, but I saw one there. The sun hit the mist at just the right angle on the mountain to set the colors in a spin. Because the sun was behind us I could see my own shadow pressed into the center of the rainbow. I giggled, like a child. Like a child the Lord had brought through fear, had lead through sin and struggle and guided to the top of the mountain even though I would have been satisfied to stop.

If you have stopped, remember that the Lord has helped you this far, and press on. If you are hemmed in by fear, remember that the Lord has helped you this far, and press on. If you are weary and exhausted, remember that the Lord has helped you this far, and press on. If you are satisfied and cannot imagine anything better than this, remember that the Lord has helped you this far, and press on.

This week's post by Brandon Adent, a deacon at Redeemer Church. He likes music, words, and words about music.

A couple weeks ago, I wrote on listening to sermons, about being attentive to what God is speaking through His Word and how to work towards getting the most out of it. As a part of that post, I touched on my fondness for paper Bibles. Specifically my paper Bible with rips, creases and coffee stains accumulated over nearly a decade of use.

It reminded me how much I love things I can feel.

We live in a world of automation, of comfort and ease. If you don’t own, don’t want to carry, or just straight up forgot a paper Bible on a Sunday, you can downIoad one to your phone in an instant. Most of the time, if you don’t want to go into the bank you don’t have to, and you can make a transfer in seconds. If you don’t want to read the newspaper, you can jump on the web to get the highlights, curated and tailored to your specific interests. If you don’t want to chop vegetables, you can get a machine that will do it for you, and do it better than you could.

God created us as physical beings to live and interact with physical objects, to create and steward and manage them for His glory and the good of everyone. And yet, it seems to me that we go to great lengths to rid ourselves of these cumbersome physical processes. Or, at least to get physical things that make life easier. I really, really don’t think that’s bad. But I do think we take them for granted, and miss out on opportunities to thank God for His provision.

Telling Stories

At many points in the gospels, we can hear Jesus speak in parables, basically stories with a moral or spiritual lesson. Often, He uses everyday objects and processes as illustrations. He references vine pruning, wine pressing, bird watching, bread baking, fishing, reaping and sowing. These are jobs that, if people didn’t do them themselves, they were at least aware of what they entailed.

Jesus then connects these mundane, arduous, physical processes, and uses them to say something about God and what He's doing.

When I eat bread I know that it tastes good, but I am so far disconnected from the physical process of making it that I completely forget the hours and care and ingredients went into it.

Some friends of mine recently started baking bread the old fashion way, beginning with the starter. They mix flour and water and let it sit for awhile, “feeding” it more flour as the starter expands until finally they have enough leaven to make a couple loaves of bread.

Because they’ve gone through the process of making bread and I haven’t, Jesus saying “The kingdom of heaven is like leaven that a woman took and hid in three measures of flour, till it was all leavened”, is going to mean a lot more to them than it is to me. (Matt 13.33)

What We’re "Missing"

So, what am I suggesting? Just that we be mindful people that take the time to understand what we're missing, that know the time and effort it took someone to make what they did and be grateful to God for whatever agony they saved us.

For example, rather than write my own definition of a parable, I used Google to find a definition in about six seconds.

Google is easy, right? Just punch in what you want and see where it takes you. But, what process is that replacing?

Twenty years ago, my parents would have told me to go find a dictionary, which would have taken me a whole five minutes, and if we didn’t have a dictionary or it wasn’t in there, I would have had to ask everyone I knew until I found an answer. If those efforts proved fruitless, I would have had to carefully read all the parables, distill them down to their core elements, and come up with a definition myself. For what it’s worth, I think that process is really fun.

But I don’t have time to do it right now. So. Praise God for Google! He gave someone a vision for what internet searching could be, and gave them the mind to make it.

I’ve got another friend who’s really into woodworking, and he uses all hand tools to do it. One of his earlier projects was to make a workbench, crafted to his exact needs. I don't recall how long it took, but I know it was awhile. He came out the other side of the project with something he was proud of and a greater understanding of woodworking.

My friend loves woodworking. I do not. If I want a workbench, I will go buy a workbench. Shoot, if I want a wooden stool, I'll go buy a wooden stool.

But because of my friend, I would appreciate that stool more, knowing how much time and effort went into it, even if it was a five dollar stool machined by someone in China. Which, as an aside, is also crazy. Because that means someone figured out to make a stool that would cost me five dollars and make enough money to stay in business.

These are all examples of people, made in the image of God, doing what people do, being creators and stewards and managers of the world around them. We don’t always have the best of intentions when we do this, but God gives a lot of grace for our endeavors to work out for the benefit of others.

Being Thankful

I don't think we always have to go through the process of figuring out what we're "missing". Sometimes, we just don't care; we just need to get the thing done and move on. And that's okay.

One thing we should understand, though, is that God Himself didn't just send His Son to save us from an inconvenience, but from an impossibility.

The debt we owe for our sin is so great that no amount of mere human toil could overcome or pay it back. Jesus lived perfectly, died sacrificially, and rose victoriously for people who were and are unaware of what they owe apart from Christ.

For all of this, let's be marked by a constant gratefulness just to be alive, for the convenience and luxury we often take for granted, and the new life that we have in Jesus.

This week's post is by Ashley Bowie.

In a small upstairs dining room, in a rented space filled with quick glances and a tangible uncertainty the son of God sat breaking bread and praying. Low candles threw shadows around the room and on the faces of the men with Him. Some were afraid, or worried, most were confused. All sat listening intently through the sounds of eating and drinking and light conversation. With one ear to his brother and one ear to the Lord each of them waited. Something was happening, something was about to change. As they waited patiently they looked carefully at one another, Do you know what this is all about? Have you heard what he plans to do? All of them were looking for answers, all of them could feel the tension. All of them but Peter. Peter sat tall and easy. He sought a lively conversation but could not find it among his brothers. He leaned into his meal instead and focused on flavor. He did not notice when Jesus stood and filled a basin with water. He did not see the Son of the Almighty God wrap a servant’s towel around His waist and carry the water to his own feet. He did not notice until his feet were in the hands of Jesus and it became appallingly clear what He intended to do.

“Lord do you wash MY feet?” This was a job for the lowly, a disobedient servant, a young or very new servant. Certainly not a job for the great teacher, and not at all a thing for God himself to do. He could not allow it, Peter would do anything to serve the Lord and had said so, planned to say so again. I will die for you Lord. He rehearsed in his mind again. No this would not do. Maybe he would stand so Jesus could not wash his feet, or call on his fellow disciples to say something sensible.

“If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” Jesus said patiently, with an eternity of longing in His voice. Peter softened, his bravado deflated. Above all, he must be with the Lord forever. Of all the things he had ever wanted, of all the paths in life he had tried, following Jesus had been the only right. If He says I am not clean then I will let Him wash me, he reasoned. If cleanliness is what he wants, then I want to be totally clean.

“Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Don’t count me out Lord! Clean all of me so I can be with you.

“The one who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but is completely clean. And you are clean.”

~

I’ve been talking about the subject of this blog for several weeks now. My friends know that when I get excited about something they can expect to hear about it day and night ad infinitum. It was something of an epiphany that hit me as I was reading through the book of John one morning. Like a flame lit in my heart spreading warmth through me. I’m a little bit more afraid of this little candle than I thought, because as it happens, it’s not just a candle, it’s the consuming fire of a real and consistent face to face relationship with Jesus.

When we think of submission, I would guess that most of us think about doing as we are told by whomever happens to be in authority. We think of bosses or parents, and making good choices when it comes to our spiritual lives. We think of abstaining from sin and doing the good right things that the Lord gives us to do. These are good thoughts about submission, right even, but in the context of John 13 we have this miraculous moment when we are commanded to submit to being served by the Lord.

Sit right there, child you have been walking in the world. You have been living and striving and walking to and fro trying to be a good servant and a faithful child and you have collected the dust and filth of the world on your feet. Let me pour this pure water over your feet and wipe them with this towel white as snow.

I have sinned recently. At the time of this writing I am unwilling to tally up all the ways I have been selfish or careless, cold hearted or have let my words get away from me. I’m sure you understand; you are every bit as human as I am. When I am made aware of my sins, the filth of the world on my feet, I have a tendency to wallow for a few days. Then I try to clean up myself. As though I sit with a gavel in my human hearts court room and lay out a sentence. Do three kind things, say words of encouragement to people who annoy you, read nothing but scripture for a week. I have a friend who says that she “grounds” herself. She feels like she cannot go out with friends or do anything fun.

James chapter 4 says that when we do these things we become judges of the law. As if to say that the plan Jesus laid out for confession and repentance is not enough and we need to add our own items to the list in order to feel clean again.

Repentance will never stop being a part of our lives on this side of eternity. There is always going to be something to be sorry for. No matter how hard you try, you will continue to walk through the world and collect the mess on your feet. True, soul deep repentance puts you face to face with Jesus. As He kneels before you, the one He laid down His life for, the one He paid His own blood for, He looks into your eyes and says “You are already clean, just let me take care of these feet. Thank you for coming to me today because I know that you needed to sit here and confess all the mess you have gotten into, and look there, it is finished.”

This story happens within the framework of the last supper. Jesus’s final communion with His disciples included a teaching on confession and repentance. It should be often and intentional that we come to have our feet washed. And when He has washed their feet He gives us this command; John 13:14-15 “If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you.”

I think most of us repent in solitude because we don’t want others to know just how bad we are. I really hate to imagine what people would think of me if they knew how selfish I can be sometimes, or how angry I can get if things don’t meet my expectations. But here we have the example of Jesus; we are not to come to one another with superiority or with any of our own judgments on the law. We are to come with a servant’s towel and humble knees. It is messy to live in the world my friend, and I don’t want you to be slowed down by thorns or a collection of dirt. So let me help you, let me pray with you and we can walk on together.

Isaiah 52:7 “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, “Your GOD reigns!”

This week’s post is by Brandon Adent, a deacon at Redeemer Church. He likes music, words, and words about music.

Easter morning I showed up for rehearsal feeling less than stellar, and left feeling even less so.

Exhausted, I lay on the couch, and hardly got up for a week.

I don’t get sick easily; it’d been probably seven years since I’d had the flu, and probably three since I’d had to take multiple days off from work. Maybe both of those numbers are normal, maybe they’re high, maybe they’re low. No matter, when Tuesday showed up, they both reset to zero, and the timing felt absolutely the worst.

Really, anytime is the worst, but this was bad. There wasn’t really anything of utmost importance I would miss, nothing that couldn’t be rescheduled, anyway.

But after several months of stalemate, I was at long last beginning to see progress in a couple of different areas, finally starting to feel productive, to see progress, to get back into a rhythm. I was exhausted from spinning my wheels in the sand, but at least I was moving again.

Yeah, no more. For the next week, I did nothing but toss and turn, whimper and puke. In all honestly, I didn’t probably have it that bad. But it felt bad. I felt bad.

And as I sat there wanting nothing but the Second Coming of Christ, I couldn’t help but ask God what I had done to deserve this.

Lay Down, Little Sheepy

Some time ago, someone pointed out to me the particular phrasing of the first couple verses of the well known Psalm 23:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul

He makes me lie down.

At least for my soul, that sounds a lot like this:

Okay, little sheepy, this is a good spot. Take a minute and lay down. No… stop here, don’t keep going. Stop. Okay, c’mon bud, get down. No, all the way… all the way; no, I said DOWN, not up.

LITTLE BUDDY: LAY. DOWN.

DOWN. NOW.

*sickness or injury ensue*

At first glance, this sort of thing seems a bit vindictive or something, but it's actually the opposite.

While Psalm 23 may or may not be a direct reference to the biblical concept of Sabbath rest, I can’t help but see the parallels.

Needing Rest

We need rest; it’s hardwired into creation; even before the Fall, there was rest. In fact, God Himself rested and set that day apart (Gen 2.1-3), not because He needed it, but because He knew we needed it.

Our bodies need to physically recover from the things that we do, but rest is more than sleep or lying around. It’s also allowing oneself the time to just “be”, to reflect on God’s greatness and be astounded that He somehow is mindful of us (Psalm 8).

Rest reminds us who we are, that we can’t do it all. It gives us a chance to unwind and charge up for the week or the day or the hour ahead, mindful of God’s power and our weakness apart from Him.

As Christians, we can take a break from our labor in the full knowledge that Jesus has worked tirelessly and rested perfectly, died and risen so that we can rest in His record and not our own.

Hating Rest

Regardless of any benefit, we don’t like rest. At least I don’t. When I go hiking, I am all about how much ground we cover, how many miles we need to make in a day, how far to the next camp. Don’t stop for water or take pictures in the middle of a hill, keep up the momentum. Actually, my tendency is to speed up while ascending.

I’ll rest when I’m dead, thank you very much. Right now, I’ve got somewhere to be.

I mean, I like the idea of taking a second to look around. But it takes much more effort than it should to just pick my head up for a quick breather; I really like the idea that I don’t need it.

That somehow God made me wrong, that I know what I’m capable of more than He does. I’d rather spend the night nauseous than admit I can’t do it, and it’s happened often enough.

Just Lay Down

There’s a lot of different ways to rest, or "sabbath", and the best way to rest varies so much from person-to-person.

The Sabbath was a day of rest, built into the week. God Himself “sabbathed” after He populated the earth, and written into the Ten Commandments was a weekly “rest day”, which was to be spent differently than the other days of the week, to spend time with God and His people, do good and rest from the labors of the week. Keeping the Sabbath was a big deal, and with the Jewish people today, it still is.

There’s a million ways to take a Sabbath. Take a nap, take a walk, hang out with friends, take your family to the park, play an instrument, work on a project, read a book (or three...), write a letter to your grandmother, and so on and so forth. Just take time to reflect on what God has done for you in Christ and enjoy all the good gifts He’s given you. Take some time to just “be”.

Maybe it’s just me. But I’ve found that when I am not obedient in regular rest, I get made to lay down.

Thankfully, whether we’re smart enough to see it or not, wherever we’re laid down is green pasture where, whether we want Him to or not, He restores our soul.