Rest

Take a deep breath.
Now relax your muscles.

Do you feel at rest now? Probably not (unless you were before you started reading). Resting is something that takes more time than that. Yet however much time it takes, most people will agree (or perhaps just admit) that we need it.

I looked up a couple of dictionary definitions of the word "rest". Here are a few:

rest
Date: before 12th century
intransitive verb 1 a : to get rest by lying down; especially : sleep b : to lie dead
2 : to cease from action or motion : refrain from labor or exertion
3 : to be free from anxiety or disturbance
4 : to sit or lie fixed or supported (a column rests on its pedestal)
5 a : to remain confident : trust (cannot rest on that assumption) b : to be based or founded (the verdict rested on several sound precedents)
6 : to remain for action or accomplishment (the answer rests with you)
7 of farmland : to remain idle or uncropped
(Merriam-Webster)

rest
— ORIGIN Old English, from a root meaning "league" or "mile" (referring to a distance after which one rests).
verb 1 cease work or movement in order to relax or recover strength. 2 allow to be inactive in order to regain or save strength or energy. 3 place or be placed so as to stay in a specified position: his feet rested on the table. 4 (rest on) depend or be based on. 5 (rest in/on) place (trust, hope, or confidence) in or on.
(Oxford English Dictionary)

A few things strike me:

1. Resting implies intent or necessity. The cessation of labour is done for a reason: "in order to relax or recover strength". Land is given rest so that it can better bear fruit the next year.
   
2. I am no linguist but 900 years seems like a pretty good long time for a word to be in use. Of course the concept has been around much longer, but the longstanding use of this word in our culture seems to point to its significance. Also note that its derivation (see above) refers once again to the need for rest: after going a certain distance, it is time to rest.
   
3. There is an element of confidence or trust. Resting requires trusting. I can't sleep well without trusting that I am safe. I can't stop working unless I trust that the necessary task will be finished. I usually like to think of the image of leaning on something for support: we trust in something because it is strong enough to allow us to rest.

I challenge you to take some time this week to rest; don't just assume you will have the strength you need without intentionally resting. As you rest, consider how trusting is specifically linked to your resting.

Isn't it interesting that God specifically commanded his people to rest?

Memories

I completely forgot to write something last night, and then haven't been back to my computer since 8 this morning, so I decided to simply post a poem that I wrote earlier this week in my journal.

Strong Lingerings

It is when tiredness had disarmed me, in silence,
that the memories come
rushing towards me
with such force.

The vivid colours,
the strange but familiar smells,
the well known cool roughness of a wall,
the sounds of song or a distant call to prayer.

They come upon me with such poignant certainty
that even joyous memories become sharply painful
for they are simply that -
memories.

On most days I am glad for memories.
They are the lingering wisps
of transient experience,
wound around in my head to treasure or forget or suddenly remember.

In a flash I can see
the light reflecting off the smooth concrete floor
after Zorah has cleaned them,
as I lightly leap from one square tile to the next.

I can smell steaming vegetables and spices in the green kitchen
and sun on the hibiscus hedge.
Or Dad's leather change purse
or the distinctive smell of an artisan's shop.

Yet other days memories seem almost cruel
such vividness
such surprising strength
nearly obscuring the present moment.

It is when tiredness had disarmed me, in silence,
that the memories come
rushing towards me
with such force.