Not entirely fooled. A little . . . but not entirely.
I used to think I was a superstar for keeping my world in motion, . . . until I realized I couldn't hardly stop, or when I did stop during Christmas break or summer, I became a rag doll without a spinal cord, unable to hold myself up and keep myself going. When I stop, I sleep excessive amounts and don't know how to put one foot in front of the other. So I try not to stop. I just run and run and run.
If I want to be honest, if I'm willing to slowly turn around and raise my eyelids enough to look into the mirror I dread . . . I think I maybe know what I'm doing.
That busy whirring, the constant movement, flash of light and wind always . . . this isn't productivity. It's distraction. Anything, anything at all to keep me from facing myself, from pausing enough to really assess how I'm doing before my Savior. Anything to keep me from hearing the sound of my own crying, my own inadequacies, my own weakness. I afraid of what I might hear if I stop. What if these are the only cries I hear: "You're not enough! Not enough! Not enough! NOT ENOUGH." So I don't stop.
And I don't live.
But I long for rest. Oh, I long. I live in the busy, always living city, but my soul knows something about green pastures, and I'm thirsty for the streams He speaks about.
Your call to rest is a call to a trust I'm scared of. I want to though. I am, I really am tired of living distracted. Please teach me about Rest in this season. I'm not sure I even know what it means. You offer Your grace. I breathe. Thank You. Thank You. Holy, Holy, Holy. Amen.