“You are lazy.”
I understand. When my mother spat those words at me, she felt frustrated. I’d been asked to clean my room, and I’d started with the bookcase–a grave mistake. She found my 14-year-old body sprawled across the bed, deeply engrossed in one of the familiar volumes, oblivious to the mess piled around me. My posture said “slothful, disobedient, useless” to mom. She probably despaired at the kind of adult I’d grow into. She stomped down the stairs and I guiltily put the book away and finished what I’d barely started.
Although it was never her intention, those words branded me and I’ve lived under their shadow ever since.
My mother wasn’t a bad mother. I know she worried about me as all mothers do. But I’ve struggled with the concept of rest in the 35 years since her death because I didn’t feel entitled. Every time I stopped, the echo in my head said, “Lazy, lazy, lazy…”
When I was a young mom, it made me grumpy. Sleep deprived from nights awake with little people, working three jobs and trying to keep a somewhat tidy house, I snapped easily and cried and felt misunderstood. When I had a chance to nap, I didn’t. I pushed on and declared that “sleep was for sucks.”
Later, when I faced a three-hour commute to work every day and tried to give my absolute best to my job, my family and my house, it was never enough. 
The bar had been set too high (by me) and I inevitably failed in some area. The voices in my head, which gave me no grace, nattered on. “You didn’t…you shouldn’t…”
When I reached beyond the bounds of reasonable and found the strength to do something crazy awesome, the voices said, “That’s okay, but what about next time?”
And if I rested more than a little, the words came back to me. “Lazy, lazy, lazy…”
The Protestant work ethic under which I had been raised is a good thing when in balance. It produces work that’s complete and excellent and worthy. It’s something to feel proud of. But out of balance, it can drive you crazy.
God has been trying for years to get my attention on this one. Sometimes He’d make some headway and then I’d slip back when someone would praise me for going over the top. That praise was addictive and much louder than His still small voice.
The Bible says so much about rest, I must have developed a special set of blinders to ignore it. God rested after creation, Jesus rested and I am implored to rest. In my favourite verses, I can see Jesus reaching to me, His eyes full of love and His head cocked as if to say, “Come on, be reasonable.” What He says is:
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me–watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11:28-30 The Message
Hmmmm. If Jesus says He won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on me and I’m worn down by the weighty and uncomfortable burdens in my life, where did those come from? Bingo. They came from me.
My recent hip-replacement surgery has been a revelation. Week one I lived in a drug-induced, painful haze. By week two the drugs were reduced and I saw small victories. I could get off the couch by myself. By weeks three and four I was moving better and only used the cane in the house. Each day saw small triumphs.
Now I am starting week seven. The little victories are much slower in appearing. Each day I need to accomplish 15 physio exercises, time on the bike and a thirty minute walk. And…I need to rest.
I’ve discovered I can’t push myself. I get ready in the morning and sit down with my coffee.
I walk and sit down. I do physio and sit down. My body cries for rest between each task and I must listen.
I can do things like clean up my tiny back yard from the winter’s havoc, but it takes me three tries. Housework is accomplished in minuscule increments. I can do most things, but I need to rest, rest, rest.
And that’s okay. Good, even.
I’m still considered post-surgery. I know someday I will walk without a cane, have some stamina and be able to do more. But I cling to the lessons God is whispering in my ear because they aren’t just for now. They are for always. Rest is good, a gift He gives us, a way He shows us He understands who we are and what we need.
I have learned that rest is good for me.
A secret?
Rest is good for you, too.
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