Sometime during the first year of our marriage, Ricardo and I had an intense discussion. I don’t remember the topic, but I will never forget how my churning emotions calmed right down when he paused and said:

“Wifey, we’re on the same side.”

I immediately visualized us together, facing down a common enemy. And for the past 27 years, that approach has brought us together over and over again to make choices for the common good. Often without even gritting our teeth.

Who is your enemy?

Fighting is exhausting.

Perhaps if we made the enemy the enemy, we would be less likely to hurt each other.

War is beyond exhausting.

Even as I write, missile bearing fighter jets pass overhead. And while we live in a secure location, 30-50% of Lebanon’s population does not. Over a million people (roughly 1 out of every 5) are displaced, having fled homes that mostly lie in rubble.

Perhaps if together we named evil for what it is, wherever it is, we would be less likely to pick sides—less likely to defend the indefensible simply because it aligns with our side.

And we would work together better and be able to do some good—together.

Together is less exhausting.

One of Lebanon’s many natural gems nestles in a canyon in the Jabal Moussa Biosphere Reserve. Refreshing waters cascade from the heights, bringing the coolness of the mountains into a shaded sanctuary where the river widens into a crystal pool.

It is the stuff of postcards—refreshing, relaxing, restful.

Getting there is easy. A downhill trail all the way. Wonderful—except that the return trip requires an hour of straight uphill hiking. By the time you get back to your car, you’re all sweaty again and the cool refreshment has evaporated into the memory-sphere.

Have you ever done a hike where the whole point happened somewhere in the middle rather than at the end?

That’s most of life right now for many of us—going through our days with so much going on that our moments of beauty, rest, and arrival must be captured in the middle of the big consuming items on our agenda.

Here’s to the middle moments. May you find them, and may your rest be sweet.

Alicia

While his neighbors bemoan the loss, the farmer entertains a broader perspective and replies, “who knows if that won’t bring good luck?”

The story unfolds with subsequent events that the neighbors alternately deem as either good or bad fortune—while the farmer continues to remain neutral on whether or not the circumstances are ultimately good or bad:

The loss of the farmer’s only horse is reversed when that horse eventually returns with several wild horses, enriching the farmer. Good luck.

But then, the farmer’s son fractures his leg while trying to tame one of the wild horses. Bad luck.

The narrative (which could zig zag back and forth forever) concludes with 9 out of 10 of the male villagers dying in a battle against invaders, while thefarmer’s son is spared due to the fact that his injury prevents him from fighting.

And what is the moral or lesson of this parable?

Over the past 2000+ years, this story has been embellished and adapted for the purposes of religion, philosophy, business management, and counseling.

Here’s my take away—based on the storyline I find myself in right now:

A person could ride some serious ups and downs trying to classify every event that comes along. Without an overall perspective, highs and lows can take on a life of their own, becoming focal points that suck us into the drama of the moment (which is quite different from being present to the moment).

It is good to give thanks and give praise to God, the giver of all good things.

It is also complicated when the not-so-good things come along and we feel like we have to explain them or offer some kind of defense on behalf of God—who is so far beyond our comprehension that the very attempt can create a caricature of him that is anything but helpful for others (let alone ourselves).

What if we hold an overarching perspective grounded in the faith that there is a God who can take what is bad and ultimately redeem it—find a way over the course of our time-bound lives to weave everything into a tapestry that emerges as good and write a conclusion to our story this side of eternity that ushers us into permanent goodness where evil and death are no more and every tear is wiped dry?

And we hang on to the faith that is evidence of things hoped for—the end of all conflict and the arrival of God’s kingdom of love and justice, peace and truth.

I won’t subscribe to neutrality of the Chinese farmer.

I will celebrate the good, the graces in the midst of inconvenience and pain.

I will also name evil and tragedy for what it is.

And I will turn my face to choose stability through the ups and down as I locate all these things in the big picture perspective—with an eye on the final outcome, resting in the faith that God is good and will make good on his promises.

What’s going on in your story right now?

Whatever it is, may you find rest in both the ups and downs.

Alicia

.

Might I suggest finding a quiet spot in nature—a place where the sky reaches down and lifts you up? Where bird songs mingle with the cheerful music of a babbling brook—reminding you that, after all, this is our Father‘s world and wrong will not prevail.

May you find a place to rest and may your rest be sweet.

Alicia

Recently, I heard a pastor addressing a concern that some people have with solitude— a spiritual practice that includes sitting in silence before God.

“What if you hear the voice of Satan?”

To be sure, none of us wants to hear the voice belonging to one also referred to as the “accuser” and “father of lies”, but surely awareness of that voice is better than ignoring it through noise and distraction

Especially when noise and distraction are favorite tools of his.

Also especially when our silence makes more clear the voice of God—the only voice that can silence the enemy voice.

Pastor Shigematsu1 said it well in a recent podcast I listened to:

“God’s voice convicts us and draws us to himself. Satan’s voice condemns us and drives us away.”

Pastor Shigematsu continued by describing the impact of these voices on our lives as a way of helping us discern who is who:

“God’s voice tends to still you, whereas Satan’s voice tends to rush you… Satan’s voice frightens you.

God’s voice enlightens you. Satan’s voice confuses you.

God’s voice encourages you. Satan’s voice discourages you.

God’s voice comforts you, Satan’s voice worries you.

And God’s voice calms you. And Satan’s voice obsesses you.”

Surely the best invitation to rest comes from God himself.

May your rest be sweet.

Alicia

A good exhale can let out all kinds of tension, but this exercise goes far beyond just letting out air. And it has been saving the day for me over the past couple of weeks as we cross-cross times zones and activities. Here you go:

Physiological Sigh Breathing (Double Inhale, Long Exhale)

Step 1: Get Positioned

• Sit upright with your feet flat on the floor or lie down comfortably.

• Relax your shoulders.

• Let your hands rest loosely.

Step 2: First Inhale (Through the Nose)

• Slowly breathe in through your nose.

• Fill your lungs about 80–90% full.

• Let your belly expand first, then your chest.

Step 3: Second Inhale (Top-Up Breath)

• Without exhaling, take a second short inhale through your nose.

• This is a quick “sip” of air to fully inflate the lungs.

Step 4: Slow Sighing Exhale (Through the Mouth)

• Open your mouth slightly.

• Slowly release the breath like a gentle sigh.

• Make the exhale longer than the inhale.

• Let your shoulders drop as you breathe out.

Step 5: Repeat

• Do 3–5 cycles to quickly calm down.

• For deeper relaxation, continue for 1–3 minutes.

Helpful Tips

• The exhale should be longer than the inhale.

• Don’t force the breath.

• If lightheaded, pause and breathe normally.

• This works well during stress, before sleep, or when feeling overwhelmed.

Here’s to rest anytime. May it be sweet.

Alicia

When is someone “old”?

In my teens and twenties I thought 60 was old. By the time my parents turned 60, the definition had already been significantly pushed out, only to be further extended with each passing birthday.

I suppose my Mommy and Daddy will never feel old to me. A lifetime of memories and ongoing shared experiences is a strong counterweight to shifting them into that seemingly static and final age category.

Perhaps I’m in denial—reticent to acknowledge that the passage of time will eventually take them along with it.

I have long been an adult. I am the parent of adults. And I still need my parents. I have only to imagine life without them to realize the unconscious sense of security that comes from knowing they are here. Their very presence in this world speaks to love and faithfulness and the goodness of God in the most personal of ways.

Last week my mom and I were talking about a newish challenge and she said, “life brings twists and turns”, her words revealing acceptance over resignation—evidence of a resilient life built on a tested faith in God.

So, today I am sharing something I wrote 4 or 5 years ago—inspired by my mom—and my own experience as a mother.

I will leave you too find your own invitation to rest in this one.

As always, may your rest be sweet.

***

Whenever someone asks for a list of my heroes, I never forget to mention Mom.

Mom is creative and has a quirky sense of humor.

When our leap year sister turned 1 year old, Mom squeezed her birthday party kickoff into the moment between February 28 and March 1. Yes, she got the whole family up at 12:00 a.m. to eat Midnight Chocolate Cake and open gifts.

On April Fool’s day, Mom initiated us by suggesting an early celebration for sister-born-in-April. Surprise! It was a frosted cake pan that would’ve required a sawzall to slice up (initially disappointing, but we had more fun licking frosting off of our fingers than eating regular cake the next day).

Mom can do anything.

Mom finished her Ph.D. in Education in her 50’s, an M.A. in Theology in her 60’s, and now we’re waiting for her book to come out before her 70’s 80’s are over.

When Mom and I went shopping for my wedding dress, I was disappointed to discover that the “perfect dress” exceeded my budget by about $1,000. No problem. Mom examined the gown closely and was able to adapt an existing pattern to reproduce it–with a few special extras.

Mom cares.

I won’t even venture to guess how many thousands of hours of empathetic listening Mom has willingly provided to me—and my friends. She is still there when we need her, and she remains open to learning what “being there” looks like in the face of changing times and roles.

Now that I’m a mother myself, I have an infinitely greater appreciation for how Mom has remained a constant through the intense growing pains of her four third culture kid daughters.

Mom prays.

I believe that this has been her greatest gift as a mother. So much of everything else hinges on her instinct and commitment to pray.

When I was around 6 years old, a neighborhood boy was killed by an oncoming car while pedaling home on his bicycle. I have vague memories of the funeral and can still feel a bit of the heaviness that filled the church like a dark cloud.

What I didn’t know, however, was that Mom was wrestling with how to talk to us about the tragedy. Her own mother, a reserved, hardscrabble immigrant’s daughter who died when Mom was just 17, hadn’t engaged in these types of conversations. Mom told me she didn’t even know how to teach us to pray, or even how to pray with us–only for us.

That was the beginning of a journey where Mom would step through the awkwardness of talking about intimate things, creating space for that kind of communication.

One Bible promise became as precious to her as if the ancient prophet Isaiah had penned it with her in mind:

“I will fight against the one that fights against you and I will save your children.” (Isaiah 29:25b)

Mom’s collection of prayer journals and promise notebooks has multiplied over the years. In my heart of hearts, I believe that her prayers have moved mountains, parted seas, and made a way.

It is good that we pray for our precious ones, that we reach out for help, that we read books, make lists, cry out in our closets, gather in groups, text and zoom, make prayer chains… there are so many ways to pursue prayer.

Are you up for one more?

Here is a radical, potentially paradigm changing way to pray for your child–-or someone you are concerned about—one I’ll be you have never tried:

First: Write down your child’s name as a heading on a piece of paper, on an electronic device, or in your mind (although I find this exercise has greater impact if you actually write down the name and look at it).

Next, imagine that you are a scribe or a record keeper for whatever thoughts or images come to mind. Prepare to just write them down. If you agonize in reflection, trying to get the words just right, that’s OK. This isn’t a writing exercise and the only “right way” to do this is to let it come from you.

Now, it’s time to write/jot down/draw whatever comes to mind as you pray for your child. Here are a few questions you may want to consider:

*What would you like your child to be, have, do?

*What are you afraid of for your child?

*What are you thankful for regarding your child?

*What are you proud of regarding your child?

*What do you want most for your child?

Optional: If you have any promises you treasure (or rely on) for your child, include those at the bottom of your list.

Now for the radical part:

Take that list from Part 1, cross out your child’s name at the top, and write in your own name.

Read slowly through that list, praying each item for yourself.

If the request, concern, or gratitude doesn’t seem to relate to you, try doing it anyway–you might be surprised by the connections that emerge.

For example, if you are praying for a child with addictions, consider possible ways in which you rely on something external (maybe even something in and of itself good) to avoid or numb pain. If you are celebrating an accomplishment, remember what God has enabled you to accomplish, or how God enabled you to play a role in your child’s accomplishment.

Be aware of any worry or frustration–conflicting emotions are helpful indicators of what is going on inside. This awareness can open us up in new and life-giving ways.

I promised a radically different way to pray for your kids and, I admit, it’s more of a way to get you to pray for yourself. But, consider the possibility that:

An answer to those prayers for ourselves just might be the best answer to prayer for our kids.

For those of us with young adult or adult kids, this exercise also has potential to create the space needed for the separation that strengthens our long term bonds of love.

I’ll never forget the feeling of relief that flooded me during a conversation with Mom about the need to pray for a dear one we were concerned about. Mom said:

“You know, I’ve realized that people make their own choices and live their own lives and I can only manage my own.”

A sudden sense of relief took me by surprise. I felt as if a gentle puff of air had blown the weight of the world right off my shoulders.

We want our kids to be OK, happy, healthy, successful. And all of that love and concern can put the burden on them to ensure that we are OK, draining energy that could propel them forward in their own development.

It’s not a new thought, but it’s a challenging one to apply. When Mom made that statement, I felt free. Free as a daughter and free as a mother. Free to focus my managing skills, worries and concerns on the only person I have control over: myself.

Even Mom’s promise speaks to this truth: God fights our enemy and God saves our children.

If I can keep finding peace in my own crazy, wild life journey, what better gift could I give to my children than a mom like that?

Happy Birthday, Mommy—thank you for your example.

Respite? Vacation? Long awaited chance to exhale?

(Perhaps I should mention that we’re talking here about time alone, in silence, with only yourself. No phone, snacks, computer, book, newspaper, music.)

A group of Harvard students found sitting in silence so uncomfortable, that they chose a mild electric shock instead of continuing to sit in silence.1

Researchers from the University of Virginia asked a group of students to sit alone with their thoughts in a plain room for 6-15 minutes with nothing to do. Alarmingly (I believe), some participants were even given the option—and took it—to self-administer the shocks rather than just sit and think—even though previously they had said they would pay to avoid the shock.

The researchers concluded that, without training, the untutored mind does not enjoy unstructured introspection.

Maybe you’ve experienced the difficulty of being still yourself?

You breathe deep and exhale with a smile, but then thoughts begin to bounce off the walls of your brain with such a frenzy that you feel like there’s a professional racketball game going on up there.

You remember the clothes in the washer, or maybe the unmade bed.

Your stomach growls and you feel certain that if you don’t eat something right now, your blood sugar level just might plunge and take you along with it.

There’s barking down the street and you wonder why your neighbor hasn’t been walking the dog lately.

Then there are the errands to be done, the messages you forgot to respond to, that salt you didn’t pick up at the store…

But you stick with it—you learn to give a nod to those distractions and let them pass on. And while the whole time (be it 6 minutes or 60) might feel a bit like an exercise, you find that afterward there is something more settled inside than before—and you decide to keep at it.

When we get quiet, we find out what’s in our mind. We also become aware of what’s going on in our body. This non-judgmental awareness—mindfulness, is helpful for a whole host of things, including: stress-reduction, attention, emotional-regulation, well-being, and compassion.

But beyond mindfulness lies the fullness of solitude, the intentional spiritual practice of withdrawing from noise and distraction to be present with God. Mindfulness is valuable, but solitude offers a deeper, personal encounter with God, leading us to a place of stillness where we can better hear his voice and receive his love.

I’ve dabbled off and on with solitude since I was around 11 years-old and would climb a wispy eucalyptus tree up into the heavens and talk to God, sing a little bit, and then just absorb the view. It has always helped.

Now, longing for rest and for unwavering peace, I am compelled to weave the practice of solitude into the fabric of my daily life. I’ve been fairly consistent for a couple of weeks and I am grateful for the shared experiences of others who have struggled to be still, but found it to be crucial to living opposite to the anxious ways of the world at large.

If this is something you have experience with please consider sharing in the comments.

I will keep you posted.

May your efforts lead to rest and may your rest be sweet.

Alicia

Jesus felt that way.

And what is “it all” anyway?

In the case of Jesus (see below for source*), it was:

~death threats after healing someone on the Sabbath day

~constant questioning of his identity by the religious experts

~taking the time to provide a grounded explanation of his relationship to God, all the while knowing his enemies wouldn’t get it—didn’t want to get it

~receiving news that his cousin (and forerunner to Jesus’ ministry), John the Baptist, had been brutally executed

~being followed by a large crowd when he just wanted to get away and rest with his disciples

Yes, Jesus intentionally chose retreat and rest. He saw the crown following him, but headed toward the mountain to sit down with his disciples and rest.

The only problem is, there was no escaping that crowd.

Does that happen to you? You desperately need a break, even a tiny one, but there is no escaping the crowd—littles who need your attention right now, work deadlines, and the unexpected interruptions— illness, plumbing leaks, storms, car problems, visitors...

What do you do when getting away to rest isn’t an option?

Here’s what Jesus did:

Jesus lifted his eyes.

And he saw the crowd. But apparently, he saw more than a mass of people. He saw persons.

I imagine this lifting of the eyes to be a pause where you can really see what matters, an opportunity to reconnect with your priorities and heart held beliefs.

Like those beautiful moments when you realize that the irritable person at the checkout line is another human being like you. Or you stop and look your loved one in the eyes and remember, and really see them.

Jesus lifted his eyes, saw the crowd, and was filled with compassion.

Maybe we cannot rest, but we can lift our eyes and really notice our surroundings and the people in (and out) of our circle in ways that renew our energy and give us love to do the right thing.

Lifting your eyes to notice can pull you out of yourself in the right ways and into yourself in theright ways. It can make you aware of context and ground you with a reminder of what is important to you..

And if we forget? Or, it’s just too overwhelming and hard?

We are part of the crowd and Jesus sees us. He knows you, he knows me. He has compassion on us.

I will lift up my eyes to the mountains;
From where shall my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth (Psalm 121:1-2)

Here’s something that’s helping me right now:

• Find a position that feels comfortable, without worrying about posture, and set a timer for five minutes.

• Breathe slowly and gently in through the nose and out through the nose, keeping the inhale and exhale equal in length and maintaining a constant in-and-out rhythm.

• Let the breath be soft, smooth, and unforced, allowing the body to naturally expand on the inhale and release on the exhale.

• Notice the air coming and going—maybe you feel it in your nostrils, or maybe you notice your belly rising and falling.

• As you breathe this way, the heart rhythm subtly adjusts with the breath, supporting the body to settle and the mind to feel calm and present.

I find it especially helpful to do this with the awareness that God is always with us and that it is his breath that gives us life.

May your rest be sweet.

Alicia

When Dahlia, Dasher, and Willow joined my sister’s family (recently), no one knew that Dahlia came with a little secret—at least not at first. Over the past month or so, there were suspicions and a pregnancy test confirmed the fact that she was, indeed, pregnant.

But how many babies was she carrying?

Now we know. Just one—and he’s a big one.

This text just in from my sister:

“By the way, our goat Dahlia had a baby! G. named him Samson. These goats make it look easy to have a baby and even raise it, hahaha. Sadly, we missed the moment, when we got back, S. went to check on the goats, and she screamed, ‘There’s another goat in the pen!’”

Shall we stretch our legs, do a little jig, and have some fun?

And If the new year already feels old and you’re bumping into frequent reminders that you’re a fallible human being, you can always take a deep breath and remember that every moment is fresh and new and you can start over right now.

Don’t let the disappointment of the mess-ups hold you there

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

(The Apostle Paul)

Our invitation to rest comes from some exciting news of happenings in the Galápagos Islands (thank you, Ricardo and BBC):

A bird thought to be extinct on the Galapagos island of Floreana—the Galapagos rail—has been sighted after a 200 year absence.

Other struggling species considered extremely rare are making a comeback in

Read more

Is there something you feel called to do? Some pull toward an action that you just can’t shake? Maybe it’s clear—and you can readily articulate the how’s and why’s. And you are sure that this thing has the power to change your world.

But there are the challenges—the objections…

Perhaps it’s isn’t so clear—it’s a sense, a yet indefinable desire pushing its way up through the layers of internal objections (because until you deal with those, it’s going to be very difficult to answer the external ones).

What are those objections?

***

Let’s consider Mary.

Yesterday’s Guided Scripture on the Bible App1 described Mary’s initial response to the Angel Gabriel when he told her she would conceive a baby—and give birth to the long-awaited Messiah:

“How could that ever happen? I’ve never been with a man—it’s impossible for me to be pregnant!”

The pastor makes the profound observation that, according to Old Testament prophecies, it is her very objection that qualifies her for the job, the mission.

“Therefore, the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, the virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and she will name Him Immanuel.”

Isaiah 7:14

Again, if pregnancy had been a possibility for Mary, she wouldn’t have qualified as a virgin conceiving a baby.

***

So what would you like to do—what do you feel called to do?

What are your objections?

How might those objections qualify you for that thing?

I like how Dr. Dan Allender—a Christian psychologist and theologian—talks about how our stories, including our wounds and hardships, actually prepare us for the work God calls us to. Rather than disqualifying us, even our pain gives depth to our calling and invites us to partner with God in telling a redemptive story that can bring life and understanding to others.

It is worth taking the time to notice the objections and see how they might inform or affirm our calling.

Certainly, this approach is more restful than battling the objections or feeling frustrated for not taking action.

May your rest be sweet.

Alicia

And there’s nothing quite so helpful for experiencing surrender (versus trying to thought muscle your way into it) than spending time in a challenging season and choosing intention over holding your breath in hopes that it will pass quickly.

Sometimes we know in our bones that a storm won’t last. We remember how, above the gathered darkness and pouring rain, the sun still shines over it all—how the topside of those ominous storm clouds gleams bright.

Sometimes it doesn’t take much imagination or faith to believe that the storm will move on and eventually die out. We weather the storm. Hang on. Endure. We learn in small doses how to trust and, little by little, we build our house on the Rock.

Then there are those storms that batter us, drawing out the worst of our imaginations, plunging our faith into darkest darkness. Our foundation feels like sand and we fall apart.

Or, we fall open to knowing ourselves better, to understanding what we didn’t (or couldn’t) comprehend before.

Remember the literal storm Jesus slept in? A dramatic, boat-sinking squall over the Sea of Galilee that had the disciples terrified of imminent death? When Jesus woke up to their screams and ordered the storm to stop, they fell silent in awe—a glimmer of comprehension regarding his real identity.

Then there was the storm Jesus could not, would not, sleep in—the night of his betrayal and arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. And while the disciples slept, he passed through, ready to fulfill his mission. When the disciples woke up, they woke to their own storm, floundering through a shattered misconception of Jesus and his mission, utterly disillusioned.

And in the process, they learned something about themselves. When it was over, in the bright light of the resurrection, they were finally able to comprehend.

The more I desire rest for my soul, that internal calm and peace that is unshakeable, the more I realize that each storm is an opportunity to see where I’m settled and discover where I’m not.

So when this familiar text came up as the verse of the day on my Bible app recently, it spoke to me like never before. (I especially like Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase from The Message.)

Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.

James 1:2-4 The Message

If your skies are a cheerful blue right now, with fluffy cotton candy clouds, thanks be to God. If they aren’t, may this storm reveal whatever it is that will strengthen your foundation and bring you to a place of deeper rest.

May your rest be sweet,

Alicia

During my two pregnancies, I thought quite a bit about Mary when December rolled around, but I can relate more to Joseph as an ordinary person with a more regular life.

Joseph unwittingly finds himself on the cosmic stage of this incredible drama—simply because he got engaged to Mary. He doesn’t have much visibility as a supporting actor, either. Joseph takes his family to Egypt and back, helps Mary track down 12 year-old Jesus on a trip to Jerusalem (where Jesus points out who his real father is), and that’s pretty much it for the record).”

We don’t even know how Joseph exits the stage.

To be sure, Joseph wasn’t an afterthought for God. His role is critical. However, while Mary’s calling comes as an official announcement (from an angel, no less), Joseph is introduced to the story when his betrothed shows up pregnant—with a story that’s impossible to believe.

Can you imagine the feeling of betrayal? And the urge to set the record straight right away (“It wasn’t me everyone!”)?

Joseph is a good man. He wants to do the right thing. He doesn’t want to shame Mary, so he does a great deal of thinking (mulling it over) and decides to break up quietly.

And then… he sleeps on the decision.

Was this a little nap or a full night’s sleep? We don’t know.

All we know is that (Matthew 1:24):

“When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord commanded him…”

(Oh yes, God finally filled him in on what was going on—in a dream).

You may be thinking that I’m about to talk about how we need to pause (take a little rest) before we react or make big decisions. But we already know that.

The invitation to rest tucked into this story is that God is big enough to work with our decisions and he can and does intervene. We can trust him. We can let go of the pressure to nail it every time and believe that God is working all things out in the bigger picture.

Life is a messy process of learning. Life is not a performance where we pass perfectly from scene to scene.

Perhaps we don’t have to agonize so much over our decisions. Perhaps we can do our best (like Joseph), and trust God to redirect us if necessary.

“But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: ‘The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel’ (which means ‘God with us’).” (From the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 1).

I appreciate how the angel:

calls Joseph by name

tells him not to be afraid

lets him know that the Holy Spirit is at work

assures Joseph that he’s at work, fulfilling his prophecies and promises

May your rest be sweet,

Alicia

Giving provides a powerful invitation to rest—especially for those of us with a self-concious streak, those of us who might feel indebted to the whole world, those of us giving in unfamiliar contexts, or those of us who are drawn to discomforts of perfectionism like moths to the zapping lightbulb.

Have you experienced the “unrest” of presenting a gift that didn’t turn out exactly as you’d hoped:

The cookies burned.

You didn’t have ground cumin for the soup and didn’t have a grinder, so the otherwise perfect comfort soup ended up too “cuminy”.

You don’t have the gift of giftwrapping and the only gift bag on hand is one that has probably been recycled 4 or 5 times already (and you’re out of tissue paper and it’s too late to buy some).

You shared from your talents/skills, but your voice got horse, your scissors turned out to be dull, your markers ran dry…

You couldn’t hide the crossed-out word in a card.

You offered editing help, but didn’t catch every typo.

The decorations didn’t come together.

You made time for someone you love, but had a hard time being present.

You lent someone your car on the spur of the moment—and it was a bit of a mess.

You secretly gave begrudgingly and are afraid that this might have leaked out on your good intentions.

And so on…

Let us give unapologetically—let us rest in what is good, and remember that the giving is not about us—that it’s not a show or a need to prove anything.

People get it. We’ve all been there. We’ve disappointed and we’ve been disappointed because this giving thing is tricky.

Which is why it is a perfect place to pause and choose rest.

May your rest be sweet.

Alicia

Quietude is so much more than quiet, more than silence. The Cambridge Dictionary defines quietude as a “state of being calm and peaceful”. Something experiential, something that captures our senses.

If quietude were a color, Sherman-Williams has determined it to be a lovely shade of ocean-mossy-green. If it were a sound, perhaps it would be the gentle lapping of waves on a shore after a storm. Maybe it smells like patchouli. And tastes like fresh spring water.

The best place I know to experience what quietude feels like is God’s natural world.

Last Friday, people all over North America as far south as Alabama were treated to a nighttime display of the Northern Lights—thanks to unusually strong solar flares.

I have long wanted to see this incredible natural phenomenon, but, sadly, I did not find out until a day too late. It has been bittersweet to see all the pictures and imagine what it must have been like to stand under that sky.

Daniel told me about it. He told me how the experience felt like rest—how it set the world right somehow.

Wendell Barry captures my sentiments well in these words taken from his poem Sabbaths 2001.

We commonly connect the ideas of discouragement and despair with darkness, as opposed to light (which dispels darkness). But there is a place for darkness and there is a darkness that fosters rest.

From a physical perspective, darkness is necessary for rest. Darkness signals our body to increase melatonin levels which in turn promotes muscle relaxation, a drop in body temperature, and a state of drowsiness.

But what about soul rest?

Maybe there’s a deeper rest to be experienced in the darkness—in that midst of those uncomfortable feelings that arise when we don’t have all the answers and we aren’t sure what’s around the corner, or what to do next.

Consider these words from the prophet Isaiah (50:10-11)):

“If you are walking in darkness, without a ray of light, trust in the Lord and rely on your God. But watch out, you who live in your own light and arm yourselves by your own fires… you will soon fall down in great torment.”

We could have a whole Bible study putting these words in their context, but for now, I just want two absorb two truths:

First, there are going to be times when we walk in darkness—times we can’t see where we are or what’s coming next. We may feel disappointed, discouraged, confused, or even a little lost.

This darkness creates the opportunity to trust God and rely on him to guide us through. There isn’t any need to trust God when everything is clear, understandable, and bright.

Could it be that the invitation tucked into dark times creates the opportunity for deeper rest as we let go of stress/worry/fear/irritation/anger and just trust the unknown, worries, our very selves—and everyone else—to God?

Second, there is a light that is not helpful or good. It is the light we create ourselves, driven to hang on to control, to manage our fear and worry by ourselves. This is the fire that plays the role of idol, keeping us from relying on God.

Felling the darkness gets our attention and also makes space for us to know God more intimately, to know Jesus as our comforter.

And, this is where we come full circle. Resting in him, he becomes our Light—banishing the darkness.

May your rest be sweet

Alicia

There is something special about reminders—places that speak to collective history or to something particular to one’s own personal history.

We are reminded of what has shaped us, of how we have changed, of who we are now—and who we have always been.

After two weeks away from home, we walked in the door of our apartment on Friday and I realized that, unconsciously, I had been dreading this moment.

When we left, I had just transitioned from a walker to a cane. Everything took such effort and was so painful – starting from the simple tasks of getting out of bed and going to the bathroom.

We have not lived in this apartment for long and so far the history I have in it has not made it feel like a cozy place to call home.

At some unconscious level, I suppose I associated this challenging phase of my life with this place we now live in.

But, to my surprise and joy, I realized how much I’ve improved in the last two weeks.

When progress is slow, it’s hard to notice it. You forget how bad it was before. It’s easy to settle in on how it is right now, and wonder if you’ll ever get to where you’re going.

As I walked through the rooms, took a shower, and even prepared some food, I believed in my own soul, what I have been telling people:

“I’m doing better, thank you.”

May something remind you to rest and may your rest be sweet

Alicia