I just want to remind you that1:

God’s voice convicts you of sin and draws us to himself. Satans’s voice condemns you. and drives us away.

God’s voice tends to still you. Satan’s voice tends to rush you.

God’s voice reassure’s 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.

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

May you pause long enough to notice the voices in your head and to align yourself with the right one… the One who gives us peace and rest.

In honor of Mother’s Day (which is this Sunday for many countries around the world) here’s an invitation to rest tucked into the story of my own peripartum anxiety (bordering on panic).

This piece originally appeared in Legacies of Faith—a devotional book published by the non-profit organization, Helping our Families).

***

We are the Moms, the ordinary women with a role that assumes superpowers and sainthood. Sometimes we pull it off and sometimes we don’t. Mostly we’re hanging on for dear life, growing up all over again, and just trying to get it right. And we are far too familiar with worry, fear, anxiety--even panic.

Thirty-six hours after giving birth to my four-and-a-half-pound preemie, a paralyzing fear leaked through my joy and flooded my heart.

“Do you think I’m having panic attacks?” I timidly directed my question to the two physicians standing at the foot of my hospital bed. I tried to describe my anxious feelings and the sense that something was wrong.

They laughed.

Certainly their cheerfulness was intended to dispel my concerns, but there was no ignoring the terror we’d been through. Medical staff I’d never seen had stopped in to see for themselves that everything had turned out well. One called it a miracle, another declared, “someone was looking out for that baby!”

Panic seemed like a reasonable emotional response to me.

Early on in the pregnancy I’d been told that my baby “stopped growing three weeks ago” because my uterus was “a hostile place”. How does a mother bear the thought that her own womb is unsafe for her baby?

They raced me to Bronson Hospital in an ambulance, ran me through the emergency department on a stretcher, and then rolled me into a hospital bed while someone rushed to get magnesium sulfate into my veins. Things started turning for the worse and they induced labor.

It had taken days and a call to the regional neonatal center for my medical team to identify the underlying cause--preeclampsia. Of course, the one and only ER TV episode I have ever seen in my life had to be “Love’s Labor Lost,” in which the physician initially misses the mom’s preeclampsia--and she dies. I was filled with fear and couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that accompanied a vivid mental image of that solitary father in an empty room, looking down at the newborn in his arms.

The utter relief of hearing Gabriel’s squeaky cries was brief. He was four weeks early and couldn’t keep his temperature up. The pediatrician, concerned about infection, admitted him to the special care nursery. Meanwhile, my blood pressure remained elevated and a well-meaning friend warned me about another woman who’d had a stroke two weeks after giving birth.

“You’re fine,” one of those laughing doctors had assured me.

He added, “Just wait until your baby’s a teenager, then you’ll know what a panic attack is!”

I didn’t have to wait that long. Twenty-three months passed and I was birthing again, mercifully under more average conditions. However, three days postpartum, the return of hormonal chaos and sleep-deprived nights upset my faultlines, triggering a series of tsunami-sized waves of panic. My blood pressure started to spike, and I worried about having a stroke.

Days passed and the attacks continued to come--seemingly out of nowhere. My husband held me, read from the Psalms, and prayed. A friend stopped by and assured me, “This will pass.” It was hard to believe.

A week later, while setting bowls of oatmeal on the table, the panic hit again, full force. Walking over to the sofa, I slumped into the cushions and leaned into the armrest. I closed my eyes over the tears and whispered, “Please God, help me.”

At once, words entered my thoughts, clear and direct:

The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.

A new visual captured my imagination: God, like a mighty warrior, went wielding a sword and clearing a path before me, while I rested, waiting until it was safe to continue on.

I looked for the words God had spoken to me in scripture and found them in Exodus 14:14, words spoken to a terrified people fleeing slavery. God had spoken those same words to me. The relief was immediate and I knew that the panic was gone for good, but the work of giving up worrying had only begun.

Worry doesn’t feel as damaging as panic. It doesn’t typically hit like a tsunami, either. It’s more like a series of persistent, small waves, relentless in their movement to erode the ground of our peace and joy.

That miracle grounded my faith, but the challenge of letting God fight for me in the day-to-day worries lingered.

The tricky thing with worry is that it masquerades as a noble pursuit when we apply it to valid concerns, especially spiritual issues. But the anxiety it produces does absolutely nothing to help us or our children. Worrying easily becomes a habit that fuels a tug-of-war between regret over the past and fearful imagining of the future so that the little joys of the moment are lost--like unopened gifts.

Every day dawns with endless opportunities to notice the worries that nag their way into our minds and get lodged in our hearts. However, we can be still, we can notice what’s going on inside, and ask for help.

Worry is a war against us, but we will win this war because we are the Moms. We are the ordinary women with a Mighty Warrior and Perfecter of Faith fighting on our behalf.

We need only to be still and let Him do the fighting--and remember that, after all, He’s the one who saves us and our children.

“I will contend against him who contends against you, and I will save your children” (Isaiah 49:25).

May we worry less and rest more.

After a long night of travel, Ricardo and I sat in a transit room (I cannot bring myself to call it a lounge), waiting for Uniformed Man behind The Desk to send someone to collect our luggage from the baggage carousels located downstairs—on the other side of customs and immigration.

We had bid our farewells to colleagues with whom we’d travelled thus far and were eager to get our bags, move as efficiently as possible through the airport’s complicated transit routine, and be on our way home.

The transit routine is unusual enough that our colleagues, for whom this was the final destination, were alarmed when they noticed Ricardo’s suitcase on the carousel . They quickly texted Ricardo:

“We found your suitcase on the baggage claim belts here—clearly marked as this being the final destination… we will take it with us…”

Around that time, the baggage porter arrived and informed us that Ricardo’s suitcase had evidently not arrived.

Happily, we were able to call our friends in time and, happier still, communicate what had happened effectively enough to convince the porter to try one more time to get the bag.

Our friends made it to the baggage claim carrousel right as the porter arrived.

And I laughed, remembering how I sometimes feel responsible for the whole world and rush in to help.

What a blessing our friends checked in to make sure that taking the suitcase was (or was not) the helpful thing to do.

Isn’t it a relief to know that we don’t know everything and that our responsibility has limits?

We can notice, take a deep breath, send a text, ask some questions.

We can relax.

Until next week, may your rest be sweet.

Alicia

Quenched. Satisfied. Relieved.

The longer the deprivation, the more overwhelming the relief.

Perhaps you’ve experienced that with rest. You strive, worry, avoid to the point of exhaustion and then collapse into rest—a rest that feels so good you just might find yourself in a little cycle: strive, worry, avoid-crash-repeat.

But what if we could stay in a place of rest?

There are a whole host of things that make ongoing rest difficult and even unappealing: distraction, boredom, restlessness, habit, culture, unfamiliarity and inexperience with the long-term benefits of staying

By all means, let us keep choosing rest when we realize how much we need it, let us keep accepting Jesus’ invitation:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

(Matthew 11:28-29 ESV)

But what is even better than coming is staying.

“Take my yoke upon you… learn from me…”

What does staying in a place of rest look like?

What does it feel like?

What are the obstacles and challenges to staying?

What makes it easier?

I invite you to reflect on these questions and I will be back on Friday…

Do you ever feel like you’re going up in smoke—anger over the state of the world fueling a burning fire in your very bones?

Or maybe you feel like an imprint on the sand after failing to jump one of daily life’s endless waves.

Whether it’s the horror of news headlines (I can sometimes witness in real time from the rooftop of our apartment building in Beirut), or the urgent concerns that crop up (under my own ceiling), I know where to go.

Again and again I take Jesus up on his invitation:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

(Matthew 11:28-29 ESV)

The very thought of someone who can contain my very self1 is a respite like no other.

We can sit down in our own souls and meet God right where we are.

Exhale.

Trust.

Learn.

Get strength and wisdom to know how to fight and how to carry on.

But if we are really serious about living from a place of rest and peace, there’s something even more important than coming to Jesus…

More on that next time.

In the meantime, may you find rest for your soul

Alicia

Sometimes the words just can’t be collected into something meaningful that you can share with the world. I suppose this is a good time to borrow from someone else. I hope these words are encouraging.

(click on the audio above it was sent to this passage)

You may find comfort in Jesus’ Easter agenda:

• Fold up the burial clothes and set them aside, death to death. (John 20:6-7))

• Let Mary and the women know he is alive. (Matthew 8, Mark 16, Luke 24)

• Surprise two heartbroken followers with the good news (Luke 24:13–35))

• Spend the evening opening the minds of his disciples. (John 24:36–43)

I like Jesus’ priorities.

May you know in your heart of hearts that you are one of his priorities.

And that his agenda for you has nothing to do with exhaustion.

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

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