And after all that talk of back pain and bed rest yesterday...Last night as I was pushing the grocery cart, my left knee went numb and then my lower back began to ache. I gingerly finished my shopping, asked the cashier for assistance with the dog food and the case of bottled water, and gently loaded the bags into the car. I called Philip on my way home, and by the time I arrived, he greeted me with a delicate hug and a less than inspirational speech about how my back would never be the same and if I didn't watch myself, the disc would rupture and I would have to have surgery. (yadda yadda) oh, I'm kidding. I was truly inspired. not really.
So...as my family put away the groceries, I situated myself with my heating pad and a book. I didn't open the book until hours later. Apparently, my family members have a lot they want to chat about. I suppose that my typical evening routine which involves checking off chore lists, tying up loose ends, and emptying & discarding opened cans of worms, leaves little room for lingering conversation.
With my feet elevated and a calming source of heat on my lower lumbar, I was poised and ready for the talkative parade. It literally lasted a couple hours...the constant interchange of children eager to discuss the ponderings of their heart. I smiled at their openness. I giggled at their honesty. But deep within there was a tiny part of me that was saddened by the notion that I might missing out.
Regularly. Consistently.
My regular routine does not involve sitting and listening.
I consistently check off my daily to-do lists before I call it a day.
I am very faithful at getting my junk done. Lots of lovely check marks on lots of little lists. However, my kids' hearts are seldom on those lists. Who writes, "Listen to the hearts of my children" on a list? God probably does. (I believe He is a list Guy:) I am sobered by the idea that my children's hearts are near the very top of God's to-do list, and yet there are many days that my prioritized plan does not include God's top intentions.
Lying there after everyone else was in bed, I continued to mull over the word "rest". I thought of God, and His perfect example. And for the first time in my life, I thought of that seventh day of creation with fresh perspective. I imagined God, satisfied in His own good work, excited about the prospect of communing with the ones created in His image. I imagined Him strolling through the garden, finding a nice shady spot, and bending down to recline in the velvet expanse of cool green grass - propping His weight on one elbow. Waiting. Available. Resting.
If you lived in that garden and knew His favorite resting spot, wouldn't you want to meet Him there? Wouldn't His approachable posture beckon you to come and pour out your heart? Wouldn't it be utterly delightful to spend unhurried time sharing thoughts and fears and hopes and mysteries?
I began to think of my Sundays. Or even Saturdays. Is there a day I set aside to intentionally rest? I realize God is always available, but He set the weekly example for some specifically wise reason, I assume. Am I setting this example or providing this kind of communion regularly for my family?
Nope. Not until last night.
Dear Lord, thank You for the abrupt halt You issued into my life last night. Teach me Your ways. Help me know the satisfaction of a job well done and the wisdom of rest.
