Rest | All is Well

Don’t Miss Who He Is (Isaiah 40)

July 22, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

We are tired.

Christ-followers and non-followers alike. As humans, created by God, we are tired.

We do not rest well.

I’m not talking about the difficult days that come in each person’s lives that drain us physically, mentally, spiritually—or even the very good days, too, that can also be exhausting, in very good ways.

I’m writing words about the ordinary days that are packed with so. much. to. do.

Doctors. Lawyers. Shop owners. Single moms. College students. Garbage collectors. Pastors. CEOs. Teachers. Sheep herders. Program managers. Missionaries.

You. Me.

We are tired. And, I suppose, it is our own doing.

But we have to work. And work is good. So good. It provides for our families. It provides much needed services and goods for society. It provides care for those in need. For those in ministry, it provides gospel truth to souls.

I am so, so incredibly grateful for work.

But we are tired. I am tired.

Travel all day yesterday, then work till midnight, then up at 4am, and looking at a full day of meetings and “socializing” this evening (which is always so challenging), followed with more work tonight and more meetings tomorrow and more travel tomorrow and more meetings on Thursday and parenting responsibilities interspersed in there during breaks and commutes.

We are tired.

Isaiah 40…..um, yes. That would be a passage I tend to avoid. It’s not that I do not believe it is truth. All scripture is truth. But it has been taken and watered down and cross-stitched and hung on so many walls of homes and offices and printed on bookmarks that I gloss over it. Yeah, yeah, I know this one—“they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength”—-and, for good measure, let’s throw a picture of an eagle up on the wall next to the verse. Or a good eagle statue. Maybe I’ll put a picture of an eagle at the top of this blog post, for good measure

…..nope, nevermind. Can’t make myself do it.

But these words that I so often gloss over, are not any less true because of my habit of skipping them:

“….but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.”

So, yes, the cynic in me rushes past these Isaiah verses in a hurry to get to something richer, something not so, I don’t know—commercialized?

But, today. Here I am. Here we all are.

We are weary.

Here’s the thing, though. We skip so much of the rest of chapter 40, to get to verses 30-31, that we miss exactly why verses 30-31 are more than cliche–more than “feel good verses”. Two things, actually, from the whole of Isaiah 40, have me looking at this in a different light, on this wearisome morning as I eat my cold biscuit and gravy from the hotel lobby:

First, this:

Verse 28: Have you not known? Have you not heard?

This admonishment here in verse 28–it is almost a dressing down, a “preaching to”–and I need it. I NEED it. “What is your problem, Shelly? Have you not known? Have you not heard?” Of course I have. I have, I have, I have. I know truth. I know that He is the everlasting God. The creator of the universe. He does not grow weary, even though I think that surely I must weary Him with my sin, with my thick-headedness, with my ridiculousness.

I know. And, I know that He is the one that does and will renew my strength. It is He who will give me what it takes to do the work before me. So I need to do the next thing. Work hard. He is the God that renews.

And secondly, this:

This whole chapter begins with the comforting of God’s people:

Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.
²Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
    and cry to her
that her warfare is ended,
    that her iniquity is pardoned,
that she has received from the Lord‘s hand
    double for all her sins.

Yes, this is directed specifically to Israel—mired in a weariness that we do not and cannot comprehend. But, we have echos of that weariness in our own lives. Not on that same scale, though sometimes it seems similar—Wilderness. Sin. Wandering. (Let your love, Lord, like a fetter, bind our wandering heart to thee.)

Not the same, no. But echos.

But God’s call to Isaiah–his charge to him to speak tenderly to His people, that is key. Because God’s character does not change. And He longs to speak comfort to us, as well, in our weariness. Warfare ended. And the weariness of our sin–our iniquity–pardoned.

It is on that basis that we can find comfort. That we can enter the only rest that truly renews–His rest. It is the greatness of God, as described in verses 9-26 that provides the rest of the weary. We rush over those great verses, to get to “those who wait upon the Lord….” words. We miss the magnitude of the only hope for rest:

…..Behold, the Lord God comes with might…

Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand
and marked off the heavens with a span….

Who has measured the Spirit of the Lord,
or what man shows him his counsel….

To whom then will you compare me,
    that I should be like him? says the Holy One.
Lift up your eyes on high and see:
    who created these?
He who brings out their host by number,
    calling them all by name,
by the greatness of his might,
    and because he is strong in power
    not one is missing.

Don’t. Miss. Who. He. Is.

Only when we recognize and acknowledge who He is, can we grasp what it means to rest in Him.

He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms….

Isaiah 30: A Prayer

May 25, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

We are no different from Israel. Not really.

And so, we can see ourselves pretty clearly in Isaiah 30:

“Ah, stubborn children,” declares the Lord…”

Yes, we too are stubborn.

“…who carry out a plan, but not mine….”

Yes, we are so very good at making plans that are not your plans, God.

…who set out to go down to Egypt,
without asking for my direction…

Not necessarily to Egypt, but to many places we go, without asking for your direction.

….to take refuge in the protection of Pharaoh
and to seek shelter in the shadow of Egypt….

We seek refuge, but not in you, O God. In bank accounts, in job security, in alcohol, in food, in so many things, but not in you, when we are told so clearly in Psalm 46:1 (it doesn’t get any clearer than this), that you are our refuge. And you alone.

And, the result is this: Shame and disgrace ~

….that brings neither help nor profit,
but shame and disgrace.

We, on this Pentecost Sunday (so much buzz about this day, this year, when I’ve never even heard of Pentecost Sunday before), recognize that after you ascended, you gave us your spirit to dwell within us. But, sometimes, we do not sense you. We sense that we far from you. If seems as if we are praying to brass ceilings. It is then that we must turn to scripture, to be reminded that you are real, and near. That your truths and teachings and the things that prophesied were and are and will be truth. So, even here in admonition, we see that you knew we would need words in order to remember:

And now, go, write it before them on a tablet
and inscribe it in a book,
that it may be for the time to come
as a witness forever.

And we thank you for that, even though sometimes those words are hard to hear. Hard to read. Such as these:

therefore this iniquity shall be to you
    like a breach in a high wall, bulging out, and about to collapse,
    whose breaking comes suddenly, in an instant;
¹⁴and its breaking is like that of a potter’s vessel
    that is smashed so ruthlessly
that among its fragments not a shard is found
    with which to take fire from the hearth,
    or to dip up water out of the cistern.

Sudden breaking, in an instant. Ruthless smashing, so that not even a shard is found big enough to provide an ember of light and warmth from the fire, or a cool drink of water from the cistern.

But.

There is an alternative. An alternative to seeking refuge in that which cannot provide safety. An alternative to pursuing plans that are not yours. An alternative to stubborn rebellion that brings shame and disgrace.

The saving grace comes in the returning:

For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel,
“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”

In returning, we are saved. In returning, there is rest. We are all, so very weary God. We are strength-less. I am strength-less, O God. It is interesting, that the strength that you speak of here, is not the strength of activity, but rather quietness. And trust. Some trust in chariots. Some trust in horses. Some trust in their intellectual ability; their powers of reasoning. Some trust in academia. Some trust in their 401K.

Some trust in themselves. Because, somehow, that seems safer.

But, that is often disastrous.

There is no rest or quietness in trusting self. In trusting self, there is frenetic activity designed to ensure safety. There is frenetic activity to save ourselves.

And, that is always disastrous.

“In returning^[c] and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
But you were unwilling

Sometimes, God, we are unwilling, because of sinful pride.

And fear.

Forgive us, God. Forgive me, God.

Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you,
and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you.
For the Lord is a God of justice;
blessed are all those who wait for him

At first reading, I thought this meant that you hold back your graciousness toward us, but maybe that is wrong. Maybe…maybe it is more that you long to be gracious to us, therefore you are patient with us.

But you are also a God of justice; and there is waiting that we must do as well. And when we do, blessed are we.

Be merciful, God. Be patient. But also be a God of justice, because we need that as well.

And bless us, when we return. Bless us with salvation and rest and quietness and strength.

And, bless us with the ability to trust you.

For a people shall dwell in Zion, in Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. ²⁰And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher.

Do not hide yourself from us. Let us see you.

Theology of Rest

December 6, 2014 By Shelly Durkee

Something odd happened to me this morning.

I’ve been fighting a cold all week. It’s been a strange one–waxing and waning like the moon. For the most part, it’s been perfectly fine. For the most part, it hasn’t slowed me down. By, oddly enough, every day has had a couple of hours in it where I’ve found oxygen to be sorely lacking and my throat to be burning like I’d eaten a thousand Fire Stix candies from back in the day. This morning was one such morning.

I jumped out of bed at 5:00 am-ish, ready to tackle the day. By 8:00, I was limping along in a fog of fever and body aches. At 9:30, I talked myself into laying down for 30 minutes. I had a work call to jump on to at 10:30. 30 minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt.

Except, it wasn’t 30 minutes.

At 10:30, an hour later, I awoke in a complete panic. I guess that noise I was hearing was my alarm that had been blaring for the past 30 minutes. And, I was 30 minutes late for my work call.

I hastily dialed the call-in number and code, trying to shake the cobwebs from my brain. I pulled up the spreadsheet I knew we’d be examining. I started trying to orient myself as to where we were at in the conversation.

But, I didn’t need to do so.

Because, on top of having a cold, today is a day off for me.

A couple of weeks ago, I was informed by corporate that I had 120+ hours of PTO accumulated. I can carry 40 of that into the next year–the rest is a “use it or lose it” situation. And, honestly, I’d almost rather lose it.

Which is ridiculous. It is. Absolutely so. Why is it so hard to be willing to rest? Why is it so hard to be willing to step back a day from work? I am the farthest thing from indispensable to this company. I am–that’s the truth. I am gravy, they could definitely do without me. So, it’s not that I think my role is vital. But I am scared to NOT work.

I know I’m not alone in this issue. We drive, drive, drive ourselves not only in the workplace, but in many places. And, I’m not saying being a “driven” person is necessarily wrong or bad–but it can be detrimental. I realize that, and yet it’s like crack, I can’t stop using.

Here are some of the issues with rest that I see in my own life. Maybe you will relate:

Pride:

Why does everything always seem to come down to this ugly word in my life? But, there it is. Pride drives me in so much of what I do. And it shouldn’t. I started to write here that there is a healthy form of pride, but there isn’t. Not really. Our boasting should come in God, alone. Philippians 2:3-11, James 4:6, Luke 14:11–and so many more scripture that I have captured to remind me of the place Pride has in my life. Funny, I can’t think of one instance where pride is spoken off in positive terms in scripture. Not a one. My pride keeps me from resting because I want to “prove” to the world something. What that “something” is, I’m not quite sure.

Fear:

I know this is probably the biggest factor in my inability to rest. Abject and total fear. The weight of responsibility weighs so heavily on my soul that it is crushing at times. My crew deeply depends on my ability to provide for us. There is no one else. And that terrifies me. But fear also plays a larger role–it keeps me up at night, preventing me from getting adequate rest. It keeps me on edge 24/7 in so many ways. And, it is wrong, because it doesn’t come from God. And yet, it seems nearly impossible to battle. How many times do I have to return to Isaiah 41:10? Or 1 John 4:18 before I start living as if they are truth? I’m afraid (tongue-in-cheek, but not really, because I literally am afraid) that I may never get there.

Lack of Trust:

I can’t seem to settle and rest because I lack trust that God sees, knows and is in control. I worry, worry, worry. A ridiculous amount. And, so much of it is unfounded, unnecessary worry. But instead of taking a seed of worry captive, I water it with anxiety and allow it to grow much like the kudzu of the south. I know full well the words of Matthew 6:25-26, but I don’t find comfort in them; at least, not when I am in the throes of anxiety. My lack of trust–of God, of others–hinders my ability to rest.

Health and Discipline Issues:

I have long suffered from insomnia, for many reasons. Some of those reasons seem to be beyond my control, in spite of numerous attempts to “fix” them. But others are within my control. For example, I know that vigorous exercise during the day assists in better sleep at night. (I know. I keep nerdy charts) Limiting screen time before bed does as well–reading actual books seems to be a much, much better option for me. A clean house helps me settle for the night. When I fail to do these simple things, I sabotage my own ability to rest.

What to do?

So, what do I do with this? How do I balance work, parenting, church, other pursuits and rest? I don’t know. I am failing, miserably.

What I do know is that I’ve got to develop a better theology about rest. I’ve got to develop a better balance in my life. And maybe you do, too. When was the last time you took a day off just to spend it with your kids? Or to go to a movie, read a book, do something you enjoyed? Even holidays find me working–not because anyone else expects it, but because I expect it from myself. I do not have a good grasp of Sabbath.

And, that is sin.

I am bone-rattling weary, and it is my own fault. I am anxiety-driven, and the cause is me. There are way too many days, even, when I approach God in the morning as if I were approaching my to-do list. “Ok, God, here I am. I’m so glad to see you, but let’s hasten our meeting this morning so I can get to the more important stuff.” Ugh. Extreme Ugh. That hurt just typing that.

I have not made room for Matthew 11:28-30. I have crowded out Psalm 127:2 in my life. And, I have broken the command of Exodus 32:21. Repeatedly.

I must do better, but even in saying that, I realize that I am once again putting it in the context of “I have to work harder to achieve better rest.” Which gets me nowhere. Which adds “rest” to my checklist. Not saying it shouldn’t be on my checklist, but by only making it a checklist item, I negate the purpose of rest.

The purpose of the death of pride. The purpose of slaying fear. The purpose of leaning into Christ–trusting Him to be my all.

God’s good gift to us–you, and I–is rest. In Him. He gives sleep to His beloved. He gives rest to the weary. He invites to lie down in green pastures. He restores our soul. He gives us this gift because He sees and knows and loves us. He gives us this gift because He is God. He is my God. He longs to give rest. To you. To me.

He invites me to rest. It’s up to me, to accept that invitation. As Victor Hugo once captured in the words at the top of this post–God is awake.

There should be great comfort in that.

Return, O My Soul, to Your Rest

October 13, 2014 By Shelly Durkee

I awoke this morning, and my mind was not well.

It was early, around 3 am. Awakened out of my sleep by a harsh nightmare, I struggled to gain my bearings. And could not; at least, I could not for several hours.

And in those hours, while I did not question what I knew to be truth, I did question the truthiness of that truth. That probably makes no sense to anyone except me. I guess what I mean by the “truthiness of truth” is this: I knew what was truth in a purely academic way, but not in a way that caused me to cling to the “truthiness” of that truth so as to make that truth the foundation of reality regardless of the condition of my mind.

In other words, I floundered.

A walk outside to breathe fresh air did not calm my thoughts. A shower and a change out of sweat-soaked pajamas did nothing to still the trembling. It was too late; I was shaken to the core of my being.

Habit ingrained over quite a few years now is the only thing that drew me to open my study materials this morning. I am grateful for habit. For routine, actually. I derive a great deal of comfort in orderliness in the midst of chaos. Not all habits are good, granted. But some are, and some are necessary. Study, which often (not always) leads to prayer is necessary to my existence and well-being.

When I am most unsettled, the Psalms are where I go. They are more than poetry; more than a collection of well-turned phrases. No, instead, they are an invitation to peer over the shoulders of people like me, who best communicate via putting ink to parchment. Who found solace in language and words. Who invite me to use their words when I cannot find words myself. And this morning, I had no words.

Psalm 116 is a Psalm I studied in-depth a few years ago. It has become a settling Psalm for me….a place that I have gone to frequently enough that some of the words written there are committed to my memory. Not intentionally, no. I wish I had the discipline to memorize scripture as a part of the habits I mentioned above. But, so far, I do not, so instead, some of the words of Psalm 116 are etched upon my mind simply because I have seen them often. Read them often. And that is where I went this morning.

Over and over and over again this morning, I typed the words of verse 4: “O Lord, I pray, deliver my soul!” And each time I reached the end of that sentence, I added that exclamation point. I already type loudly–pounding the keyboard. This morning I typed ferociously….until the words I was typing became more than just repetitive keystrokes and instead became earnest prayer. Real prayer. The typing eventually slowed, and I was ready to do work.

I studied–I worked–using additional scripture alongside recounting facts, to see the truth of verse 6; or, rather, to admit the reality of the truth of verse 6, which says:

For you have delivered my soul from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling;

He has.

And continues to.

He has delivered my soul from death. He has delivered my eyes from tears. He has delivered my feet from stumbling. And does. Even in the midst of the night, like the early mornings of this day. And, will He not continue? Has He not proven His faithfulness?

He has.

Only then, once I had re-established this truth in the depths of my mind, was I able to deal with my soul. Only then, was I able to address the truth located in verse 10:

I believed, even when I spoke:
“I am greatly afflicted”

Based on the truth of who I know God to be, I was then able to say to Him “I am greatly afflicted”. I was able to tell Him–to write out–the condition of my mind and my soul in the wake of that nightmare. In the wake of tremendous grief over much. Had I taken those things to Him without re-establishing the truth that He sees and knows and is who He says He is, I would have never trusted Him with the words “I am greatly afflicted.”–I would not have been able to utter them. I would not have been able to say with the Psalmist, “I believed, even when I spoke:” Others may be able to. I wish I was that way. I am not. My soul’s default setting is cynicism and hardness. O, to trust. O, my soul.

I password-protected my words and filed them away. I’ll probably never read them again. That document is closed, as it should be. I opened a new document and wrote out verses 5-7 of Psalm 116:

Gracious is the Lord, and righteous;
our God is merciful.
The Lord preserves the simple;
when I was brought low, he saved me.
Return, O my soul, to your rest;
for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.

Gracious. Righteous. Merciful.

Truth. Truthiness of truth. Those words are the very essence of God.

I have been brought low. He has saved me. I will be brought low again. He will save me. One day, He will save me to see Him face-to-face. Where there are no more tears. No more pain. No more nightmares.

But, for now, I will speak to my soul. I will tell my soul to return to its rest; for the Lord has dealt bountifully with me.

He has.