The Provision Of Rest

By Naomi K. Lu

W

hat does it mean to find rest?

We have a lot of different terminologies for rest these days. 

Break. 
Self care. 
Unwind.

However it’s packaged or presented, the need for rest remains the same. An undeniable exhaustion is flowing through our world. Is it from the collective weariness, seemingly ever-present, three years out from the rise of an earth shattering pandemic? Or is this exhaustion rooted in fear? Now ravaged by a recession that threatens our jobs and our safety nets, we are surrounded by what we lack. 

No need to mention rest—the first thing to be sacrificed in the race to secure everything that we need. 

Somehow, still, our sacrifices are never enough.

I was raised as the only child of two physicians who were both highly accomplished, skilled, and respected. I felt a deep sense of pride to be known as “卢医生的女儿” or “Dr. Lu’s daughter.” It was a title that worked in reference to both of my parents, and with it came the clear responsibility of what was expected of me: to be extraordinary. I felt silent eyes watching to see what the good doctors’ daughter would make of herself. The demands were not even from my family, but intricately intertwined with a culture that had predetermined what my life needed to hold in order to be valuable. Each year that passed, I carried my burdens with a little less dignity and a little more struggle until I collapsed under the weight of all I was supposed to be. 

Something changed in me on an anatomical level when that break finally came.

Exhaustion poured from my body, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not force myself to do all that I had done before. I had grown accustomed to spending my life in hyperdrive, running from one task to the next, so I could do more, be more, and make my family proud. Suddenly, I could do nothing. I kept thinking that the right doctor, medicine, or prayer would give me back my ability to drown out the cries of my body, but years have passed, and no miracle cure came. My capacity to do has remained forever, irrevocably, lowered.

Rest was no longer optional. I had denied my body rest for so long that it rose up and demanded rest. And I felt consumed by a deep sense of failure for my needs.

I cursed the body that could not perform as I wished. Tears of frustration flowed as my life was ruled by my weariness. I felt suffocating shame at my limitations, feared the disappointment of my parents, and despaired at my future. Would I ever become someone whose life held meaning?

As it turns out, my limits were tools in the hands of the loving Father determined to show me what it means to hold value.

Author K.J. Ramsey writes, “We belong because we were born, and we are loved because we exist.” In his ever-present loving-kindness, God has refused to allow me to become a slave to productivity. I come from a family of overachievers who God has graciously gifted with many abilities and talents, all of which they are using to make a difference in this world. Across my extended family, there are doctors, lawyers, professors, and heads of million-dollar businesses. I could not be more proud of them. As much as I desperately wanted to join them with my own title of excellence that would in turn make them proud of me, I have instead been given the task of finding rest. To surrender. To bask in the presence of the almighty Creator and believe that he can care for each of my needs without my assistance or effort.

Rest opens the door to provision. Only when I stopped striving have I seen the abundance that God offers me, free of charge.

While I will never fully understand why my path has veered so sharply from all those who came before me, I choose to believe that God knows exactly what he is doing, and my limitations will not stand in the way of all that he has for me. I can embrace the rest and the pace that I need because I am not in control of my own survival. My worth was never in what I could do. It rests in my identity as one who belongs to him. There is freedom as I step more fully into who I am meant to be, released from all expectations and obligations. Here, I can accept every good gift offered to me—unearned and undeserved—because I am a daughter of the King.

The irony of it all is that when I finally surrendered my need to accomplish, and I listened to my body, my world began to expand again. But things are different now. I’ve done more than I ever thought possible in the most awful moments of my despair, but the need has faded. I will never be what I once was, and that is ok. Because Jesus never needed me to be the best. He never even needed me to begin with. He just wanted me. He will handle everything else.

That doesn’t mean that I have mastered rest. Just like Peter, when my eyes stray from my Lord, I still find myself sinking in the waves.

Overwhelmed by my inabilities, I fear that I will drown with no one to catch me. The God who slept through storms continues to teach me to find safety in him. He has been with me from before my first breath, and he will be with me beyond my last. What Joy! What Grace! I am loved for all that I am and all that I am not.

Now, I am finding a new way to move through the world. To approach all that I do from a posture of rest and abundance. I am slowing down, my heart at peace with surrender, and trust that he will take care of all that I cannot.

And what happens after you find rest?

You awaken.

Refreshed, restored, and ready to serve however he sees fit.

Photo by Dezaldy Irfan on Unsplash

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Naomi K. Lu is a Chinese-American Third Culture Kid who grew up in East Asia. An educator and a writer, she is passionate about Asian mental health, depression treatment, and suicide prevention. She currently lives in California with her three dogs. Follow Naomi on Instagram @nkluwrites.

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