faith unfaded

I’ve learned that sometimes the holiest thing you can do is… nothing.

Not the Netflix-binge, scroll-your-phone kind of nothing. But the kind of rest that says, “Lord, You’re in control, and I don’t have to push past what my body and soul are telling me.”

Tonight was one of those nights for me. I had my grandkids, I made sausage balls for church, I folded clothes, I thought about diving into my master list of writing projects… and then my body said, “Nope.” The ache in my neck and shoulders reminded me that I’m not invincible, and the heating pad and Epsom salts were calling louder than my to-do list.

Psalm 23 says, “He makes me lie down in green pastures.” I’ve always thought that verse was beautiful, but I’ve also come to realize it’s practical. Sheep don’t naturally rest—they’re anxious and skittish. The shepherd has to create conditions where they can breathe easy and stretch out. I’m no different. Left to myself, I’ll keep working, keep pushing, keep adding “just one more thing” to the day. But sometimes God insists, “Lie down. Let Me restore you.”

Jesus put it even plainer in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Not “I’ll give you a few tips to get more done.” Not “I’ll cheer you on while you hustle.” No—rest. A gift. A command. An act of worship.

That’s hard for me, because I’ve spent so much of my life proving myself, showing up for others, getting it all done. Rest used to feel like laziness or guilt. But I’m learning that when I choose rest, I’m really choosing trust. I’m saying, “God, You can hold the world for a few hours. You don’t need my nonstop striving.”

So maybe your act of worship tonight isn’t raising your hands—it’s laying down your burdens. Maybe it’s turning off the laptop. Maybe it’s going to bed earlier. Maybe it’s giving yourself permission to soak in Epsom salts or curl up under a blanket without feeling like you’re wasting time.

Because rest is worship when it’s rooted in Christ.