Rest. I can never get it quite right. Sometimes it taunts me like a rampant love bite in a honeymoon stage of a relationship, enticing and infallible in delivering what it promises. Other times it abandons my bones and threatens to unleash the wrath of busyness to entrap me.
God. I can never understand Him enough. Sometimes, when I cram Him into a convoluted mass, diluted by my defective presuppositions I think I’ve got him all figured out. Other times, in mercy, he roars like a lion instead of devouring my soul, to mend my fractured heart and align my heavy steps with the footprints he’s already engraved in the path before me.
Tonight, I shed a tear. Not from emotion, but from conviction. Convicted that I am not in control of my life, my fears, who dies, why good things happen, how or when suffering invades, why I survived another day, or why I’m even writing this.
The illusion of control can truly paralyze our perception of reality, no matter how fast we run. Which brings me back to rest.
Rest. Only found in the truth. Truth. Only found in God.
I’ve run into rest.