Rest and Death

One day in the fall, one of my kids asked me, "Why do the trees die?"

Without really thinking, I responded with, "They aren’t dead, they just shed their leaves. If they were dead, they wouldn’t bloom again in the spring."

As the trees are turning right now, and leaves are starting to fall (hello to my two LEAST favorite seasons of the year, fall and winter), I've been thinking about death and rest and bloom. 

Seasons are... weird. And also refreshing (except when the season leaving is glorious like summer and the one coming is sad and dark and cold and empty like fall/winter, haha!). It's strange that the scenery around us can go from blazing full of gorgeous color to spindly skeletal tree limbs. And sometimes only a day separates the beauty from the void.

Often, we mistake rest for death.

Often, rest is required for bloom.

I think that in a society that celebrates being busy, on the move, getting stuff done, seizing the day, and on and on, we think that taking time for rest and restoration is something to be ashamed of. We see a pause as a stop, a rest as certain death.

Not only does rest not mean death, NOT stopping to rest can absolutely lead to death. The entire premise of crop rotation is based on giving the land room and space and time to rest and recover. Without it, the bloom would never come.

There is a Jon Acuff poem (weird, I know, as we don't think of him as a poet) that I LOVE:

If at the end of my life, the only thing I’ve accomplished is a comfortable life, my days have been wasted.
If at the end of my life, the only thing I’ve fought for is my own name, my days have been wasted.
If at the end of my life, the only thing I’ve stood for is my own reputation, my days have been wasted.
If at the end of my life, the only thing I’ve traded are works for rewards, my days have been wasted.
May we not go to the grave quietly.
May we not make refuse of the gifts we’ve been given.
Arrive empty to the grave, having given all you were given, stewarded all you were tasked with.
Give the grave only bones.

"Give the grave only bones." Wow. And the entire premise of this poem is that we must live as if we are people on mission, using our gifts and talents for the Lord and others. I think that is ABSOLUTELY true.

I have learned, through some weird health situations, that my body requires rest and if I don't offer it willingly, it will take it forcefully. Since 2016, I have been doing a better job of listening to the rhythms in my body and taking time to slow down, get plenty of sleep, drink water, and even specifically schedule time alone for myself to recharge emotionally.

However, as I try to follow these patterns that I know are right for me, I am constantly fighting the part of me that keeps screaming, "You are losing the ground you gained! Your business just started getting a lot of interaction on social media and now you're letting it go dry again! You just got into the flow of writing and now you have nothing you want to say anymore! You just got the house organized and straight and now you're letting it slip into messiness again! Keep going, doing, being! GIVE THE GRAVE ONLY BONES!"

Contrary to what that voice inside my head is screeching, I also think that poem and statement can be read as a caution against dying with dreams and potential unrealized, with regrets. And many times, what is needed to realize our dreams and our potential is a season of rest, or at least moments and rhythms of rest along the way.

I'm trying to learn the simple lesson of science that the trees teach us every single year... resting isn't death, it's necessary for new life.