While mowing the lawn last summer, I moved the wrong way and felt an ominous pop in my lower back. The next moment I was hobbling to the kitchen for ice packs, ibuprofen, and a muscle relaxer.
“I can’t afford this right now,” I told my husband through tears. It’s a lament I repeat each time I wake up with a scratchy throat, or when that pressure at the base of my skull starts creeping toward migraine status.
I CAN’T AFFORD THIS RIGHT NOW.
By “this,” I mean slowing down. Resting. Letting my body heal from whatever compromised it in the first place.
But it’s not just forced rest that triggers this feeling. I hear the same expression from others when the subject of voluntary rest comes up: “Yeah, that would be nice. But I can’t afford it right now.”
Lie #1: Rest is a luxury.
We refer to rest as something costly, using financial language. When we say we can’t afford to rest, we’re not just talking about the cost of a plane ticket or spa day, we’re talking about time. We mean our time is already allocated to other things. There just isn’t anything left to spend on extras.
And that’s the problem. We see rest as something extra. A luxury reserved for annual vacations, or the occasional Sunday afternoon.
But God wrote rest into the law of nature. A river can only feed the ocean if it’s replenished by a spring, or a rain storm. Without input, there can be no output.
WHAT TO BELIEVE INSTEAD: Rest is how we’re designed to replace what has been depleted through work. When we neglect rest, we limit our effectiveness and risk burnout, or worse. (Ask me how I know.) When budgeting time, rest belongs among the mandatory expenditures. There’s nothing discretionary about it.
Lie #2: Choosing rest is selfish/wasteful/lazy/ [insert guilt-inducing adjective here]
If you believe rest is a luxury, and your time budget doesn’t allow for luxury, you’ll feel guilty for taking personal time. Weak because your candle doesn’t burn at both ends. Irresponsible for leaving tasks unfinished while you try to relax.
My own guilt about rest is triggered by motherhood. There’s so much pressure to Be All The Things for our children: nurturer, chef, taxi driver, tutor, cheerleader, counselor, friend, spiritual advisor, playmate, fashion consultant, disciplinarian, friend.
Given the demands, it’s all too easy to sacrifice rest on the altar of service. But is that really the noble choice?