Rest.

It’s a word we say often. We prescribe it to friends and family alike. “Just rest,” we say. “Just relax. Trust in Jesus. Cast your burdens on him.” We spout words like weeds after a spring rain.

Rest is easy. All we have to do is stop doing.

If only it were that easy. If only we could rest away from the hurried life. Maybe escape to a walk on the beach, a weekend away from responsibilities and priorities, or our own backyard tree house. Just give us some place to rest apart from the hurry, demanding, tick-tock of the clock that is life.

Stop doing. Cease striving. Rest.

But how? How do we rest amid the crazy chaos? How do we breath like a walk on the beach and sea windblown hair when the kids are so loud you can’t hear yourself think or you’re not sure if the doctor’s appointment was today at 3pm or tomorrow and it’s time to cook dinner and the meat is still frozen?

How do we rest then? When meltdowns and late nights, loneliness and overscheduled calendars, rising scales and unbalanced checkbooks take their toll?

How do we rest when God seems far off, when troubles are great and near, when diagnoses don't look good?

When life is crazy, short-breath stressful, and a cease-fire doesn't seem to be in sight, how do we cease striving then?

This year I have one aim, one goal. I want to learn rest.

It's a four-letter word in my life. But, rest? I know it is good.

I want to move beyond the Christian sentimentalities of "trust Jesus" and "cast your burdens on Him." I don't want to just hear about rest, read it in a book, or put it on my list to do. I want to breathe rest. I want to move in the still place trusting God, relying on Him every crazy step of the way.

I know the right answer. But I want to move past the knowing and practice rest. It'll be my experiment for the year. The practice of rest.