Very soon I’ll be headed to sunny Florida to celebrate the holidays with my family. It’s become a family tradition to visit my oldest sister and her family, especially since she’s the only sibling with kids. I’m thankful for the much-needed time off work–a time I’m hopeful will be restful, refreshing, thoughtful, flexible, lazy yet intentional, and filled with joy. A sort of hibernation, even. When asked what we wanted to do this time around, everyone agreed: chill out! 

So as I do what I need to do to crush some end-of-the-year things, I want to be intentional with my rest. 

The end of the year is often a time for reflection, as people often begin goal-setting and setting intentions for the new year. For me I start the process a little early to coincide with my birthday in early December. As I reflected on my year, it felt like I let out a sigh. 

This. Year. Wooh. 

The first half felt a bit like a marathon and a sprint combined–working, blogging, serving on a board, training for a race, participating in a Teacher Fellowship, being a recovery group leader, leading a singles small group, beginning the home-buying process, traveling, spending time with friends and family, and managing life. It’s exhausting just typing it all out. 

July was the month things started to slow down. 

I slowed down longer than I had all year, and the weight of the first six months finally caught up to me. I sat in a therapy session crying, realizing the grief I carried–and thought I had finished processing–showed up again along with new grief from transitions I didn’t plan for: friendships, colleagues, and workload. I kept trying to rest, but I couldn’t get comfortable. Have you ever been so tired that you just know the second you lie down you’ll fall asleep, only to end up wide awake?

Shock. That’s what I recognize my body was probably feeling, and maybe why rest didn’t come easily. I kept much of the summer to myself and thought vacations would help me recover. By the end of the summer, I had one less obligation and more support to lead a small group, still not quite rested, but figuring I’d be fine. 

I just needed to keep moving. 

Then I hit a wall in October. I couldn’t fake the funk anymore. I kept saying I’m tired, and my body started showing the fruit of it. Since then, many of my weekends have been filled with not getting dressed, loafing, sleeping and general rest. It shouldn’t have taken me reaching a place of burnout to prioritize rest, but as I look forward to creating rhythms next year, and heading into the holiday break, I plan to be more intentional. Perhaps it’s my age. Perhaps it’s the season. 

Being intentional with my rest also includes recognizing where I find it. Vacations are great and necessary. Loafing doesn’t have to equal laziness. But ultimately, rest should also recharge. In seasons of giving out exponentially, I must be refilled exponentially. I’ve often gotten so busy doing, that I forget how to be. And that’s possibly why, as an adult, I’ve enjoyed the holidays so much. Much of my world stops. 

My favorite Christmas songs are those that highlight the stillness of the night, the silence, and serenity. The older I get, the more comfortable I am with still nights and what some might call “boring.” Yet, it’s in the space– the margin, in the quiet, the sitting still and waiting that God often chooses  to move. 

I imagine the night Jesus arrived, feeling like a regular, ordinary night for Jews in exile. Waiting for their Savior, waiting for a prophecy to be fulfilled. 

Sometimes my busyness and the exhaustion that follows, comes from trying to do things in my own strength. I can relate to the Jewish sects at the time of Jesus, who took matters into their own hands– the Zealots and even the Sadducees that may have thought their doing would speed the Messiah’s arrival. But what happens when, in our waiting–and really our doing– we exhaust ourselves? When we’ve tried every remedy, every possible solution, every possible combination, and still the Savior doesn’t arrive, or at least in a way we want? 

The way of the Kingdom as exemplified even in Jesus’ arrival is often at odds with the way of this world, of Empire. American Capitalism, and “exceptionalism” sometimes drives our need to do rather than rest. Of course there’s a balance of showing our obedience and faith in Christ’s words through action, yet the action shouldn’t be where our reliance is. Rest can feel absurd when life marches on at light speed, but it’s a way of the Kingdom and even a way of resistance. 

As we move along this Christmas season may we be reminded of the way Jesus arrived in the stillness of the night to upend an Empire, not with violence, or in any of the ways already known to man, but humbly and from a place of resting in his heavenly father.