I think I must be tired. I’m not sure.
If I could sit down for a few minutes and actually think, I might be able to figure it out.Lately it seems as if the moment I sit down the phone rings or the door bell dings.This causes me to entertain the thought that my phone and doorbell are somehow attached to the seat of my comfy chair in the corner.Alas, it cannot be true, for others sit in that chair and there is no knock at the door for hours on end.
I have noticed that my email message board constantly reminds me that it is time to archive old items… which means there are way too many messages stored in its finite memory.I have decided that my computer and I have the same problem.Too many messages, so little space. My email inbox stays full, and I am quite sure there are many of you sitting out there wondering… just like the line from Dances With Wolves… Why don’t she write?
I truly mean to. I have every intention of doing so… soon. I am trusting that all of you who know me have already reached the conclusion that I do love you, and will, therefore, extend me a bit of grace.Those who do not know me… well, I will answer yours first, for I do not expect that same grace extension from you.In time, you may be asked to extend, but for now, just let me say, “The response is in the mail.”
Why do I ramble on with such nonsense?Many have asked that question.But what I find is that my mental meanderings are something of an unwinding for me.If you can for one moment picture a huge ball of yarn rolling across a polished floor, leaving its singular threaded trail, you will understand my rambling.It is as if I have wound myself around something important, and must unravel to get at the hidden center.
So what is hidden today that has prompted this trail of twine?Let’s see, I must push just a bit to straighten that last bit of unruly thread… Ah, yes, there it is.I see it clearly now.Four little letters: sert; no, ters, wait… estr… oh, there it is… rest.
I must unravel to rest.I must unwind and rest.I must meander to find my place of rest.
The Father speaks, “Rest, child.”The words cause me to breathe deep.“Rest, child.” My shoulders relax, my head bent forward, I test the neck muscles with a slow side-to-side stretch.“Rest, Child.”Head in my hands, my eyes begin to feel their own weight.Like a soft wind blowing through the trees, His voice disturbs me beautifully, “Rest, child.”One more breath; it reaches deep and sends the yarn spinning forward, one single strand meets four letters…
And I rest.
“…Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.
Barbie Loflin 
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