The Mirror of Rest

After work comes rest. Or so it should be. For many, going on vacation is anything but rest. We are not good at “resting”.

I was away on vacation last week, my husband and I traveling to Phoenix AZ for a week of sunshine and rest. Vacationing for us usually takes us to a seaside location, a place with sun and sand and surf, a refuge of blue sky and briny waves to soothe our minds and slow our hearts. This time, we decided to do it a little differently, heading to a desert location with sights and sounds we’d not seen before. It was a lovely week indeed, and I learned a few things during my desert week.

The desert is a beautifully haunting place; a refuge vastly different from surf and sand. The cacti rise up as solitary sentinels, symbols of survival in inhospitable conditions, showing the face of God in unlikely ways. They dot the vast sand-and-brush landscape, undulating on the hills in prickly defiance of the harsh unforgiving weather. We took a short hike through a portion of the Sonoran Desert (my husband did longer ones, my knee keeping me from more than a couple of miles at a time) and I was struck by the unrelenting expanse of desert. The rocks were red-orange-coral (I’m sure my more geologically-savvy friends might know their composition), and I found them inexpressibly beautiful— rocky symbols of what it must take to survive in the desert.

We spent some time at The Heard Museum, a museum dedicated to the art, history and culture of the Indigenous Tribes of the Plains. I was overcome with awe at the beauty of their art; the intricate weavings of baskets, the colorful beadwork on their clothing; the sophisticated simplicty of their pottery and jewelry. There was much art depicting the numerous festivals and ceremonies of these people as they had practiced them for centuries. What I found most moving was that all aspects of their lives were centered deep in the spiritual, beliefs that recognized the values of family and tradition, respect for earth and land, for life itself. They acknowledged the Divine in all they did, and brought that sacred knowledge into every corner of their lives.

As I walked through the multiple exhibits and galleries, I experienced a great sorrow in reading of the enormous injustices brought to bear upon them by European settlers, and later by the government. The refrain of conquering power, violence and death echoed in my heart as I read of the devastation wrought upon an entire race of people. It was a refrain I recognized from centuries gone by, and one that reverberates still in our own day, in our own country - as well as around the world. In those moments when I left that museum, my heart was broken for all that was lost.

And I learned about rest. And how we, as Americans, are so unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the concept of rest. We spent much time simply sitting in the shade of an umbrella or tree, reading and napping, or simply thinking. It took a few days to quiet the heart, to bring calm to the mind. One day, my husband sighed deeply and said “I feel like should be doing something instead of just sitting here!” He said it with frustration at not being able to be still, and I suspect, with a twinge of guilt that he wasn’t doing something more productive. I know him; it’s hard for him to sit still, to simply be; his mind is constantly going and he struggles to simply rest. And that’s true for most of us: we feel lazy and inadequate if we are not actively engaged in a productive activity. I’m afraid it’s the curse of being a 21st century American: the expectation to produce, to accomplish, to achieve — to outperform all others, to become “successful” in life. And for many - that comes at great cost. We’ve forgotten how to rest.

Even on vacation, there’s an expectation to “do something”; to hike, to bike, to see museums and visit great monuments; or to go to spas and get healthy; or take courses to learn something new. None of that is bad in and of itself; but it is not rest.

I suspect we don’t rest well because we are afraid of what we’ll think, of what we’ll feel. Activity is a great master of disguise; it provides multiple ways to hide so that we never truly wind down, never get to look closely at who we are, or how we really feel.

But rest? I believe it is like a mirror into our own hearts and minds. With no activity, with nothing to distract, no activity to sap our strength and energy, all our senses become more finely tuned. Rest holds up the mirror so we can actually come face to face with “us”. In rest, I can see into my heart; I see my fears and my struggles. Sometimes, I also see an answer to a problem that’s been evading me; or I get clarity on what I am supposed to do next in my life. In rest, my mind eventually winds down, and there is new understanding, a deeper perception, a greater cognition about me and my life, about those I love.

I hear God more clearly when I’m rested - not because He was silent before, but because the dust has settled, and I can now hear His voice in my heart. Rest quiets my heart and mind, and I am more in tune with my feelings, my sorrows, my joys, my dreams.

I would suggest more rest in our future, and less “things to do”. That is true whether you are in the height of your career, or winding down a professional life. In the end, rest will be the better course, the mirror that will bring the clarity and peace we so desperately need in these wild, tumultuous times. Rest is the other side of work; the better part of the balance, the mirror that will allow that balance to prevail on the side of calm and peace.