Rest doesn’t come naturally to me. If I were a bird, I might be a hummingbird. Almost always in motion, almost always seeking the next bloom, almost always working, working, working.
It makes the holidays difficult. It’s easy to develop a complex. How to sit and enjoy the parade? How to not help in the kitchen? How to be okay with being served? How to sit, to listen, to rest? How to be?
It isn’t easy. The wings want to whir into life. I can feel them stirring, pushing against the holiday bonds. They don’t want to rest. They don’t want to be. They want to work. They want to prove their worth.
Ah. That’s the issue then. Work is tied to identity. Work is tied to approval. It’s no wonder guilt arises. It’s no wonder the inner self panics. It doesn’t know who it is when it’s not working. It hasn’t fully learned where identity is found. It’s heard the truth, but the truth sometimes takes a while to be absorbed.
Sometimes, though…sometimes, the workaholic disappears. Freedom arises. The inner self discovers light and laughter and love. It rejoices and shares it joy with others. The self is at rest. It is sitting. It is listening.
How does it happen? At times, it’s the fruit of self-discipline. I exercise an iron will. I speak truth to the self that lies and says work is better, work is who I am.
Other times, freedom comes through the people around me, a community of people who speak gospel truth. With this community I can simply be. I don’t have to work. I don’t have to seek approval.
I can be vulnerable. I can be me. These people are few and far between, but I delight to find them. With them, I am set free. The wings still and are silent. The wings still, and I find I can sit. I can rest. I can be.
Image: Andrew E. Russell (Creative Commons)