rest

I have a safe and warm and quiet place to call home, and a comfortable bed to curl up in. I will not take for granted the beautiful fact of this provision. It's a simple and wonderful thing that my physical weariness and desire for rest is so easily and immediately tended to. Theoretically, at least. Having a warm and comfortable bed does not assure a good night's sleep, as I well know.

The same can be said of soul solace, I suppose. One can have what would appear to be the right ingredients for a restful soul, and still find oneself feeling restless and angst-ridden. I have faith, I have assurances for peace and provision, and still I strive and worry and let various fears get the better of me. "Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our souls are restless until they find their rest in thee," prayed St. Augustine. How grand it would be to wrap my soul up in a duvet of peace and certainty, to find a warm and comfortable solace and leave all angst and striving behind. Then a practical voice chips in with the observation that we don't really leave behind all angst and striving until our hearts stop beating. I'm tired and I'm ready for my bed tonight, but I'll be glad to get up in the morning and wear my body and brain out again another day. So also my soul is weary and longs for rest, but I'm glad for the opportunity to beat down my fears and seek peace and truth and beauty another day. I hope to run the risk of fatigue, disappointment and failure in all these endeavors for a good many years yet before settling in to my final resting place. Lord willing.