“Resting is Fighting”

That is what my pastor said to me yesterday after I spent two hours unloading to him and his wife. At the end of a bunch of other stuff that I’m struggling with, a main issue surfaced. Resting makes me feel guilty.

I’m a mover and a shaker. I get stuff done. Grass doesn’t grow under my feet. Now, I’m in a place where rest is necessary and will only become more crucial as the time goes on. I hate that.

I don’t want to be a burden. I want to care for others, not be cared for. I want to pull my weight and then help others pull theirs. Doesn’t that sound noble and selfless? It’s pride. And I hate that even more.

I can see that at least part of this road I’m traveling is for the purpose of refining me–heating the silver and pouring off the dross. And so, my job is to continue putting myself in the position to be worked on, and remaining flexible while He does His work.

I’m learning that it’s okay to be cared for and protected. It’s okay to accept that in this season of my life, I have to put my needs first, even though it feels selfish.

And so, I am learning to kill my pride. It is hard for me to watch things go undone while I lay on the couch, resting. It’s difficult to ask for help, especially with simple things that I am capable of doing, but shouldn’t. I have a long way to go–pride doesn’t go down easily. I covet the prayers of anyone who will lift me up.

My body is fighting cancer, and my heart is fighting pride. In both cases, my best offense–and my best defense–is rest.