the joy that buoys our souls

I have the windows open 
listening to the rain 
it feels like little bits of peace 
Are entering the world
My world
Which can be hectic
With voices climbing over each other
Small needs building a staircase of tasks to be done
The rain brings a blanket of calm
That I savor
Reminds me to find a space for myself to sip my coffee 
And do not one thing else

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We are
as a group
collectively exhausted
We hold wakeful babies at night
half sleeping
until the day begins
We mourn babies we no longer hold
while celebrating
having ever held them
We bear the weight of our own mothers who are taking their turn to be held
Sometimes it is work to do the work of women
To be in relationship
and build lives together
We open our hearts and let them be slightly broken
by this amazing life
It feels right
To sit and rest
To appreciate sweet smiles
To accept the gift that is laughter
And revel in light
We celebrate the joy that buoys our souls

Written by : Jocelyn Chrisley

A constant turning

In May—amidst grading a hundred research papers, essays, and exams, engaging my high school freshmen who were worried about final grades, and saying good bye to former students who were leaving for college—I sent a pleading email to a small group of praying friends…and asked for prayer.  One replied with Jesus’ promise in Matthew 11:28-30:  “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

I was grateful for the reply.  Trusted the prayer.  Believed the words.  But—I have to admit, my burden never felt easier or lighter and I didn’t fall into a peaceful rest.  

It wasn’t until a month later when our family sat down at a table in Cracker Barrel that I gave serious consideration to those verses.  I turned around, surveyed the surroundings—were there any tables that seemed intolerant to our potentially cranky, tired-of-the-eight-hour-drive baby?—when an enormous yoke jumped out at me from the wall behind me.  It was huge.  Awkward.  Heavy-looking.  An oval behemoth made of thick leather.  My mind leapt back to my friend’s email.  Jesus says his yoke is “easy,” but nothing about that Cracker Barrel yoke looked “easy.”  Instead, the relic looked like how I felt in May.

I’ve wrestled with these verses all summer—especially as I get ready to head back to essays and students and late nights and long days.  Jesus’ promise is tantalizing; twice in three verses, he promises rest.  And I want that.  

I think it’s important to distinguish between the two types of rest Christians often talk about—a Sabbath rest and a letting-go rest.  A Sabbath rest is rhythmic, a periodic and intentional setting aside of work.  But a letting-go rest, the type of rest I think Jesus is talking about in Matthew 11 involves coming to Jesus, laying down our labors, our to-do-lists—if you will, and throwing our trust onto Him.  The rest Jesus speaks of in Matthew is surrender.

And while a Sabbath is important (so important, in fact, that God included it in the ten commandments he gave to Moses for the Israelites)—what my soul longs for, what I usually fall into bed having missed in the day, what would bring an end to my anxieties, insecurities, and feelings of not being enough—is resting in Jesus.  It’s like laying a hammock—where only a thin piece of canvas separates your body the effects of gravity.  It’s like how you settle into next to someone you love—and you feel lighter, as if the burdens you’ve been carrying all day just became shared because of their closeness.  The rest Jesus offers is a complete, unifying, and life-altering trust. 

Unfortunately, it’s the “how” that trips me up.  And I’ve tried so many things—religiously reading my Bible, journaling, following a prayer schedule, reading great books, getting vulnerable with people, building more worship into my day, and…just generally trying to be better.  To not fail so miserably with the things I usually fail so miserably at.  

But I’m becoming convinced that the real answer to my longing lies in turning—a constant turning of my heart toward Jesus.  Toward God’s promises.  Away from angry retorts, self-deprecating thoughts, and that nagging voice that says, “You can’t do it.  You’ll never be able to do it.”  When we turn, we lay our stuff at His feet and say, “I’m going to pay attention to you, trust that you love me, and that you will carry this stuff for me.”  After all—those verses tell us he promises to do just that.

I love these words from C.S. Lewis [and a confession—I have no idea where they came from, but it was definitely a timely tweet]:  “Your real, new self will not come as long as you are looking for it.  It will come when you’re looking for Him.”  

That’s what I want.  I want to walk around in the skin God made me in.  I want to shed the stuff that keeps me from being me as He knows me to be. There’s real rest there.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? 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. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”  Matthew 11:28-30 (The Message)

written by: Jess Ramsey