the Rest-Giver

You chart the path ahead of me
and tell me where to stop and rest.

Psalm 139:3a (New Living Translation)

Rest is spontaneous.
Last evening on the spur of the moment, I had to run to town to deliver a check and took #1 Son along. He was happy for new scenery on which to try out a new camera, and I was happy to grab a chance to kayak around Ives Park. The evening was cool and breezy, full to the brim of green grass, pink and purple wisps along the skyline, and inky pools of stark shadow spilling from legs, arms, benches, and shrubbery.

Rest is necessary.
An action-packed week was behind me. It was memorable, stupendous, exhilarating, hilarious, emotional, and full of food prep and dirty dishes. Yes, all those wonderful things. But it was not restful, I don't think. As I dip my paddle in the brown water, my heart lifts for the nth time as I wiggle the soggy bank out from underneath me. My little craft is transported to the world of bouyancy and now the river is mine.

Rest is a gift.
The riverbanks are rife with batches of water-flora. A sprinkling of adventurous maples have staked their claim on island strips, lending the first red of autumn to the eye. Fingers of evening sun stretch through cattails and grasses and etch a rim of gold around bushels of willow groves. I drink it in hungrily, imagining that God appreciates how much I appreciate Him.

I take to rest like a beggar takes to stew.
And I'm always up for seconds, if offered.