Resting Requires Release
I was driving home from Nashville last January when a snowstorm hit. My wipers were shot. The defroster couldn't keep up. And somewhere between Bowling Green and Elizabethtown, I couldn't see the road at all. The dashboard lit up. Systems I didn't even know my car had started failing. Every few minutes, I'd picture us spinning out, stuck on the shoulder. I started exhaling slowly, forcing air through pursed lips — a stress habit I inherited from my father. Every off-ramp was buried. There was nowhere to go but forward, blind.
In the middle of that mess, I prayed a desperate prayer. "Lord, I can't see. Help." And somehow, something began to shift. I didn't get less scared. But I stopped trying to control what I couldn't see. I let my shoulders drop. I let my hands loosen on the wheel.
Scripture tells us that rest begins with relationship and deepens through honesty (see Hebrews 4). But, I think we’ve all learned, rest only becomes real when we release.
Marva Dawn has helped me name a few specific things to let go of:
Releasing worry. Trusting that the Father sustains what we can't control.
Releasing being God. Relinquishing our need to manage outcomes or fix others.
Releasing cultural captivity. Rejecting the lie that worth equals productivity.
Releasing productivity. Pruning our calendars and expectations.
Jesus said, "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13–14). To rest is to lay something down — to trust love more than labor. Rest is an act of surrender. We cannot abide if our hands are full.
What might God be inviting you to release in this season to make room for rest?
Where do you sense pruning in your life — and could that pruning be the Father’s invitation rather than his punishment?
You might be in a storm right now. Your systems are failing. You can't see the road ahead. The good news is you don't have to. Rest doesn't require visibility. It requires trust.
Close your eyes.
Breathe.
Let the Lord, who perfectly sees the road ahead … and perfectly sees you, invite you into deeper rest.