Receiving Rest—a meditation on Psalm 127

I am one of those people that has always had trouble going to bed. For one thing, I’m not a “morning person.” For another, there’s just so much to do at night—there’s clean up, and exercise, and reading, and writing, and show-watching, and a husband to spend time with, and list-making, and more clean-up (I know, I can hear morning people saying “yes, that’s why you get up early in the morning and get all that done!” And I know there is lots of wisdom to that, I’m just confessing it’s been a real challenge for most of my adult/teen life to get to bed early). Perhaps it’s because I sometimes I get a surge of energy at night and get it into a real cleaning tornado—filling up the Brita jug, trying to (finally) make decisions about where to put the small, random items that accumulate on the kitchen counter, refilling soap bottles, scrubbing the bathroom sink and mirror, emptying the trash cans.

Or sometimes, it’s a vicious cycle where I’m too tired to go to bed, so I stay up wasting time on my phone, researching things, online shopping, Facebook scrolling, or recipe-gathering–and this is why I have a general policy of keeping my phone charging in the bathroom at night. Perhaps now that I’m a mom, or at home most of the time, sleep has become sweeter to me; but for much of my life, when someone suggests going to bed, I reply, “sleep is so boring.”

For a Type-A perfectionist with high (often unreachable) standards and ALWAYS more ideas of things to do than time allows, sleep is often not viewed as a gift.

But…

What if sleep does not have to be the indulgence of the lazy, but the intentional choice of the wise?

What if rest should not be stubbornly resisted, but humbly received?

What if we sometimes try to earn what God freely offers us?  

I’ve been meditating on Psalm 127 all year, which has challenged the way I view sleep.

I’ve been meditating on Psalm 127 all year, which has challenged the way I view sleep.

Here’s how the first half of the Psalm reads in the ESV translation (italics mine):

127 Unless the Lord builds the house,
    those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the watchman stays awake in vain.
² It is in vain that you rise up early
    and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
    for he gives to his beloved sleep.

This line—for he gives to his beloved sleep—has been shaping and challenging the way I think about sleep for the last several months. (I’m still working on the application part—if I have any friends out there who want to be sleep accountability buddies, let me know!😉)

Here are some other translations of verse two:

It is useless for you to work so hard from early morning until late at night, anxiously working for food to eat; for God gives rest to his loved ones. (NLT)

In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat— for he grants sleep to those he loves. (NIV)

It is vain for you to rise up early, To retire late, To eat the bread of painful labors; For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep. (NASB 1995)

4 reflections on rest, based on Psalm 127:

1. Rest is a gift. “He grants/gives sleep to those He loves.” If God is giving us something, it must be good—because He is good. One commentary puts it this way, “With the right heart, sleep is no longer the sluggard’s sin but the believer’s gift” (Grace and Truth Bible study Bible).
2. Rest is good, not bad. (no surprise to some of us, but to the Type-A achievers among us, it’s worth a reminder!). This is similar to the previous point—If something is good, it’s from God (Jas. 1:17). We should not view rest as the second-best alternative to busyness, something to begrudgingly give way to once we’ve exhausted all other options (including ourselves 😉), but something to humbly and gratefully receive with thanksgiving.
3. Often, the hardest work we can do is rest—because it means giving up control, ceasing.  Toiling is so much easier, because it makes us feel like we are in control, like we are making progress, getting closer to a solution. Waiting on Him—and often, resting—feel unproductive. We feel powerless, weak, like bystanders. Dane Ortlund writes, “We don’t go out and attain divine fullness. We receive it. This is the surprise of the Christian life. We get traction in our spiritual lives not centrally as we get down to work but as we open up our hands” (Deeper, p. 74, emphasis mine). This is the surprise of the Christian life. We get traction in our spiritual lives not centrally as we get down to work but as we open up our hands” (Deeper, p. 74, emphasis mine).
4. Rest is not something we earn, ultimately—it’s something we receive. I think of Matthew 20:1-16, a parable where Jesus likens the kingdom of heaven to a landowner who pays the same wage to four different groups of workers—some who work all day, some who work only a few hours. The point is not that God doesn’t care about how long or hard we work (or how long we are walking in relationship with Him, since this parable is about salvation), but that God gives grace–whether we earn it, or deserve it, or not (and we don’t, ever). So while we’re called to work hard, just as God did in creating the world, God has built our bodies to need rest each night—and He doesn’t reward or withhold it from us based on our day’s performance. Of course, this is NOT an excuse to be lazy—there are many proverbs, in particular, where God extols the fruits of hard work and denounces the life choices of the “sluggard”/lazy person. But this IS to say that when we fail and don’t work as hard or use our time as effectively as we could have, God gives grace. There is grace to acknowledge our negative decisions that day, turn from them, and accept His rest for tonight.

So where does this all hit me?

After I’ve gotten Luke down for his nap, and I survey the surrounding mess—toys and kitchen articles strewn over the floors, counters littered with dishes and the remains of lunch-making, fresh laundry to be removed from the dryer—I have a choice. To instantly cave to my phone or bustle about the kitchen, or listen to the still, small voice that is telling me to take a moment, breathe, listen, and appraise my priorities. What does Jesus have for me, this afternoon? Is it cleaning the kitchen, or is it sitting down to write a blog post? Is it carrying outgrown clothes up to the attic, or is it laying down for a nap? Is it scanning the Giant and Aldi flyers for the deals for the next week and planning out meals, or is it sitting down with my Lord and spending some time in His word, listening to Him? Perhaps it is several of these things, but one thing is sure–it is not doing any of these activities out of compulsion, or out of a sense that I need to live up to some unspoken standard for what a “good wife/mom’s” house should look like, or to prove anything to my husband when he comes home from work (and really, if we’re talking about mess, which is a better gift to my husband? A well-ordered house and a frantic spirit, desperate his approval, or a less-than-perfect home, but a quiet heart, settled in JESUS’ agenda for me, for that day?)

It is so tempting to work not “as unto the Lord” (Col. 3:23) but as unto my standard of my inner critic, of the judges to whom I give a seat at the daily trial of Tabitha’s Worth. But He gives to His beloved rest.

At night, when I get that occasional burst of energy, and it’s so tempting to do “just do one more thing,” I need to remember that He gives to His beloved rest.

Jesus says to us, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29).

Work and rest are perfectly balanced when we walk with Jesus. We take His yoke, His expectations upon ourselves. When we seek Him daily, He shows us through His spirit what “good works . . . God prepared in advance for us to do” (Eph. 2:10).  

Father, forgive me for a heart that thinks I make the world go around, that can’t trust your help for tomorrow enough to cease my work for today. Help me receive your rest–not with a guilty conscience, but with quiet gratefulness.