The Art of Rest

After a fight that would shame Muhammed Ali, I got Keegan down for his nap. I glanced at the laundry waiting to be folded, at the dishes waiting to be washed, and finally, and most lingeringly, at the computer inviting me to write.

And I brewed a cup of tea and sat. I did not assume any yoga warrior stances, as I had promised myself I would. Nor did I consider the unpaid bills neglected on the kitchen counter. I sat and sipped my tea and rested.

Sometimes the timing of things strikes me as funny. I came to write this post about the art of rest but first sat down to read Thomas's post, "Artistic Discipline for the Undisciplined Times of Life."

Turns out Thomas wrote his post from inside my head (think Being John Malkovich). The former discipline, the lost trains of thought, the plethora of spit up (most of it the baby's)--all part and parcel of my life.

I, too, am learning to live in an undisciplined time of life.

I've never considered myself a workaholic. I can party like the best of them (especially if the party constitutes a good book and a good glass of wine). But I also value productivity. I wrote every day, an exercise I carried over from my musical days of practicing piano and flute daily. I folded laundry or knit while watching TV. I read while eating lunch or waiting in line at the post office. I memorized poetry while doing data entry. I jotted down notes for my novel at red lights.

Not a second wasted.

Then I had a baby.

Which means I have to squeeze in my writing in bits and pieces during Keegan's naps. Yes, I think, I will do this. And the laundry and the dishes I can do while Keegan plays in his exersaucer or jumper. And the dusting and vacuuming I can do with Keegan in the sling.

Some days, it goes exactly like that. Other days, Keegan's play fascinates me. And during his naps, I sip tea.

In other words, I've become undisciplined.

I've had to come to terms with this word that reads like sin to me. I've had to accept that sometimes undisciplined is okay, that sometimes, undisciplined means rest. Sometimes it means savoring those snippets of my son's life that dance like the sun through the leaves, creating ever-changing patterns. Sometimes it means sitting back and, for a moment, just a quick moment, doing nothing.

No thing.

Not the laundry or the dishes or the bathroom.

Not even writing.

To be still. To rest. To snatch at shalom in the quiet moments of Keegan's nap, in the joyful moments of Keegan's laughter, and in the comfortable moments of my husband's embrace.

For here's what I'm learning: wholeness is not in neatly folded T-shirts or freshly scrubbed dishes. It is not even in a completed story. These are good and healthy things toward which I still strive. But they are empty in and of themselves, a nasally twang without the resonance of the cathedral.

So today I practice the art of rest. I'll make Keegan giggle, and I'll savor my tea. Then maybe tomorrow I'll pick up pen and write.

Heather A. Goodman writes to discover more about humanity. Sometimes, though, she sets aside her writing to live in this humanity.

 

Comments

[Melanie]

Putting on the kettle in your honour, Heather. It's a hard lesson to learn but rest is a neccessary part of the creative process I've learnt. Thanks for the reminder.

[Thomas]

Tea is a means of grace!

[Glynn]

Absolute rest is when things are most quiet - when we can hear God speaking most directly. Good post, Heather.

[Heather Goodman]

Amen.

Sent from my iPhone

[Heather]

That last comment is in reply to Thomas' comment on tea.

[Anne Mateer]

Ah, rest. Stillness. Something I'm still learning, as attested by the blog post I wrote for tomorrow before I read yours!

[Jennifer Peacock]

Heather: There is nothing more important you can write than yours and your Heavenly Father's love, mercy, and grace on your child's heart.

[michele pendergrass]

Like I said earlier, motherhood looks good on you :) This post is another adornment on your already beautiful being.