Somewhere along the way, many of us absorbed a theology of exhaustion. Work hard, sacrifice much, rest later — maybe in heaven, maybe on vacation, maybe when the kids are grown. Rest became something you earned after you’d given everything else away.
But what if that’s not what God intended at all?
Beautiful soul, this month we’re talking about rest — and we can’t have that conversation without talking about Sabbath. Because for those of us who are faith-rooted, the idea that rest could be sacred, required, and built into the design of creation is not a new concept. It’s ancient. We just forgot.
The Original Rest
In Genesis, after six days of creating the heavens, the earth, the oceans, every living thing — God rested. Not because God was tired. Not as a reward for finishing the work. But as a declaration: rest is holy. Rest is part of the rhythm of life as it was meant to be lived.
The fourth commandment — “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy” — is not a suggestion. It’s not a nice-to-have for people who have their act together. It is a commandment, which means it was considered important enough to be placed alongside things like “do not murder” and “do not steal.” Rest is that serious to God.
Psalm 46:10 says it plainly: “Be still, and know that I am God.” Not be productive and know that I am God. Not be busy and know that I am God. Be still.
What We’ve Turned Rest Into
Here’s what’s happened in many of our communities, especially in communities shaped by survival, striving, and the need to outperform just to be seen as equal: rest became suspect. Rest started to feel like laziness. Rest felt like something privileged people did, or something you got to enjoy once you’d finally made it.
And for people of faith who have also absorbed hustle culture messaging — the two can combine into something really harmful. A belief that God blesses the busy. That suffering is sanctifying. That if you’re struggling, you probably just need to pray more, push harder, give more.
None of that is the gospel. The gospel says come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28). The invitation is to the weary. The promise is rest. Not after you’ve earned it. Not when you’ve finally figured it out. Now.
Rest as a Spiritual Practice
Spiritual practices are things we do regularly, intentionally, to keep ourselves connected to God and to who we are. Prayer. Scripture. Worship. Community. Fasting. And yes — rest.
When we treat rest as a spiritual practice rather than a reward, everything changes. It stops being something we have to deserve and starts being something we steward. It becomes part of how we honor the image of God in ourselves, because you cannot pour from an empty vessel indefinitely and call that faithfulness. At some point, you have to let the vessel be filled.
What might Sabbath look like for you? It doesn’t have to be a full day, though that’s the original design. It might look like a morning each week where you don’t check your phone for the first hour. It might look like a regular walk in nature with no agenda. It might look like a nap without guilt. It might look like saying no to something so you can say yes to stillness.
The form matters less than the intention: I am choosing to rest because I believe rest is holy, and I am worth the holiness.
You Are Not a Machine
One of the most radical things you can do in a culture that measures your value by your output is to rest before you break. To stop before you crash. To take the Sabbath not because you’ve run out of steam but because you believe — truly believe — that you are more than what you produce.
Burnout is often the consequence of a life that has had rest squeezed out of it. And recovery from burnout requires not just more sleep, but a whole new relationship with restoration. One that is intentional. One that is sustainable. One that is, yes, spiritual.
You were made for more than survival, boo. You were made for flourishing. And flourishing requires rest.
If you’re struggling to give yourself permission to rest — or if exhaustion has already arrived and you don’t know where to start — that’s exactly what counseling is for. Let’s talk.
Book a session with Terrini M. Woods Counseling.
Peaceful blessings, Terrini M. Woods Counseling
