It was Saturday night. I was in the kitchen, making some pancakes that could provide a quick breakfast the next morning before church. My two year old daughter, Maisie, sat on the counter, trying to dump out every container and lick every spoon. My seven year old daughter, Evie, stood nearby, watching. Her eyes fell on the list I had made, earlier in the day, when I was hopeful and full of energy…a to-do list of the things I hoped to accomplish. She picked it up.
“Did you clean the bathroom today?” she asked, starting at the top.
“Nope,” I replied.
“How about cleaning out the fridge?”
“Yes, I did.” I nodded, and saved the batter from spilling everywhere after a vigorous stir by Maisie.
“Pack the diaper bag?”
“No.”
“Make a quiche?”
“No.”
“Do the laundry?”
I paused. “I did some laundry…but not all of it.”
“How about vacuum all the rooms?” Her smile was becoming more amused by the moment.
“Nope.”
“Lay out clothes?”
“Nope.”
“Grocery shopping?”
“I did go grocery shopping!” I answered, offering Maisie a taste from a spoon.
“Mop the floor?”
I shook my head.
“Wow,” Evie remarked, replacing the list on the counter. “You sure didn’t get done many things today.
I contemplated for a moment. The day had begun later than I expected, because my husband had slipped out the door before I woke up and ushered the kids into the living room, keeping them quiet and making breakfast,letting me sleep in. And I did sleep in, until 9, a true rarity and such a delight during this last trimester of pregnancy. I got to enjoy a warm, tasty bowl of potatoes and fried eggs when I finally got up, so you could say the day had a beautiful start.
Next, I cleaned out the fridge with my littlest two, which had been on my mind for some time, and felt amazing to have done. Then I took them grocery shopping while the older two kids worked in the garage and rode bikes out front with Dad. We were gone over lunch, so they had a “store lunch” by snacking on beef sticks, bananas, crackers, and cheese sticks in the cart. By the time we got home and unloaded groceries, put them away, and got Maisie down for her nap, I was exhausted. I looked at my to-do list. I looked out the window, at the sunshine and the breeze and the clear blue sky. And I picked up a book and went outside and sat on the swing and read.
We spent the rest of the day in the backyard, in fact. I read a lot. I just sat with the sun on my face. I played catch with my oldest and I helped the little kids get some water to make mud. We basically enjoyed the absolutely beautiful weather all afternoon, concluding the evening with dinner al fresco while my husband read a chapter from a book.
My to-do list was not completed, it’s true. But I had also spent the day in deep, refreshing relaxation. It didn’t feel wasted, like it does when I decide to spend three hours scrolling on my phone after the kids go to bed, and then turn out the lights, myself, feeling grumpy and stimulated and unproductive. This had felt like true care of self, the kind of care that reaches your soul. I read inspiring thoughts. I marvelled at creation. I laughed with my kids. I enjoyed watching them play. If the metaphor of “filling up your cup” can be applied, I felt like my cup was running over, as I ended the day with windswept hair and cheeks that were pinker than they had been that morning.
I used to abhor the idea of purposeful rest. I never figured that I deserved it. I would look at my list of things to accomplish and berate myself for not being more efficient. I would plod through my tasks with bitterness, feeling completely depleted but not knowing how to keep up with everything. If an activity wasn’t attaining something tangibly productive, I viewed it as unworthy. I looked down on leisurely pastimes and the people who engaged in them, because look how much harder I was working. No pain, no gain, right?
The irony here is that, of course, no human can work eternally without rest. Eventually there is a breaking point. And I’d reach that point…often. Fed up with my ever expanding responsibilities and my ever diminishing patience, I’d collapse on the couch, pick up my phone, and think, “just five minutes.”
It was never just five minutes.
And at the end of what was more like 30 minutes, a kid would cry or the washing machine would chime and I’d groan, getting to my feet again, feeling even more weighed down by the content I had consumed (war! disaster! debate!) and resentful that I never got to take a break. I’d go back to my work, less 30 minutes but without gaining anything redemptive.
Or maybe, after bedtimes, I’d consider the goals I had to write a post or paint a picture or work on a project, but my brain felt completely incapacitated by my day of complete and utter self-sacrifice (if you could hear me read this, you’d catch the sarcasm) and I’d bemoan the fact that a constant hustle is the only way to be successful. I felt guilty going to bed (because of all that stuff I had to do), so I’d tell myself I’d watch one show and then do something productive.
One show turned into two, turned into three, turned into now it’s 11, I’m going to bed way too late, I’ll feel horrible in the morning, I’m no closer to my goals, and I just feel agitated.
Is any of this familiar?
Looking back, it seems almost comical at how many hours I wasted while simultaneously feeling like all I did was work, but at the time, I was truly miserable. Don’t get me wrong…my kids were a joy and a light in my life, and my husband has always been the greatest gift God has given me on earth. I loved being a mom and I loved getting to stay home and care for my family. But I was absolutely drowning in the endless cycle of, well, trying to pour from an empty cup. And having no idea how to fill it.
Fast forward to today. I knew I had things I wanted to accomplish. I knew some of them were crucial…we needed groceries. We needed a place to put the groceries, which meant the fridge had to be cleaned out. We needed nice clean clothes (and, more importantly, socks) for church the next day. We needed something quick for breakfast. So I took care of those things, endeavoring to be a good steward of the family God has given me and the tasks they come with.
But also…I was tired. I’m 30 weeks pregnant. Our life has held a relative amount of stress and upheaval the past few months. The sunshine outside was truly gorgeous. And I’ve learned that there’s a difference between rest and REST. The rest you take when you’re maxed out and can’t even think enough to make a smart choice, or the rest you take when you are being conscious to nourish your soul. The rest that happens passively, or the rest that happens intentionally. And to be clear, I’m not saying that phones or Netflix can never be a part of good rest. I am saying that our brains and eyes need a break, and it’s good to leave the screens for a bit and engage with the world right in front of you. It’s good to cultivate the habit of just being.
And that’s why, as I wiped up spilled drips of pancake batter from the counter and set Maisie back on the floor to find her dolly for bed, I turned to Evie and smiled. “I actually got done a lot today,” I said, “just not all the stuff on my list. But I did spend almost seven hours outside, and I read a lot of my book, and I think I might have even dozed off on the swing. I think those things were just more important today.”
The real beauty of living a life that holds space for refreshment and delight is that it DOES fill you up. And you know what’s possible with a full cup? You can pour from it. The Saturday before, not a book was in sight. I spent the entire day working. I cleaned bathrooms, I put away every scrap of laundry, I wiped down appliances, I vacuumed and mopped, I dusted and arranged. And yes, it was a lot and I was super tired by the end of it. But I also never felt like a slave, I never grudgingly approached a task. And it’s because I know that my life is a cycle of hard work and hard rest. I know that refreshment is just around the corner. I know that I’m a whole person, not just a mom, or just a wife, or just a homemaker, but a soul, a human, made in the image of a God who lavishes beautiful things upon me by the hour (coffee, birds, clouds, children’s laughter, ice cold water, music….this is just off the top of my head). My capacity to accomplish the goals I have is actually far greater now that I’m not pursuing them constantly and frantically.
Some days, it’s time to push through and get things done. And other days, like today, I spent 7 hours outside playing. And I have zero regrets.