Light peeks through the edges of our bedroom curtain as my eyes slowly open. My mind is a mess of sludge from the wave of sleep inertia overcoming my not-yet-caffeinated brain. The more my eyes open and my mind adjusts to waking, I become keenly aware of every muscle my body owns. I think the popular phrase is feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. I try to get up, and my muscles—especially my legs—ache and cry in rebellion against any form of movement. I take small, short steps to appease them.

Despite the pain, I am happy.

The last time I felt this way was after running my first half marathon. The truth is, for some reason I love this glorious feeling of protesting muscles. Underneath it lies a mixture of emotions—partly sadness and maybe even grief that it has been too long since I have felt this kind of tiredness.

I slowly make my way to the kitchen to make breakfast and coffee. I form a camp on our couch with everything necessary for rest and allowing my body to recover. Throughout the day, I make a point to get up and move. Ironically, the hardest part is getting up. When I’m sitting, I feel fine. The moment I stand, my legs seem to take revenge on my decisions. The more I walk, the more the stiffness and pain momentarily lessen. I listen to what my body needs. I make a point to move every hour despite the pain and stiffness, then return to resting in other activities I enjoy on the couch.

I reflect on the last twenty-four hours and how I feel now.

I’m not sure why I enjoy being physically spent. Possibly it is a reminder of my humanity and limitations, and I think there is beauty in being human.

Genesis 2:1–3 says,

“Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array. By the seventh day God had finished the work He had been doing; so on the seventh day He rested from all His work. Then God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it He rested from all the work of creating that He had done.”

If we don’t practice Sabbath, honor God with our rhythms, and accept our limitations, we begin placing ourselves in the position of God. We burn out and wear ourselves down, and our work and lives are impacted by that imbalance. When we don’t take time for Sabbath, we may be choosing to believe that we are the ones sustaining the world instead of God. When we practice Sabbath, we trust God with sustaining the world.

I also don’t believe God intended our lives to be filled only with responsibilities and work. I think God’s love is great enough that He delights in spending time with us in the hobbies and activities that bring us rest.

Notice something beautiful in the passage above. God Himself rests. Then, before sending Adam and Eve into their work, they begin by entering God’s rest. They do not earn rest. They receive it.

I also wonder how often we place Sabbath within rigid guidelines. During one of my travels, I stayed in a hotel with a Sabbath elevator so guests didn’t have to push buttons on the Sabbath. It made me think about the many different ways people understand and practice Sabbath.

I think there are different forms of Sabbath and rest. I don’t always believe it is intended to be experienced only within the walls of a church building.

When I think about why I enjoy things like nine-mile walks, I think it’s because they strip every distraction away until all that is left is the air in our lungs. Suddenly, life becomes wonderfully simple. There is no pressure to produce, no schedule to keep, no emails to answer, no expectations to meet. There is only the next step, the breath in our lungs, and the presence of God.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts of Sabbath.

It reminds us that we are human. We are not meant to carry the weight of sustaining the world. God already does that. We are invited to stop striving long enough to remember that our worth is not found in what we accomplish but in whose we are.

Perhaps that’s why I left my nine-mile walk feeling so alive. The greatest gift wasn’t simply the miles I walked. It was remembering that before I am productive, successful, or capable, I am first God’s beloved creation. Sometimes the greatest adventure isn’t found in going farther but in learning how to rest.