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Permission to Rest
The women in my family have a long and distinguished history of wearing boots. Not cowboy boots or hiking boots, but orthopedic boots—the kind that show up after a twisted ankle, a broken foot, or one too many missteps. We seem to have a family gift for spraining, bruising, and occasionally breaking.
Whenever I've had to wear one of those boots, I've discovered something I don't particularly enjoy: rest.
I'm an active person. I enjoy walking my dog, exercising, and keeping a steady routine. Movement helps me clear my mind, release stress, and reset after a busy day. It's become such a regular part of my life that skipping it feels almost unnatural.
But an injured foot has a way of teaching a different lesson. Suddenly my body insists on slowing down. The familiar thoughts begin: I really should be exercising. My dog is going to miss our walk. Am I truly healing, or am I just being lazy? Every instinct wants to get back to normal as quickly as possible.
Isn't that how we often respond to life's deeper hurts as well?
When grief comes, we want to move beyond it. When disappointment or embarrassment finds us, we hope tomorrow will somehow erase the pain. We long to wake up and discover that everything has healed overnight.
Yet healing rarely works that way.
Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is allow pain to do its quiet work. To let it slow us when we would rather keep moving. To let it soften us when we would rather push through. Rest is not the absence of healing—it is often where healing begins.
If life has bruised your heart and left you limping, may you give yourself permission not to rush the healing. Even the risen Christ carried his scars, not as signs of defeat, but as witnesses to love that had endured and life that had overcome death.
At Well of Mercy, rest is sacred. Sometimes God meets us not in our striving, but in our stillness. Whether you come for a few quiet hours or several days, may you find this to be holy ground—a place to breathe deeply, to listen for God's gentle voice, and to discover that healing unfolds in its own gracious time.
Lea Slaton
Executive Director
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