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Rest
by Joelle Chase
 O rest in the Lord,
Wait patiently for Him,
And He shall give thee thy heart’s desires.
Commit thy way unto Him,
And trust in Him;
And fret not thyself because of evil doers.
O rest in the Lord,
Wait patiently for Him,
And He shall give thee thy heart’s desires.
O rest in the Lord,
O rest in the Lord
And wait.
Wait patiently for Him.
I sing Mendelssohn’s melody, the psalmist’s words to my soul. Rest. Wait, I tell myself. Be patient. But what does that mean? How does one “wait” when they have unruly dreams welling up inside like tears, desires spilling, cascading as a roaring waterfall—not at all silent, still, placid?
This winter I stopped singing the song for awhile after the road that seemed to be leading me straight to my heart’s desire veered suddenly, characteristic of the life-labyrinth’s convolutions, pointing me in the opposite direction. I was angry and hurting. I don’t know if I stopped believing the promise was true, if I decided waiting wasn’t worth it, or if it seemed impossible to hold longing and rest in the same sentence, the same breath. But the song came back. It kept me from bitterness and snuffing out the glow of desire. With lullaby sweetness it comforted the disappointment. Though I couldn’t blame “evil doers,” I was envious of those whose dreams were beautifully granted when mine were dashed. Fret not, Joelle, the psalm soothed. I resisted surrendering, committing the wishes to God. But, beckoning tenderly, the words and music invited me to a yielded consecration of my hopes.
The image of myself lying on my back in a river, neck relaxed with eyes closed or watching the clouds, drifting with the current, speaks of trustful rest. I don’t know where the flow will take me, if danger, disappointment, or fulfilled desires lie ahead. But the Water is made of the same stuff as those dreams. Perhaps once I truly rest in its going—whether turbulent or calm—I will come to know the river itself as what I long for. And in waiting patiently find the answer is all around me.
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