I’m Realizing That I’m Not Very Good at Rest

I’m on day four of my 50-in-50 challenge, which started on December 23, right in the middle of the Christmas holidays. Today is the 26th, and instead of slowing down, my mind has been running.

Perhaps it just takes me a while to wind down.

Today I worked on my lawnmower most of the day. I finished by mowing the yard as the sun was going down. The work was good. Honest. Necessary. And the entire time my mind was somewhere else — replaying projects at work, thinking through how to get them over the finish line, cycling through personal and family goals that still feel unfinished.

I wonder how many of my fellow sons feel the same way — accomplished, yet still ambitious. Grateful for what’s been done, but constantly aware of what’s left. The sense that there is always more to do.

I don’t think that’s bad.

I don’t want to use a version of “holy rest” as an excuse to avoid the responsibilities I’ve been entrusted with. Sons are called to build. We’re meant to carry weight. Ambition, when ordered, isn’t a flaw — it’s fuel.

But rest exposes something motion keeps hidden.

When I stop moving, I feel the urge to justify myself. To prove usefulness. To stay mentally engaged — even when nothing is required in the moment. Rest removes the noise and leaves me with a quieter question: Do I trust God enough to stop?

That tension is one of the reasons I’ve made Sabbath a non-negotiable part of this challenge. I’m trying to be intentional with the rhythms God clearly marked out for us — six days of work, one day of rest.

If I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve truly practiced Sabbath very often. As an evangelical Christian, Sunday has usually meant worship — celebrating the day of Christ’s resurrection — but also rushing to and from services, filling the rest of the day with motion. Worship, yes. Rest, not always.

Part of working this out for me is learning how to hold both.

To worship on Sunday — absolutely.

But also to order my life so that work feels like work, and rest feels like rest.

Mental rest.

Spiritual renewal.

A clear distinction between the six and the one.

Scripture doesn’t present balance as a 50/50 proposition. It looks more like six to one. Six days of honest work. One day set apart. And I’m realizing that if I don’t get the one right, the six never quite settles. Work bleeds into everything else. Rest never quite restores. The soul stays busy even when the body stops.

Sons don’t stop building.

They stop grasping.

They learn to lay their tools down — not because the work is finished, but because God said to. Sabbath isn’t an escape from responsibility; it’s an act of trust. A declaration that provision doesn’t ultimately rest on my effort, my vigilance, or my constant awareness of what’s still undone.

I suspect I’m not alone in this. I suspect there are other sons who know how to produce, provide, and press forward — but who struggle to truly honor Sabbath. Men who can work hard, carry weight, and finish well, yet feel uneasy when one day is set apart and left unclaimed.

If that’s you, this isn’t a rebuke. It’s an invitation.

An invitation to keep Sabbath, not as collapse, but as obedience.

To let one day be different — unproductive by design.

To allow that day to remind you who you are, and whose you are.

Because when sons honor Sabbath, they don’t lose momentum. They gain clarity. They don’t grow soft. They grow steady. They return to the six with sharper focus, deeper presence, and a quieter confidence.

When a son becomes steady, everyone who depends on him is grateful. - four