Rest That Turns Into Renewal

Grand Bohemian. Asheville, North Carolina.

A fire lit. Art on the walls. Snow falling outside the window.

I came here for rest.

But something better happened.

I found renewal.

My wife beside me.

A Bible open.

A book in hand.

A laptop ready for whatever the Father wanted to say.

Two days to slow the breathing, clear the mind, and let the soul catch up.

When I pulled into Asheville yesterday, it was warm and sunny. Twenty-four hours later the temperature dropped fifty degrees and the snow started to fall. A full season shift in a single day. It felt like God’s reminder that the seasons in a man’s life can change just as quickly. Sometimes all it takes is stopping long enough to notice.

And in the middle of all the quiet, there was wrestling.

My youngest son came with us for the drive. We ended up rolling around on the hotel bed, laughing, roughhousing, being loud and alive.

Just a two hour drive from home and somehow it felt like a world away.

It was a reminder that rest is not the absence of life.

Rest is the presence of what matters most.

I am learning that sons do not rest to escape.

They rest to listen.

They rest to reset their bearings.

They rest to remember who they are and who they belong to.

I walked the hotel halls today looking at paintings and sculptures.

Letting beauty say what words could not. And somewhere between the stillness, the Scripture, the laughter with my boy, and the snow, something in me re-centered. Not just refreshed. Inspired. Re-aimed. Settled in a deeper way.

Men often wait until burnout forces them to stop.

Running metal on metal.

Warning lights blinking for miles.

But a son rests before he breaks.

He steps away not because he is weak but because he is wise.

Because he wants to return with strength, vision, and clarity.

These past two days reminded me:

If you want to lead boldly, you must rest intentionally.

If you want to hear the Father, you must quiet the noise.

If you want to live with purpose, you must create space to think, pray, dream.

I came here tired.

I leave here aligned.

And grateful.

For my wife.

For my son.

For the Word.

For the snow that interrupted my assumptions.

For a Father who still knows how to speak when His sons slow down long enough to listen.

Seasons shift.

Life changes.

But rest is not optional for a son.

It is strategic.

It is sacred.

It is how we live from strength instead of stumbling on empty.

I am heading home with more than rest.

I am heading home with new fire.

And that, I think, is the whole point.