Wanna know what I’m bad at? 

Well, there’s math. And general physical coordination. And for a while there, house cleaning. 

But there’s a whole series of disciplines (yes, I’ll call it that): rest. Vacation. General self-care. It’s to the point that when I sit down, I tend to suddenly think of a reason to spring forth like a Pop-Tart. Africa just made it worse. The only thing more prevalent than the ants were the needs.  

Yet some part of me, slammed into silence, likes resting—that sensation of setting down an overstuffed backpack. 

Guilt and I have always had a tight-knit relationship—while I have a complicated, historically unhealthy relationship with desire and pleasure. In college, I literally wasted away by my ability to suppress my desire for food. 

But God has slowly been teaching me the pleasure I find in him when serving out of abundance rather than scraping my own ribs with a spoon. Because at the core, my lack of self-care has been a twisted way of seeing God. 

See, I tend to associate my own needs with shame. (Read: I am embarrassed by my own need, which feels selfish.) 

In the story of the prodigal son, I identify with the elder son. I understand earning that goat for your own party. I tend to rest much better when I’ve worked hard enough. When I…deserve it. 

But check out God’s reason for Sabbath: “Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and that the LORD your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Therefore the LORD your God has commanded you to observe the Sabbath day” (Deuteronomy 5:15). 

God associates rest with freedom from slavery, which he worked for us. In the New Testament, he works our freedom from sin and self-salvation. 

When I reject the green pastures and quiet waters he’s leading me by—“no need here! I’m good! I’ll keep working”—I choose with the elder son to be away from the Father’s table. I avoid the invitation of a God who doesn’t love me for what I do. Who said Jesus’ work makes me worthy. Who calls me daughter. 

That’s the Gospel I want to pass on to the people I serve in any country.