The Sacred Rhythm of Rest in a World of Constant Motion | The Sunday Sabbath #10
“Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work... For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.” — Exodus 20:8-11 (NIV)
Dear Friend,
For years, I carried quiet guilt about our family’s Sabbath practice. Or rather, about what it wasn’t.
My husband is a professional chef, which means for much of our marriage, he’s worked every weekend—including Sundays. When most families were gathering for worship and Sunday dinner, we were navigating split shifts, holiday rushes, and the reality that the restaurant industry doesn’t rest on the seventh day. Add in my AuDHD brain that needs flexibility to function well, and three boys in different seasons of childhood with their own rhythms and needs, and our Sabbath looked nothing like the picture I’d been taught.
There were years when we observed the Sabbath on Tuesdays. Seasons when we could only carve out a few hours on Wednesday afternoons. Times when “Sabbath” meant protecting naptime so fiercely you’d think we were guarding national secrets—because for this mama’s neurodivergent brain, that quiet pause in the middle of the day was the only thing keeping me sane.
I used to apologize for this. I’d explain it defensively, as if our Sabbath “counted less” because it didn’t happen on Sunday or last a full 24 hours. As if the joy we found in those protected hours was somehow diminished because they fell on the “wrong” day.
But here’s what I’ve learned: God cares far more about the posture of our hearts than the position of our calendars. The goal was never about checking boxes or following formulas. It was always about joyfully setting time apart—not focusing on how much time or what day of the week it happened, but on why we were pausing and who we were resting in.
Today, I want to share what Scripture actually says about Sabbath rest, and how Jesus freed us from legalism while inviting us into something far more beautiful: rest that flows from trust, not obligation.
The Heart of the Command
When God etched these words into stone tablets on Mount Sinai, He wasn’t creating a burden. He was extending an invitation—a rhythm established at the very foundation of creation itself. Before sin, before struggle, before the frantic pace of modern life, God modeled rest. Not because He was tired, but because rest is sacred.
The Sabbath command came as a gift wrapped in divine wisdom. God knew His people would be tempted to believe their worth came from their productivity, that their security depended on constant striving, that rest was something to be earned rather than received. So He commanded what they needed most: permission to stop.
But here’s where we must tread carefully, beloved. Because throughout history, this beautiful gift has often been twisted into a checklist. The Pharisees added 39 categories of forbidden work to the Sabbath. They measured distances one could walk, debated what constituted “carrying a burden,” and turned rest into a rigid performance. The gift became a burden.
And then Jesus came.
Rest Fulfilled in Christ
Jesus didn’t come to abolish the Sabbath—He came to fulfill it. He is our Sabbath rest. When the Pharisees criticized His disciples for picking grain on the Sabbath, Jesus reminded them: “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27). When they condemned Him for healing on the Sabbath, He demonstrated that God’s heart for rest has always been about restoration, not restriction.
In Matthew 11:28, Jesus extends the most tender invitation: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Not “Come to me on Sunday between these specific hours.” Not “Come to me after you’ve perfectly performed your Sabbath rituals.” Just come. And rest.
The writer of Hebrews tells us that “there remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; for anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from their works, just as God did from His” (Hebrews 4:9-10). This rest isn’t about a day—it’s about a Person. It’s about ceasing our striving to earn God’s favor and resting in the finished work of Christ.
The Freedom to Rest with Intention
So what does this mean for us today? It means we’re released from legalism while being invited into something far more beautiful: the freedom to rest with intention, in any season, on any day, for whatever duration our souls require.
Your Sabbath rest might look like a full day set apart each week to cease from work and delight in God, or it might be an hour of quiet each morning before the house wakes. It could be a monthly retreat day when you step away and breathe, or seasonal rhythms that honor both busy times and fallow periods. Maybe it’s Sunday worship that centers your week, or Wednesday evening prayer that recalibrates your heart mid-week. The day doesn’t make it holy. The duration doesn’t make it sacred. Your heart posture does.
When we rest because we trust God’s provision more than our own efforts, that’s Sabbath. When we pause to remember that our worth isn’t found in our productivity, that’s Sabbath. When we create space to simply be with God without agenda or accomplishment, that’s Sabbath. When we read a story by the fire on a Tuesday afternoon and let our souls be restored, that’s Sabbath too.
The question isn’t “Am I keeping Sabbath correctly?” The question is “Am I resting in Christ?”
This Week’s Invitation
This week, I invite you to release any guilt you’ve carried about not “keeping Sabbath right.” If you’ve felt condemned because your rest doesn’t happen on Sunday, or because you can’t set aside a full day, or because your rhythms look different from someone else’s—let it go.
Instead, ask yourself: Where do I need to rest in Christ this week? What would it look like to cease striving and trust His provision? How can I create intentional space to remember that my worth comes from being His beloved, not from my productivity?
Maybe it’s protecting your Sunday afternoon for naps and books. Maybe it’s taking a walk on your lunch break with no agenda except noticing God’s creation. Maybe it’s saying no to one more commitment so you can say yes to rest. Maybe it’s curling up with a story that reminds you of wonder and beauty and goodness.
However rest shows up for you this week, receive it as a gift. Not something you earn. Not something you perform. A gift.
Reflection Questions
How does understanding Jesus as your Sabbath rest change your perspective on the Exodus command?
What would it look like to embrace rest as an act of trust rather than a religious obligation?
Where is God inviting you to rest this week—and what’s making you hesitate?
Prayer
Father, thank You for the gift of rest. Thank You that in Christ, we are released from the burden of performance and invited into the freedom of trust. Forgive us for the ways we’ve turned Your gift into obligation, or for the ways we’ve neglected rest altogether because we believed our worth came from our work.
This week, help us rest in You. Not because we have to, but because we get to. Not to earn Your favor, but because we already have it. Teach us the sacred rhythm of work and rest, productivity and pause. And when we’re tempted to believe the lie that our value comes from our output, remind us that we are already beloved.
Help us create space this week—whatever that looks like in our unique seasons—to simply be with You. To remember. To restore. To receive.
In the name of Jesus, our true and perfect rest, Amen.
The Story Sanctuary
Welcome to The Story Sanctuary! This is where I share all things books—my latest releases, stories I’m loving, and recommendations from fellow authors whose work inspires me. Think of this as our cozy corner where stories and Sabbath rest intersect, and reading is always an act of soul care.
And speaking of Sabbath rest and soul care—there’s something particularly restorative about settling into a beloved Christmas story as the season unfolds. For me, certain books have become part of my holiday rhythm, annual traditions that feel like coming home.
My Christmas Story Traditions
Every year, without fail, I revisit two classics: A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens and The Nutcracker by E.T.A. Hoffmann. (That Nutcracker link goes to the gorgeous Little Clothbound Classics edition—one of my favorite copies I own.)
I have multiple editions of both stories scattered throughout my home. Some are basic paperbacks I stumbled across in used bookstores or thrift shops, holding nostalgia in their worn pages and penciled prices. Others I’ve collected for their beautiful illustrations—because there’s something magical about seeing these familiar stories through different artists’ eyes.
My very favorite copy of A Christmas Carol has a leather spine, cloth-over-board cover, beautiful vintage endpapers, and some of the original illustrations. Every time I pick it up, I’m reminded that good stories—like good rest—are worth savoring and returning to year after year.
But it’s not just reading these stories that has become tradition. Every December, I watch multiple film versions of A Christmas Carol. The 1951 version with Alastair Sim gives me all the feels (there’s something about that black and white cinematography that captures the haunting beauty of redemption), but the 1984 version with George C. Scott is my overall favorite—his portrayal of Scrooge’s transformation never gets old.
And The Nutcracker? I make it a point to see a stage production in person whenever possible, or settle in with a filmed performance if I can’t make it to the theater. There’s something about that music, that story of magic breaking through the ordinary, that feels essential to my Christmas season.
These aren’t just entertainment. They’re part of my Sabbath practice—intentional pauses in the rush of the season to let stories restore my soul and remind me what Christmas is really about: redemption, transformation, hope breaking into our ordinary lives.
A Story of My Own
This year, I’m especially delighted to add my own contribution to the collection of Christmas stories: Blue Stone Christmas, my first fiction release and a nod to my favorite holiday.
Blue Stone Christmas is a small-town, clean second-chance romance set in a place where magic feels possible and healing happens slowly and gently—much like the Sabbath rest we’ve been talking about today. If you love stories about coming home, second chances, and the kind of love that’s worth fighting for, this one’s for you.
I still have some signed copies available on my website if you’d like to add this to your own Christmas reading tradition.
Closing Thought
Whether you’re revisiting a beloved classic, discovering a new story, or simply pausing to watch the snow fall, remember: rest is not a reward for productivity. It’s a gift already given, waiting for you to receive it.
This week, may you rest well in whatever form that takes. Whenever that happens, however long it lasts.
You are already beloved. The work is already finished. Come and rest.
Until next Sunday, may you rest in the One who is your peace.
With love,
Antonisha
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