As a wife and mom, designer, writer, and a passionate advocate for community transformation, Jenny Marrs believes that beautiful spaces are most often imperfect and full of character. Just like people. Perfection is never the goal. Living well is. Here, she invites you to join her in finding a moment of stillness to remind ourselves that even in these busy days, God calls us to abide with him. It is a joy to welcome Jenny to the farm’s table…

Guest Post by Jenny Marrs

“Corrie Ten Boom once said that if the devil can’t make you sin, he’ll make you busy.

There’s truth in that. Both sin and busyness have the exact same effect: They cut off your connection to God, to other people, and even to your own soul.” 

—John Mark Comer, The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry

As I’m typing these words, I have six tabs open on my computer, dozens of text messages to respond to, 231 unread emails, and a to-do list spanning three pages in my planner. My work schedule is the most demanding it’s ever been, and I have approximately sixteen deadlines looming, with several dozen urgent decisions to be made by the end of the day. My kids’ schedules also seem busier than ever, leaving me feeling like a taxi driver and personal concierge most days. 

Yet, even amid a never-ending onslaught of demands on my time, I know I can find pockets of stillness right here in the midst of my real life. I don’t need to run away to a private island. I don’t need to quit my job and pull our kids from sports teams. I simply need to relearn the art of abiding. 

“… I know I can find pockets of stillness right here in the midst of my real life … I simply need to relearn the art of abiding.“

I need to truly engage in the sacredness of unplugging and resting. I need to turn off electronics and read a book, feeling the weight of it in my hands, turning the crisp pages instead of scrolling. I need to walk away from the to-do list and step into the pasture, relishing in the moment when sheep run toward me seeking treats and Daddy Donk, our donkey, nuzzles against me as I brush his coat. I need to unplug from the hectic pace of our culture and gather with friends around the table, sharing a meal while the kids run outside, laughter spilling in through open windows along with the warm breeze.

I need to start the day in prayer, asking for wisdom and discernment over the needs of the day ahead. I need to pause to look my kiddos in the eyes while they are talking, watching as their faces light up with delight. I need to take deep breaths, pausing to tally my many reasons for gratitude. I need to extend myself grace, fully aware that this journey of eliminating hurry is a lifelong one.

My husband, Dave, and I are similar in many ways, but when it comes to this idea of rest, we are polar opposites.

My soul seeks stillness and my body physically feels worn down after a period of frenzied activity in a nonstop schedule. Dave, on the other hand, essentially refuses to be still.

If we go on a vacation to the beach, I can lie on the sand with a good book for hours while he gets antsy after a few minutes and starts pacing the shoreline. At home, while I can sit by the fire and read or journal, Dave finds his place of soul rest while working with his hands out in the shop, and he is closest to God while on a tractor plowing the fields. Focused on a specific task at hand, Dave can be present and release the constant barrage of nonstop communication and pressing needs. He can quiet the noise of the world from his tractor cab and simply be. The way his soul is restored in the fields is just another reason I love this little farm of ours.

“God doesn’t need me to hold the world on my shoulders. He’s got this. I can rest.“

The truth is, there will be more seasons of overwhelm where I need a reminder to slow down, and there will be seasons where intentionally slow living comes easily and rest is tangible. No matter the season, I’ve learned the importance of carving out spaces in our home specifically for rest. For me, those spaces are the comfy chair where I can read next to the roaring fire in the winter or the porch swing where I can lean against oversized pillows and listen to the birds sing in springtime. I don’t need to overhaul my home to create a cozy little spot, I simply need to light a candle, pour myself a steaming mug of coffee, and exhale. 

Most important, I need to give myself permission to be present and remember that the world will keep on spinning if I check myself out of the race for an hour. God doesn’t need me to hold the world on my shoulders.

He’s got this. I can rest.

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