As I write this, my wife and I are somewhere between London and Edinburgh, traveling north on an LNER train.

Outside the window, the English countryside is rushing past at something approaching 125 miles an hour.

Fields.

Trees.

Villages.

Farms.

And, appropriately enough, a whole lot of green.

After the summer I’ve had, it seems like a pretty good place to think about these familiar words:

“He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.”

—Psalm 23:2–3 (NIV)

I’ve read those words countless times.

Even written about them several times.

But lately I’ve been thinking that perhaps I haven’t always been very good at the lying down part.

Retirement Was Supposed to Be Relaxing

I retired in June.

At least that’s what the paperwork says.

My body might have a different opinion.

Somehow, the first few months of retirement turned into one of the busiest stretches I’ve had in quite a while.

There were projects.

Lots of projects.

Projects at our new home in Wyoming. Projects that led to other projects. Things that needed to be repaired, installed, moved, replaced, dug up, put back together or figured out.

And, as projects have an annoying tendency to do, some of them revealed additional projects hiding underneath.

Apparently retirement does not automatically come with a hammock.

By the time we left for this vacation, I was tired.

Not miserable.

Not ungrateful.

Just tired.

There is actually a lot about the past few months for which I’m deeply grateful.

I’ve been able to accomplish things I didn’t know whether I could accomplish.

I’ve learned things.

I’ve solved problems.

I’ve helped create a home and outdoor spaces that my family and I will enjoy for years.

And through all of it, God provided.

He provided the health and strength to do the work.

He provided the resources.

He provided people who helped when I needed help.

He provided solutions when I didn’t know what to do next.

Looking back, I can see His provision all over the summer.

But God’s provision isn’t always about giving us enough strength to keep going.
Sometimes His provision is giving us permission to stop.

He Makes Me Lie Down

There’s a phrase in Psalm 23 that I’ve probably read too quickly for most of my life:

“He makes me lie down in green pastures.”

I’ve usually pictured that as a peaceful scene.

A shepherd.

Some sheep.

A beautiful green meadow.

Perhaps a stream nearby.

Very relaxing.

But there’s something almost amusing about the wording.

He makes me lie down.

Apparently the sheep doesn’t always have enough sense to do it on his own.

I can relate.

I’m pretty good at doing.

Give me a problem and I’ll try to solve it.

Give me a project and I’ll start figuring out how to accomplish it.

Give me a list and I’ll start checking things off.

Even when I’m tired, there’s usually one more thing that could be done.

One more problem that could be solved.

One more project that could be finished.

And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. God created us to work, to build, to serve, and to accomplish things.

But He didn’t create us to do those things without stopping.

Even God rested after creation.

Not because He was exhausted.

But perhaps partly because He wanted to establish something we would otherwise have a difficult time accepting:

Rest is part of the design.

Receiving Is Part of Following

I’ve tended to think of following God mostly in active terms.

Go.

Do.

Serve.

Give.

Help.

Obey.

Persevere.

And all of those things are important.

But Psalm 23 presents another picture of following the Shepherd.

Sometimes following Him means allowing Him to lead me somewhere quiet.

Sometimes obedience looks less like accomplishing something and more like receiving something.

Green pastures.

Quiet waters.

Rest.

Beauty.

Time.

And that can be surprisingly difficult.

Because receiving requires trust too.

I have to believe that the world will continue turning if I stop working for a while.

I have to believe that not every unfinished project requires my immediate attention.

I have to believe that God isn’t measuring the value of my life by the number of things I accomplish in a day.

And perhaps most importantly, I have to remember that I am a sheep in Psalm 23.

I am not the Shepherd.

That’s an important distinction.

The Shepherd knows when it’s time to walk.

He knows when it’s time to climb.

He knows when it’s time to pass through the valley.

And He knows when it’s time to lie down.

My job is to follow.

He Refreshes My Soul

That leads to the next phrase:

“He refreshes my soul.”

I love that.

Because there are forms of tiredness that sleep alone doesn’t fix.

Sometimes what needs restoring isn’t merely the body.

It’s the soul.

And God has given us so many ways to experience that restoration.

A conversation with someone we love.

A walk through the woods.

The sound of water.

A sunset.

Music.

Laughter.

Prayer.

Silence.

A meal shared with people we care about.

Or perhaps sitting beside your wife on a train while the English countryside rolls past the window.

For the remainder of this vacation, I hope to do a lot more receiving than producing.

We’re going to see places we’ve never seen.

Walk through centuries of history.

Spend time together.

Eat some good food.

Hopefully sleep a little later occasionally.

And experience some extraordinary parts of God’s creation.

I’m sure we’ll have full days. Knowing us, we’ll probably walk too many miles on at least a few of them.

This isn’t going to be two weeks of lying beside a swimming pool.

But restoration doesn’t necessarily mean inactivity.

Sometimes restoration simply means stepping away from the things that have been consuming our attention long enough to notice something else.

Green Pastures at 125 Miles an Hour

Which brings me back to the window.

There’s something wonderfully ironic about finding myself thinking about rest while traveling at 125 miles an hour.

The train isn’t slowing down.

But I am.

For once, I don’t have to steer.

I don’t have to navigate.

I don’t have to fix anything.

I don’t even have to figure out how we’re getting to Edinburgh.

Someone else is handling that.

All I have to do is sit here.

And look out the window.

Maybe that’s not a bad picture of what God sometimes invites us to do with Him.

We spend so much of our lives trying to control the journey.

Where are we going?

How are we going to get there?

What happens next?

What if something goes wrong?

What am I supposed to do?

And our Shepherd says:

Follow Me.

Sometimes He leads us through difficult places.

Sometimes He gives us work to do.

Sometimes He asks us to keep walking when we’d rather stop.

But sometimes He leads us into green pastures.

And when He does, perhaps the faithful response isn’t to immediately start looking around for something that needs fixing.

Perhaps it’s simply to lie down.

To receive the gift.

To notice the beauty.

To enjoy the people He’s placed beside us.

To remember that He is God and we are not.

And to let Him refresh our souls.

As the countryside continues rushing past my window, I think that’s what I want to practice over the remainder of this trip.

Not escaping my life.

Not recovering from some terrible ordeal.

Simply receiving a season God has graciously provided.

Because maybe sometimes God restores our souls simply by giving us time to notice what He has made.

And perhaps the strangest part is that we can finally slow down enough to see it…

even at 125 miles an hour.