In Quietness and Rest

The warm air of the indoor botanical garden conservatory enveloped my family as we bustled inside.

I was so glad to be there: with flora from around the world, bright sunshine streaming through glass pyramids, and trickling ponds filled with glittering goldfish, this place is a sanctuary amid the harsh Alberta winter.

But soon after arriving, I noticed my teenage son becoming overwhelmed. He was recently diagnosed with autism, and the same garden smells, colors, sounds, and tactile sensations that I find so calming can feel like a cacophony of sensory chaos to him.

The conservatory offered free bags filled with calming sensory items for visitors to borrow; on a whim, I signed one out for my son.

Inside the bag, we found a tranquil treasure trove: noise-canceling headphones, fidget tools, a weighted stuffed animal to drape over the shoulders, sparkly hand-held things to flip up and down, and more.

As my son eagerly tried out each item, something remarkable happened: he went into an extraordinarily relaxed state, the most peaceful I’ve ever seen him in a public place. We shared a wonderful day soaking in all the botanical beauty. Before we’d even left for home, I’d begun searching online for noise-canceling headphones and weighted animals to buy for him.

It was a huge lesson to me on the power of seeking calming solutions to help my son when he is overwhelmed. It also made me think about how overwhelm is so pervasive in our world as a whole, including within the church.

From very young ages, we are taught to do, do, do, and push, push, push—marathoning through life at a frenetic pace. Extroversion and accomplishment are valued over introversion and quiet. Overwhelm becomes rampant.

In churches, this can translate to the same people volunteering for all the roles over and over and over. It can create intense pressure to always show the correct image, working incredibly hard to hide our struggles, fears, pain, and exhaustion from others, even our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. It can result in living without trust that we will be loved, accepted, and cared for as we are. What a path to loneliness perfectionism is.

We spiral into increasing overwhelm and a sense of failure—but do all we can to hide those extremely painful feelings behind beaming smiles. The guilt and shame intensify and become our go-to emotions. This shuts down solution-seeking.

However, something begins to shift when we acknowledge that we are overwhelmed and overstimulated and need something to change: we banish guilt and begin to offer ourselves grace. This leads to seeking practical solutions—be it days off, saying no, immersing ourselves in nature, or spending time knitting, reading, or swimming—whatever uniquely works for us. We devote time to retreat for prayer, contemplation, and listening for the Holy Spirit’s quiet voice.

We start to see ourselves through the eyes of Jesus—with love and compassion.

We reach a point of acceptance that we don’t have to be perfect because Christ is already perfect for us. We let the words of Isaiah 30:15 soak into our souls: “In returning and rest you shall be saved; In quietness and confidence shall be your strength” (NKJV).

We turn our hearts, minds, and attention to Christ, who has been calling us all along toward respite. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matt. 11:28-30).