Author: Jana Horton

Written April 1, 2024

Your yoke is easy, your load is light. This implies that as with oxen, there is still work to be done. Finding rest for my soul is more than vacation time, or Sabbath rest .
Rest for my soul?

How does my soul rest, while still yoked to a plow, while still attending to the work load I am daily given?

Ponder, wonder, and research this!

My definition of rest for my soul is time spent at the lake on a beautiful day, watching my Fisher, while I wander the beautiful path with a camera, pen, and paper in my hand.

THIS is rest for my soul. This is time that I BREATHE. I refocus, shake off the busy, sometimes wearisome work load and focus only on creation, love and solitude.

But. Looking at this passage of scripture, while my soul needs this treasured time; it seems that more than that, I need something for all of the other three hundred days a year.

Ponder, wonder.

Research this! What exactly is rest for my soul?

Written February 1, 2025

It has been about 300 days since I wrote that. Ten or eleven days ago my mom died. Three or four weeks before that we knew she was dying. In December, we knew that the remainder of her life was going to be fairly short.

In this span of time; these approximate 300 days since I wrote a challenge to myself; did I research the topic of REST for MY SOUL?

I did not.

In this span of time, did I come to understand more fully how rest is mandated?
It is an important part of health for my soul.

I did not.

I am a list person.
This research of soul-rest never made it onto my list.

Now, I find my heart and mind consumed. All I want in my grief, is rest. I want rest for my soul.

In fewer than eleven days, my soul has become so remarkably consumed with weariness that I am unable to combat it.
I never learned about rest.

Now the most important area of research; the #1. on my LIST is learning what rest for my soul is, and how I get it. 

It is my #1.

It is 2025, however, I am stuck in 2024 as my 90 year old mom is in a skilled nursing unit in excruciating pain.

There are those few hours when her pain meds kick in and give her sweet pain relief.
2024 hasn’t ended for me. The call to meet the ambulance at the hospital on one of the last few days of the year, is still one big blur. It is the longest day of my life thus far. Every moment since that moment: the longest day in the history of me. A long day has turned into a long month. It is still December, isn’t it? My Christmas tree is still up, unwrapped gifts are still on corner shelves.

2024. When will you end? Will there be a minute, when I breathe again.
2025. I am not looking forward to you.
      If you bring pain relief and resolve all the unresolved issues of this terribly long year: I will acknowledge you.
      I am so weary of 2024.

2025? Is it possible that you will enable me to fathom you; to enter into the march and cadence of your journey home?

Tomorrow. Perhaps.

2025. You announced yourself so rudely. The 5:30 a.m. phone call which came NOT on December 52, 2024, but on January 21st, 2025.

It was that call which startled me into reality. The reality I had seen coming. The reality that my heart would not accept, and my mind could not grasp. December 29th of 2024 was just a glimpse into the reality I knew was quickly approaching; the fate of my beloved mother.

What happened to New Year’s Day? Did I miss someone’s birthday? I worked on MLK Day which IS definitely in January; January, the first month of 2025.

How did 2025 slide into my life mostly undetected?

I was holding my breath for a really long time.

I was there. I was at work. I spent time congratulating myself for writing the date correctly. I never had to scratch out 2024. I KNEW it was 2025.

How? Why?

What was going on, here?

It was me. I was unable to accept the inevitable. I wanted to be sitting at my mother’s bedside, every minute of every last day, watching her breath; talking to her; singing the Doxology to her, or having my granddaughter sing the ABCs to her.

I know my mom heard. I saw her strain to hear Ellie’s sweet voice.

On the day she died, 1/21/25, the grief that I was holding back was unharnessed. The hope, the dread, the separation was a reality.

I am ready for you now 2025.

It is possible for me to fathom you.

I will enter into the march and cadence of my mom’s journey home.

She is there. I am here.

I look forward to seeing her again and hearing her beautiful side of the story. She can tell me what really happened on the day she left me.

The Kingdom of God opened and the LORD Himself welcomed her home.

She has always been short.

Her laughter her retort.

Sly look, or her small grin…

Hope for us caught in sin.

Did she wink

or just blink?

Does she know what we did?

No. We conspired.

We hid.

Advocate and Mother:

beside us, no other.

Friend: Mother:

our Short-soul;

Lessons taught:

Her only goal.

If measured, she is not tall.

Really:

She is just so SMALL.

Culture Who?

Stop letting Culture dictate the meaning of Beauty. 

Who is Culture anyway? 

Culture says, 

“Thin is commendable”

“Youthful, admirable”

“Old is irrelevant”

“Arrogance is confidence” 

“Humility, idiocy.”

Culture splashes ads across platforms and glamorizes impossible and unhealthy ideals. 

Skeletal models parade platforms pretending normality, 

casting hateful glances at society. 

Thin, young, relevant, arrogant, prideful people lead Culture into sorrow, shame, and despair. 

Culture, who?

Why are you intent on destroying honor? 

Stop defining us. 

Beauty exists outside the cruel dictates of Your limited knowledge. Stop. 

We must stop listening:

stop believing:

stop perpetuating, You.

Defy Cultural concepts, spewed out on sensuous seeking hearts.

Seek instead.

Seek True Beauty.

Find it:

treasure it:

share it.

Stop Culture’s false doctrine of Beauty.

We must redefine and realign.

Culture Who?

There is an evil twin

that lives within

the eyes I see in the mirror.

Her strength, it grew

and before I knew

I had come to fear her.

She lives inside

and has not died

although I thought she had.

I hear her voice.

I have no choice.

It nearly drives me mad.

Lust and pride

subtly hide

beneath her sly façade

and all the while

she seems to smile

lovingly at God.

From deep within I hear a cry:

the me-I-want-to-be screams, “crucify!”

Dying to yourself,

the ultimate war,

denying the things

the world strives for.

DIE! Die evil twin

I want no more!

No more of you and your evil lies!

No more of the things that I despise.

I humble myself in the sight of Him

who gave me His strength

and forgave my sin.

I fear no more that dreadful twin,

but each day I must die

to the lie within.

jth- 1/23/92

Some guy on a random street at a stop light ‘flipped the bird’ at two old ladies who were in his way. He squelched his tires and sped around their car.

One of these ladies was the passenger in the vehicle. She is 89 years old. When she saw his outrageous and uncalled for behavior, she said, so kindly, “I hope he gets home safely.”

The other old lady was me. As he honked at me and sped passed, I honked right back, saying, “Dude, what is your problem?”

My eighty-nine year old mother said, “Well, he’s in a hurry.”

I judged him by his intentionally rude, hateful gesture, and his hostile, aggressive driving. My kind mother offered grace.

I took it personally while she prayed for his safety.

When will I be as gentle and kind as she?

I was reading through my Bible App just that morning and next to the passage that says I should exhibit love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness and self-control, I had added a note that said, “WORK on kindness.”

This ‘bird-flipping man’ has led me to believe that I need to work also on self-control, gentleness, and patience.

I am thankful for the beautiful role model who was in the car with me on our way to eat ice cream. She showed me the correct response to the situation.

I am also thankful to see that there is more of my Character that needs to be yielded to God.

I do hope you made it home safely, Bird-Flipping, Lesson-Teaching man.

I do. ~~~~~

If you don’t know:

‘flipping the bird’ is a rude gesture associated with the worst of all vulgar words.

I met a new Wind.

I asked him, “From where did you come, and where are you going?”

He answered, “I came from where I was. I am going to where I will be.”

It struck me; our commonality.

“Are you blown by force or do you choose your path? Do you meander through the glade and whisper through the trees, or are you compelled along by nature’s cruelty?

“I ask you the same,” said the wind in a lofty breeze. “Why are you here to question me?

Do you chose your path? I must boldly ask.

We met in the the moment you saw my force. I would not have stopped but you questioned my course.

Be on your way now, to tell your tale of when you spoke with the wind.

Go where you are going, but remember where you have been.”

I met a new Wind.

I had a friend named Flip.

Flip owned, and operated a prosperous lawn and garden center.

Flip took a chance on me, one with no experience growing anything, and hired me, as his first seasonal employee.

One day Flip decided to take lunch offsite. He gave me detailed instruction on what he needed me to do while he was gone.

He needed me to ‘deadhead’ the purple petunias by removing the spent blooms down to the next leaf joint. He explained that by removing the faded flowers, the plant would continue producing new flowers, and would stay in bloom longer.

Purple petunias are my favorite with their deep purple color and their faint, mysterious scent.

I was so happy to have a task that was uncomplicated and yet would continue the cycle of glorious petunia purple-ness.

I was happy to have the task completed as I saw him pulling into the parking lot. I had deadheaded the petunias, cleaned up my mess, and displayed the baskets along with the other flowers.

As Flip walked towards me his face showed dismay. It was not the dismay I expected. He was confounded as he asked, “What did you do?!”

I was startled, since I did what he asked me to do.

“No. No. No! I asked you to deadhead them. You have removed all the blooms.”

He then showed me what the new blooms looked like and questioned me. “Don’t you see the difference?”

I hadn’t noticed a difference until he pointed it out to me. The new and old blooms had looked the same with just subtle differences that I will now forever remember.

Flip.

Thank you for not getting hostile or mad. Thank you for using that moment to train me further in my knowledge of plant cycles, growth, and care.

Thank you most of all for teaching me how to rectify a plant-based mistake.

Fertilize it with phosphate, with potash, and give it time. It will bloom again.

I remember your lesson Flip.

I apply it often.

*Learn bloom stages.

*For vigorous growth, remove the dead blooms.

*When I cut away the wrong things, do damage control by adding nutrients.

*Most important: give it time.

And so I will Flip- so I will.

The diamonds in the grass

The diamonds in the skies

Are diamonds in my heart

And diamonds in my eyes.

Surprised the thirsty Earth

The gentle pouring Rain

Was washing clean the dirt

While easing parching pain.

Droplets of dew on grass

Sparkles of stars in sky

Ignited hope in heart

Renewed love in my eyes.

Diamonds clear

Conquer fear.

The diamonds in my eyes.

All the tears I cried

on the day you died

are stored in a jar

on the Moon or on a star.

They shine bright, through darkened night,

by the light of Moon or Star.

The tears, the tears are stored

in a jar, in a jar— oh Lord.

They shine bright

Though darkening night,

by the light, the light

of a Star.

Tears— my tears;

In a jar, in a jar.

Human Resource jargon is the worst.

If you want me to ‘Reach out’ to someone, what happens if we touch? Is that terminable? Shouldn’t I just make a quick call?

If you want to be ‘Fully Transparent’ will I just hear a disembodied voice?

This brings me to another question… why work? If you have the ability to be fully transparent; go National! Call the tabloids, or the network news. You have an incredible skill. It has to be on the Super Hero list of skills.

Full Disclosure. Why? Partial disclosure is more than I can possibly bear.

HR Jargon; it makes me laugh.

My daddy had an annoying habit.

When I lost something, which was quite often, he would ask me where I had it last.

As a teenager, I always wanted to reply, “Einstein, if I knew where I had it last, I’d know where it is.”

I was a very compliant child, so I just bit my tongue in frustration and continued my search.

One day my dad and I connected in some strange cosmic anomaly. He realized my frustrations and asked me why I was so mad at him.

“It makes me so mad because if I knew where I had it last, I would know where it is,” I replied.

“No. If you know where you ‘think you had it last’ we can start from there and try to reconstruct where you went, or what you did next,” said my wise father.

The cosmic anomaly opened my eyes to a new way of thinking.

First, my daddy wasn’t trying to irritate me, he was trying to help. Second, strange cosmic anomalies do exist. Third, and most important to me is, “Where DID I have it last?”

My glasses, my phone, my keys, my sanity, my memory… when I follow the ‘where did I have it last’ method, I almost always recover that thing which I lost.

It works well for glasses, phones, and keys…

my sanity, my memory… these… ?

Where DID I have them last?