Rest Is Not a Reward
God is in the shuffle, the yard sale, the book club, the missed scissors—and we are growing.
This morning, I opened my eyes in Pittsburgh. Still feels new to say that. There are boxes everywhere, a dishwasher that doesn’t work, Olive keeps throwing up, and the scissors are still missing. Seriously. Who loses four pairs of scissors in a move? But instead of spiraling into a flurry of unpacking and urgency, I found myself sitting in my bean bag chair, book in hand, legs still jelly from hauling our lives up three flights of Pittsburgh hills. My body whispered: "Tired." And for once, I listened.
God is in the shuffle
posted something that hit me in the soul: God is in the shuffle. That simple idea cracked something open in me. I've been living into that mantra with this move. I keep telling myself: "Everything is for me. The mess, the missing guitar, the dishwasher saga—all of it." This shift from resistance to reverence has changed everything. Even the chaos becomes sacred when you believe God is in it.So I pulled a song like I might pull a tarot card: What message is here for me today? "Driving with the Brakes On" came on. And wow. That song wrecked me. Swimming with your boots on, driving with the brakes on—it's how I live when I’m hustling without heart, when I override my need for rest. It’s not just inefficient. It’s brutal. But when I stop, when I breathe, when I rest... everything softens. Everything glows.
Book club, without the book
I did something new this week: I went to a lesbian book club without reading the book. Spiritual growth? Probably. I wanted to be around queer women talking about books. I almost didn’t go. I thought: Maybe next month, when I’ve read the book, when I feel more ready. But something inside whispered: Just show up.
So I did. I wandered through the library stacks, nervous, sweating. Was I lesbian enough? Out enough? Would I belong? And then I locked eyes with another nervous soul doing the same thing. We both looked away, awkward. I circled around and asked: "Are you here for the book club?" YES! And now, she might just be my first Pittsburgh friend. We were both new. Both scared. And we showed up anyway.
Comicon joy
I’ve never been to Comicon. I felt this childlike thrill walking up to the convention center, seeing people in costume, in character, in joy. I started skipping. My arms flapped. I felt euphoric. I met Archie cartoonists. I talked about comics. And more than just belonging with people, I felt something new: belonging to myself. Encouraged not just to fit in, but to be me.
That is the holy grail.
Neighborhood nerds, sacred Sundays
Our yard sale intro to the neighborhood was magic. Turns out our neighbors are incredible. Lego nerds. Hot Wheels collectors. The guy across the way has a Hulk car with a tiny viewfinder in the back revealing a Hulk picture. I think we’re going to like it here.
Sunday dinner with my in-laws, my wife’s ex, and Leo. Adoption Day celebration. Two years ago, we couldn’t be in the same room without crying, yelling, freezing each other out. Co-parenting felt impossible. And yet... Leo laughed. Played nerf tennis and soccer. Was a kid. That joy, that ease—that’s what we kept showing up for.
Avocados and everything after
Later that night, Leo and I read Beauty and the Beast. Snuggled up, they looked at my avocado tattoo and said, "You should get one for Otis and Olive too." I said, "How about one for you?" They smiled.
This is growth. All of it.
Rest is not what we earn once the chaos is controlled. It is the soil from which joy and connection bloom. It is the reason we find the scissors eventually. Or maybe not. Maybe we find something better: softness. Courage. Friends in the library. The sound of your kid laughing with a nerf racket. That, too, is God in the shuffle.
So glad you are all settling in - and that you are really “proactively” settling in — and also not letting it overwhelm you. I love that you went to the book club even without having read the book.