Let Your Hands Drop

A short note from the beach. And an invitation.

I’m not at my desk this morning. I’m under a canopy with sand in everything, watching the water do the one thing it has always done: keep coming, keep going, with no help from me.

You know the voice I mean. The one that says the sermon won’t write itself, the email is still sitting there, the people need you and you are not there. I hear it too. I packed it in the bag right next to the sunscreen.

I keep relearning the same thing. Rest is not the reward you earn once the list is clear. The list is never clear. Rest is a different kind of leadership. It is the practice of believing the work will hold when your hands come off it.

There is a line in Psalm 46 we usually translate “Be still.” The Hebrew underneath it, raphah, is closer to “let go.” Let your hands drop. Stop gripping. And notice that the verse does not say be still and rest. It says be still and know. The stillness is how you remember who has actually been carrying the church, the team, the family, the whole weight you pick back up every Tuesday.

So this week I’m letting my hands drop.

Here is what I want for you, and not someday. Find your version of this canopy. One morning, one afternoon, one walk where the phone stays in the car. Then listen for what your soul says the moment you stop telling it what to do. That conversation is worth more than another productive week.

I’ll be back June 8 with something new. We are going to talk about the thing underneath the full plate, and why no system you have tried has fixed it yet.

Until then: let your hands drop.

Grace and Peace,

Matt