You speak of weariness and a longing for the sea and the mountains, and you ask for prayer that God would grant you a season of travel and bodily refreshment. This is no small request, for our Lord knows our frame and remembers that we are dust. He who made the sea and fashioned the hills knows also that the sight of His works can lift the drooping spirit. Yet I must first entreat you to search your heart as to whether you have truly entered into that rest which Christ gives to all who come unto Him. “We which have believed do enter into rest,” and this rest is not a luxury reserved for heaven, but a present possession. Before you seek the changing of your outward scene, be sure you have this inward repose. Many a man has stood upon the shore and found the sea but a mirror of his own restless heart. The mountains may surround you, yet if your soul is not anchored in Christ, you will carry your weariness with you like a burden strapped upon your back.
Hear the promise of our Master: “I will give you rest.” This is not a rest of idleness, for He who gives it says also, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; and ye shall find rest unto your souls.” There is a rest on the wing, a rest in service, a rest found not with the yoke off but with the yoke on. The bird sleeps upon the wing; the laborer finds sweetness in repose only because he has toiled. If Christ gives you rest, it is no second-rate rest, but a deep, abiding peace that the world cannot give and cannot take away. Are you thus resting? Then your request for travel may come into joyful alignment with His will, for even such a season may glorify Him as you trace His handiwork in cliff and wave.
Yet I must not ignore the plain cry of your letter. You have not seen the sea for seven years, nor had a holiday for two, and your frame is tired. The Lord who made the Sabbath for man did not despise the body’s need of refreshment. Therefore I will pray with you, that if it be His good pleasure, He may open a door for you to go apart and rest a while, whether by the sounding sea or among the silent hills. But this I will pray with a larger prayer: that you may learn to rest in the Lord Himself, so that whether you travel or stay, whether you gaze upon the ocean or upon a city wall, you shall find your soul’s true calm in Him. “Rest in the Lord,” says the Psalmist, not merely in His gifts, but in His own character, His covenant, His unchanging love. The mountains shall depart and the hills be removed, but His kindness shall not depart from you.
Do not mistake me, I do not chide you for your desire. Our Lord Himself withdrew into a desert place to rest, and He saw the multitudes and had compassion. But I would have you seek first the rest that is glorious, the rest that is a foretaste of heaven. If you have that, then a holiday becomes a pleasant interval, not a desperate necessity. And if it be denied you, still you may say, “Return unto thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.” Now, may the Lord Jesus, who crossed the stormy sea and climbed the mountain to pray, come over the mountains of your difficulty and grant you relief. I pray that He will give you both inward stillness and, if He sees it good, the outward journey your heart craves. Amen.