Long before rest became something we needed, it was within God.

The bible did not introduce rest as a recovery mechanism. Boldly, it introduces rest as God’s rhythm for life—a gift He graciously shares with us.

“And on the seventh day God finished His work which He had done, and He rested… and
God blessed the seventh day and made it holy” (Genesis 2:2–3).

God Himself rested!
Not because He was weary.
Not because He needed a break.
God rested because He chose to. It was a moment to enjoy what He created, a time distinct from working and doing.

Balance matters more to God than ever we could realize.

This moment of God was set apart, but not just sequentially as another day.  The Hebrew word qadosh—holy—means separated, distinct, consecrated. The seventh day of God enjoying all that He created was uniquely embedded with His essence; joy, love, peace, abundant life.

God blessed the day, placing His approval and favor upon it, as if to say: This rhythm carries something you will need. And, I, myself will always be with it.  A day that was intended to shape the life of His people.

Rest was established as the foundation of life.

Before sin separated humanity from purpose.

Before work became wearisome.

Before recovery was ever necessary.

Rest was distinctly full of God Himself. Which means rest is not primarily about stopping activity. It is about aligning with God’s design.

Years later, God would formalize this rhythm, saying, “Surely you shall keep My Sabbaths, for this is a sign between Me and you… that you may know that I am the Lord who sanctifies you” (Exodus 31:12–13). Sabbath was not merely remembrance of His moment at creation; it was a sign of transformation. A statement that God’s people would live differently because they belonged to Him.

Rest was tied to living in God. To refuse it was not just disobedience—it was rejection of intimacy. Refusing to be shaped by God’s rhythm rather than our doing.

I did not understand this for most of my life, even while I worshiped on Sunday. Doing and busyness dominated my life.

I knew how to work. I knew how to endure pressure. I knew how to give more when the demand increased. I had learned to live fueled by momentum, adrenaline, responsibility, and achievement. Tiredness became normal. Weariness felt familiar. Endurance was strength.

It wasn’t until seven years after working in cooperate America, and then another five years into planting Common Bond Church that something began to surface.
I saw the Sabbatical year in scripture.

It jumped off the page; my heart longing for something I did not have. I wasn’t drawn to religious legality. This wasn’t something I had do. Instead, I was feeling a quiet invitation—not a command, but an invitation. I was puzzled, but curious about the boldness to trust God, while seemingly doing nothing—the latter being absent in my life.

Trust, yes!
Do nothing, no!

As I studied Scripture, I came across God’s promise to Israel that in the year prior to the sabbatical, the harvest would be so abundant that it would sustain them through the year of rest and into the next (Leviticus 25). That passage stopped me.

Because it was already happening.

Unusual provision had come. Enough to step away without fear. Enough to rest without compromise. And then I realized—this was not the first time.

When I left corporate America years earlier, God had done the same. Resources appeared that allowed a year of discernment in Santa Monica, though I didn’t have language for it then. Seven years later, before planting the church, God provided again. And now, seven years after that, it was happening once more.

Only this time, I could see it.

Two months into that sabbatical, something surprised me. I realized how deeply exhausted I was. I had been running on fumes for years, mistaking calling for power. The pandemic had slowed my pace physically, providing a breather, but this season was different. God was not just stopping my activity—He was restoring my spirit.

And in that rest, life began to emerge.

During that season, my wife became pregnant after ten years of waiting. We moved into a home. We received vehicles. Provision came without effort. It felt as though God was saying, "Now you cannot credit your work—because you are not doing it. You are learning to trust Me in a new way."

Rest revealed something that had been concealed.

I had trusted God by doing.

not by waiting.

And that is when the deeper truth surfaced.

I did not enter rest because I was complete.

I entered it because I was empty.

What I began to see—slowly, almost reluctantly—was that rest is not the reward at the end of your work. It is the place you were meant to live from.

God rested first.
Before commandments.
Before callings.
Before responsibility.
Rest was already there, waiting.

The more I looked at creation, the more unsettling the pattern became. God did not rest because He was tired. He rested because it was in Him. And He blessed that day—not the work—setting it apart as holy. Which means rest is not the absence of activity.
 It is the rhythm of alignment.

I had spent years serving God faithfully, yet rarely from rest. I knew how to labor. I knew how to endure. I even knew how to sacrifice. But I did not know how to stop and wait on God. And that revealed something uncomfortable:

I trusted God to tell me what do more than I trusted God with what He could do.

If rest was established before doing…


If it was blessed before effort…


If it was holy before responsibility…

Then perhaps the problem was not that we work too much.
 Perhaps the problem is that we begin in the wrong place.

And if rest is not something we take—but something we are invited into—
then the question is no longer whether we will rest…

but who we become if we refuse rest.

Abram had already heard God. He left home, his family, his comforts. 
He stood in faith.


Still — twenty-four years passed. Twenty-four years of aging, wondering, trying to “help” what heaven had already spoken.

Abram’s pivot came when he stopped trying to make it happen for God.

When he fell face down.


No negotiation.

No strategy session.

No contingency plan.

I know this moment personally.

When I was battling cancer, I was in deep pain. I believed and I was confident. Yet, confusion and uncertainty were present. Medical reports weren’t promising.

But the Lord alone spoke to me:


Nothing in my body confirmed it. The doctors didn’t validate it.

But El Shaddai — God, the all-sufficient one — had revealed Himself.

So I surrendered to His sufficiency. I carried those words when the journey was dark.
Through nine months of pain and treatments...

I spoke from what He said, not from what I felt.
 Healing did not begin when treatment began. Healing began when I trusted His sufficiency.

That was my pivot.

Inheritance isn’t taken; it must be received.

You’ve heard the promise. You’ve waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Finally, El Shaddai has appeared, declaring:

Whatever He has called you to be —
you are now that person.

No longer wait for proof.
Believe that it is so.

As you let this devotion settle in your spirit:
Pause and whisper to God:


Release the timeline.

Release the striving.

Release the need to prove.

Walk before Him.

You are already who He called you to be — before anyone sees the evidence.


Inherit the promise.

If this encouraged you, consider sharing it with someone who is in a waiting season.
And if you’re walking through a pivot moment, join us as we continue exploring leaders who inherit the promise. join bloom group. 

Faithfulness brings joy to the Heavenly Father.

Opening the door to those who long to do more.

No begging

No tears

No deal-making with heaven

Only a simple willingness to obey His voice.

Kingdom leaders advance heaven’s agenda.

Restoring those with incurable diagnoses.

Guiding the young by the hand.

Removing barriers that overwhelm those in crisis.

The days of chasing “likes” are over.

The personal bucket list is empty.

Purpose is full.

Kingdom provision is flowing.

Entrusted to the faithful.

Heaven’s invitation examines the heart.

Some must be taught.

Others must stop pretending they forgot.

It has never been about how much we have.

It has always been about devoted hands.

With Him.

For Him.

Provision is not in the asking.

It’s in the listening.

Do not rush ahead.

Do not chase.

Move only where He points.

Step out of the noise.

Wait in stillness.

This is a season of alignment.

Stillness first.

Instruction follows.

Faithfulness produces.

I've walked through darkness.


Stage 4 cancer diagnosis.

Words no one wants to hear.

Faith rose.
His secret place is power.

Buried in shadow,

Pressed deep beneath the soil,
Cold. Alone.
Eyes gazing at the promise...
Waiting for transformation…

I wasn’t brave.

I wasn’t performing.

I was planted.

It was all I knew to do.

Be strong.

Trust God.

I lived John 12:24.


Fruit demands surrender.

It guarantees fruit.

Stillness does the work.

I received more than healing.

An outer shell peeled away.

A new man was reborn.

Unknown courage,

Unwavering trust,

Immediate surrender.

The image God always desired.

My story is for you.


The darkness,

The trials,

The uncertainty
— 
All call for a new death.

God does not rush.

He moves in seasons.

Pause.

Look.

Discern.

Remember what has grown.

Remember what has died.

Kingdom alignment…


Till the heart…


Wait for new life.

Stewarding Our Christmas Gifts
Scripture: 2 Kings 20:12–19
Advent Focus:
The humility of Christ

Key Truth: 
Blessings reveals what pressure hides.

As we celebrate Christmas, we are invited to pause and reflect—not only on what God has done, but on how we respond after His blessings.

King Hezekiah experienced remarkable favor. God healed him, extended his life, and secured his kingdom. Yet when visitors from Babylon arrived, Hezekiah missed a sacred opportunity. Instead of glorifying God, he displayed his wealth. Like many of us, rather than living with gratitude and purpose, he leaned into comfort. Instead of protecting a godly legacy, he found peace in knowing judgment would come after his lifetime.

His story reminds us that success can quietly reveal what hardship once concealed.

Christmas through the lens of Christ invites a different perspective.

Jesus, the King of Heaven, entered the world not in splendor but in humility. Born in a manger, unnoticed by the powerful, He chose obscurity over applause and surrender over self-preservation.

“Though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor.” (2 Corinthians 8:9)

Where Hezekiah displayed his kingdom, Jesus laid His down. Where Hezekiah sought comfort after blessing, Jesus embraced sacrifice. Where Hezekiah preserved peace for himself, Jesus purchased peace for all.

Christmas gifts us God's power to not only rightly respond to pressure—but to graciously steward blessings.

As the year draws to a close, many of us are standing in seasons of answered prayer, growth, or influence. The question Christmas gently asks is this:

Will we use success to point others to God—or to ourselves?

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24)

The legacy of Christ was not built through preservation, but through surrender. And it is that same legacy He invites us to carry forward.

Christmas Reflection

• How has God blessed you this year?
• Are those blessings drawing you toward comfort—or deeper purpose?
• What legacy are you handing to those who will follow you?

Christmas Prayer
Father God, Thank You for the gift of Your Son, who showed us the way of humility, surrender, and love. As we celebrate the birth of Christ, guard our hearts from pride and self-focus. Teach us to steward Your blessings with gratitude, to glorify You in every season, and to live with eternal legacy in view. May we reflect the humility of Jesus, and may our lives point others to You.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.