How do I rest when the pastures aren’t so ‘green’?

This article was first published by Evangelicals Now on 19 August 2026.

After struggling with insomnia for all my adult life, I can tell you with great confidence that there are many different reasons why someone may struggle to sleep. Rest, with which sleep overlaps so much, is obviously the same.

Just as the shepherd calls the sheepdog away so the sheep can settle, resting requires us to safeguard ourselves – for a while and as best we can – from those things which conspire to keep us constantly in physical, mental or spiritual motion.

Many of those things are largely within our control. We can work at eating more healthily and exercising more wisely. We can cultivate better attitudes towards our phones and our to-do lists so that we aren’t constantly driven to give either or both of them our attention. And we can establish better routines which enable us to spend more concentrated time with the Lord and with our families and friends. These are all changes which we can begin making today. All of them will play a part in improving our rest.

But what about those things we can’t control? How do we rest when there are things which – at least for a season and despite our best efforts – simply can’t be quieted? What does rest look like when we’re far away from the idyll of Psalm 23’s green pastures and still waters?

Fixing our eyes on change

When the green pastures turn brown and the water is more absent than still, the overwhelming temptation is to fix our eyes on the moment those things might change.

That temptation can raise its head in all sorts of situations – the relentlessness of this summer’s heatwaves, for instance, or the sleepless nights that come hand-in-hand with being new parents.

It might come during a lengthy legal battle or, more extremely, when facing intense persecution or living through war.

For me, this temptation has hit hardest when chronic health problems have come to call – both my own and those of my loved ones.

In the years leading up to my hip replacement, I spent so much time waiting for things to change. There was the more immediate kind of waiting, the kind that (in my case) usually lasted for only minutes or hours – the category of pain flares and pharmacies and hospital waiting rooms. And there was the other kind of waiting, which lasted for weeks or months or sometimes years, as I waited for the next test or a new medication or the operation that would (at least semi-permanently) fix the problem.

Of course, I wasn’t the only one waiting. My loved ones got to do much of the same waiting as I did – as well as some extra things that were all theirs. They were the ones waiting for strangers to stop staring at my awkward walk. (Somehow I noticed neither the stares nor the warning glares that absolutely followed!)

They were the ones waiting to hear how much help I’d need on any given day. And they were the ones waiting for news while I was under general anaesthetic.

Along with all these things, we were (and still are) waiting for the release that the new creation will bring every child of God – when death and grief and pain will be gone, and tears wiped away forever (Rev 21v4).

Now, these are all good things to anticipate. It’s not wrong to look forward to having more information, less pain and so on. And this is even more the case as we anticipate the joys of the new creation. We have that beautiful promise for a reason – when life is at its hardest, we need to know that a time is coming when our troubles will be no more. We need to be reminded that the Lord is bringing us to a shore whose seawall can be neither broken nor crossed by the waves of grief and pain and death.

But we also need to be careful. We can so easily become consumed with our anticipation of a change in season. And that fixation deepens our frustration, which in turn makes resting only more difficult.

Fixing our eyes on Jesus

In some ways, the solution is straightforward. You and I both know that we need to shift our primary focus away from our circumstances. We know we need to rest (in both senses of the word) our gaze on the Lord Jesus. After all, neither medical intervention nor even the new creation can ever be our Saviour – and we must be on our guard against regarding them as such.

As a wise friend once pointed out to me, Revelation 21v4 can never outshine 21v3. The death of death is a symptom – breathtakingly wonderful, yes, but still only a symptom – compared to the all-surpassing joy of being fully and finally in the presence of our God.

But what does that mean? When the grass is at its brownest, what does it look like to help ourselves rest by fixing our eyes on Jesus rather than on relief from our pain?

To make it concrete (although you’re very welcome to supply your own example), how would I help my younger self at a particular point – fresh from a successful operation, but throwing up and in agony – to turn my eyes towards Jesus in that very moment?

Here are two reminders I think would help me – and hopefully you as well.

(1) God loves you now.

Oh, we know this one. But brown pastures do an annoyingly good job of showing us how superficial that knowledge can be. Just like literal drought-stricken fields, the brown pastures of our hearts are good at revealing the things that lie just beneath the surface. And as our attitudes and beliefs are mapped out in undeniable ways, we can end up doubting God’s love. How can He love me when I’m struggling so much with grumpiness or bitterness or impatience? How can He love me when I can’t even put my own socks on, let alone be useful in church?

But our God is no more surprised by the revelations of our hearts than He is by the latest archaeological discoveries.

He knows – He has always known.

More than that, the Lord Jesus died for us when we were still dead in our sins (Rom. 5v8, Eph. 2v1). When we couldn’t even fathom wrestling with sin because it ruled us completely – when there was no hope of doing anything for ourselves because the dead can’t help themselves – that’s when Jesus died for us.

Knowing us completely, He still loved us and gave Himself up for us then.

Why would His love for us diminish just because we learn hard truths about ourselves? He’s already taken them into account – and today, as He has for all eternity, He loves us in spite of them.

However much you are struggling with yourself in this hard season, our God made you, redeemed you and delights in you now. Let that love be your invitation to turn to Him in the midst of your troubles.

(2) “Lord – ouch!” can be a great cry of faith.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking prayer has to be long or complicated. Maybe we aren’t expecting ourselves to recite the entirety of Psalm 119, but I suspect I’m not alone in unconsciously expecting myself to at least pray in complete sentences. And yet, reading Psalm 8 this morning, I was struck by v2: “Through the praise of children and infants you have established a stronghold against your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.”

Look at what incredible things the Lord can do through the praise of the very smallest people – including the ones who are still learning to talk!

If He can establish strongholds from their praise, He can surely do equally amazing things with our brief or wordless prayers.

Has it occurred to you that “Lord – ouch!” can be a great cry of faith? It’s not eloquent, no – but it springs from a heart clinging onto the loving nearness of our heavenly Father. And the book of Job reminds us that that kind of testimony pleases the Lord and challenges His enemies.

“Has it occurred to you that “Lord – ouch!” can be a great cry of faith?”

We don’t have to be thriving to be able to bring Him glory. We can praise Him on the gritted teeth as much as we can on the tambourine.

Rest for our souls

I am conscious that nothing I have written is going to make rest easy for either you or me. The heatwave is still hot, your little one is still not sleeping and the pain is still painful. You and I are still in the season of waiting for the “not yet” to become the “now”.

But with that said, I do believe that these things can make rest easier for us. That it really is better for us when we balance hope for the future with a willingness to (with the Lord’s help) inhabit the present as best we can. After all, wishing time away has never made it go faster – it only serves to make us more conscious of its slowness.

Instead, when the pastures are brown, let’s recall those truths we know. We are still loved. We can still bring Him glory. And let’s allow those things to invite us to fix our eyes on Jesus when our bodies and minds are in turmoil. That will bring rest to our souls – and it will be a beautiful victory.