By “Come to me all who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest”. — Matthew 11:28
My earliest memory of my grandfather is from sometime in 2010. He had just returned from the US, picked up by my mother, and stayed with us briefly before heading back to Akure where he lived.
I was getting dressed for school. He sat beside me, already dressed.
Five-year-old me asked, very seriously, “How do I know which sock goes on the right leg and which goes on the left?”
He smiled and said there was no right or left sock. I only had to make sure the line sat on top of my foot; never underneath.
Two years later, my brothers and I began living with him.
He was a proper CAC pastor and General AGS for the district, I think. Our house was filled with CAC calendars, journals, bags branded with “One fold, one shepherd”. Church wasn’t optional. We attended revivals, climbed mountains to pray and held nightly devotions at exactly 9 p.m.
By nine, I knew several CAC hymns by heart. In Yoruba too.
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Unlike most Nigerian grandparents, my grandfather was educated. One of my favorite memories of him is hearing him casually say, “We shall soon buy fuel.”
I laughed.
Who just uses “shall” like that? what happened to using “will”? 😂
As much as I attribute my love of reading and writing to my father’s genes, I came to realise my grandfather’s genes also played a part in that. He read my essays. He even read some storybooks he’d seen with me at the time.
Rest
My first real encounter with the idea of “rest” came between 2016 and 2019, during my senior years in secondary school. Those were the years when we analyzed every literary text in the syllabus.
One poem stayed with me; “The Pulley” by George Herbert.
In it, God creates man and pours out every blessing: strength, beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure. Almost everything.
Then He pauses.
At the bottom of the glass lies one last gift; rest.
God withholds it.
Not because He is stingy, but because He is wise.
Because if man had rest alongside everything else, he would cling to the gifts and forget the Giver. He would settle comfortably into life and never look upward. So instead, God leaves him with a quiet restlessness — rich, capable, yet weary — so that when the world exhausts him, he will be pulled back to God’s chest.
The pulley.
The missing piece that keeps the heart searching.
Ever since I read that poem, Matthew 11:28 has sounded different to me.
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”
Not just the tiredness of work.
But the tiredness of living. And sometimes practicing a religion that feels like too much “work”.
The exhaustion of striving, carrying, hoping, enduring.
Jesus wasn’t offering sleep.
He was offering peace of mind.
My grandfather has found that rest.
Not because life handed him nothing but ease but because, over time, God handed him grace.
He is ninety-six, with his wife still alive beside him.
Blessed with long life and good health.
His eyes still see.
His ears still hear.
His body hasn’t failed him.
He has his own car.
He lives in the house he built with his own hands.
His children send money.
His in-laws send foodstuff.
Even his grandchildren gift and visit him from time to time.
He lacks nothing.
But more than that, he lives contentedly
No bitterness.
No anxious rushing.
No fear of tomorrow.
Just quiet, steady peace.
At that age, in this country, that kind of life is already rare.
That kind of peace is almost unbelievable.
And yes this is what Jesus meant by rest.
A life that no longer needs to be rescued; my grandfather’s life.
Author: admin
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