Instead, I pace, literally and figuratively. I flit from desktop screen to laptop screen to Sidekick screen to television screen, or try to decide what to eat even as I realize that I'm not actually hungry. Sometimes I can distract myself with a task, like returning a DVD or going through the mail or doing the dishes. Or I'll search for a good stream of music, or lay down for a nap. Not a whit of it is rest.
And then there's Jesus. I can't really consider rest without soon running into His invitation: "Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).
At root, I know what chronically keeps me from rest is a burden—the burden of my own assumed godhood. It doesn't seem that gross an error at first, but closer examination and brutal honesty forces me to admit that I'm really trying to be the god of my own little world. Sometimes I'm trying to be a "Christian" god: doing the right things, speaking the truth, being good and nice. Sometimes I'm trying to be something far less. Regardless, I'm not living the restful life of one under authority, nor in the rich abundance of a son of the King. I'm making all the decisions, whether motivated by my ideas or simply by my desires. Whether they're "right" or "wrong," they're all my calls.
That's heavy, even in a world as small as my life. It's not His yoke.