Buy a Great Mattress (and Other Thoughts on Sleep)

Field Note: Because sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is go to bed

My high school Geography teacher once paused mid-lesson and said,

"Who wants some powerful life advice?"

We weren't sure what to expect, but we paused for a moment. A few of us even reached for our notebooks.

Then someone called out, "Yes," probably anticipating something profound or dramatic.

Mr Kraft looked around the room, as if to check for spies, and half-whispered,

"Buy a great mattress."

That was it.

Cue laughter. Groans.

A voice from the back: "Are you joking?"

"Not even close," he said. "You spend a third of your life in bed. Might as well be comfortable. And it sets you up for a great day!"

Then, as if that slight detour hadn't just cracked something open, we went back to talking about Food Security.

But the part that stuck with me?

The mattress.

Rest.

Most of us live in a strange tension with rest.

We joke about being tired.

We chase productivity as if it were a virtue.

We lie awake, wired and weary, scrolling past people who look like they've got it all sorted.

And sometimes, it takes something a little wild to remind us what proper rest is worth.

Like the story of Tiffani Adams, who fell asleep on a short Air Canada flight and woke up alone on a dark, parked plane.

Everyone else had disembarked.

Her phone was dead. The cabin lights were off. It was freezing.

No one knew she was there.

She eventually found a flashlight in the cockpit and managed to flag down a baggage cart, but after that flight, she started having night terrors and anxiety. Trouble sleeping.

Her body had rested.

But her soul hadn't.

There's a difference between rest that heals and rest that haunts.

Then there's that old parable: part joke, part truth.

A man named Dave owed his neighbour Pete a thousand bucks. Payment was due the next day, but Dave didn't have it, so he lay in bed, wide-eyed and stressed.

His wife rolled over. "You're going to keep tossing and turning all night?"

"I owe Pete. I don't have it. I can't sleep."

So she got up, opened the window, and yelled,

"Pete! Dave doesn't have your money!"

Then she turned to Dave.

"There. Now he can worry all night. You get some sleep."

I've thought about that more than once.

There's something in sleep that reminds us we're not in charge.

And maybe that's the whole point.

One of the old Psalms says,

"It's useless to rise early and go to bed late, to eat the bread of anxious toil; for He gives sleep to His beloved."

Not because effort is wrong, but because we're not built to carry everything all the time.

Maybe sleep isn't just about recovery; it's about trust.

It's the quiet surrender of a day's worth of burdens.

Not just rest for the body, but something more peaceful for the soul.

And maybe that's the grace of it all:

The sun will rise tomorrow.

The Earth will spin.

Whether or not we check our emails when the alarm starts the New Day's race.