David says "rests" — not "will rest" or "should rest." Present tense. Active choice. In the middle of a life that included war, betrayal, family dysfunction, and political chaos, David's soul found rest. Not retirement. Not a vacation. Rest — while the world was still spinning.

And that's the paradox nobody teaches you: rest isn't the absence of work. It's the presence of trust. You can be still in a storm if you believe the boat won't sink. And you can be exhausted in a calm sea if you believe everything depends on you rowing.

You've been rowing. For years. For people who don't notice. For outcomes that keep shifting. For a version of "enough" that moves every time you get close. And your arms are shaking and your back is breaking and every morning you pull yourself out of bed like you're climbing a wall — and you do it, because that's what you do. But what if the wall isn't there? What if the thing holding you up was never your own strength? "My salvation comes from him" — not from my hustle. Not from my willpower. Not from my 5am alarm. From him. That changes everything. Because it means the moment you stop rowing, you don't sink. You float.