Permission to Rest: A Return to St. Augustine
With my own Spanish roots and a background in cultural arts, the red clay rooftops, arched doorways, and sun-washed stucco walls of Saint Augustine were calling me home. The city’s architectural poetry—rooted in centuries-old beauty—echoed something deep within me. I remember visiting as a little girl, blissfully unaware of how life would circle back. I had crab cakes at The Columbia Restaurant then, a moment I thought was lost to time. And yet, here I was again—older, busier, more tired, still obsessed with crabcakes—but unmistakably living the life I once dreamed of. As only the Lord could orchestrate, I had returned to the very place where wonder first met memory.
It’s a funny thing to live in Charleston—a vacation destination for many—and then leave it to visit another coastal town for what became my first true vacation in three years. This escape landed in the height of my bridal season, when five a.m. call times and emotional precision become my daily rhythm. I adore what I do—serving brides on the most sacred day of their lives—but this level of care, artistry, and presence doesn’t come without a cost.
Spiritually, emotionally, and physically, I knew I needed a pause. And so, I did the unthinkable: I said no. I blocked off the dates. I turned down weddings. I made space—for stillness, for slowness, for breath. I let myself sleep in. And strangely, that felt holy.
Upon arriving in The Ancient City, Adam and I wandered into a quirky spot called Treylor Park and ordered peanut butter and jelly chicken wings. Yes, really. They were surprisingly delicious— in the way only unexpected food joy can be. Later, we bought ice cream and curled up to watch Rush Hour 1, 2, and 3 in our hotel room. It was simple and silly. And yet, the act of doing nothing together brought with it the deepest sense of contentment and refreshment to the psyche.
As I walked through town, I noticed things I hadn’t paid attention to in awhile, things you take for granted living on the eastern coast—the scent of the sea salt in the air, the texture of the breeze, the pattern of sunlight through palm fronds. The shape of leaves. The grandeur of Magnolia Avenue where a peacock was waiting to greet me as if I was back in Mexico on my abuelos ranch. Florida’s flora felt lush and exotic, like Charleston’s dramatic sister. Even the street names bore resemblance to home, which made it all feel strangely familiar.
Vacations, I’m realizing, are not about escape—they’re a posture. A permission. They allow us to wear rose-colored lenses and see the beauty that’s always been there. What if we chose to live that way daily?
One day, we sailed out into the deep ocean, and I was reminded of that moment in Scripture—when Jesus calmed the storm and turned to His disciples, asking, “Why did you doubt?” (Matthew 8:26). That question pierced me. I’ve been doubting in small ways. Doubting the need for rest. Doubting myself. Doubting that God would meet me in the quiet. But He did.
He showed up in the smallest, most ordinary moments: a midday nap under soft hotel sheets, a walk hand in hand with Adam down narrow historic streets with nothing on the agenda, the miracle of my makeup and hair staying intact in the humidity, and miraculously making it to Publix every night just before closing to keep our ice cream addiction at bay. (Bless you, Nick’s guilt-free low carb pints.)
He reminded me of His words:
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear… But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” — Matthew 6:25
We always travel with our Bible so we can have Bible study and when we forgot it, He already had another one waiting for us in the hotel room. We didn’t overthink our meals—and yet we were led to some of the best food: melt-in-your-mouth sashimi at Green Papaya, a rich Argentinian espresso and rose latte at Buena Onda, the dreamiest Greek omelette for breakfast at Southern Grounds, and of course, Treylor Park’s quirky brilliance. As for clothes? We packed last minute and somehow ended up with outfits that felt effortless, romantic, and photogenic. Best of all, Adam didn’t get too badly sunburnt either. Well, it could’ve been way worse anyways.
This trip wasn’t perfect because of what we planned—it was perfect because of what we surrendered. I now see clearly that rest is not earned by exhaustion—it is offered by grace.
I learned:
Intentional living requires sacred slow down time and sacrifice.
Productivity is not linear.
Feeling deeply is not a flaw— nor is recovering at a slower pace than most.
Saying no is not selfish—it’s stewardship.
