If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.

(C.S. Lewis)

How gives The Lord this rest? As my God lives, I’ll tell you, Sloth: he gives his rest Under a yoke—his sweet bequest, Blood-bought, and suited to the back Of every weary saint. The knack Of all our plowing: Jesus makes The weighty burden light, and takes The yoke-beams in his hand, and lifts and carries us. Our works are gifts. And Jesus is the giver. Grace Bought and powers every pace, And every enterprise. Sloth, we were made, and made again, to be Co-makers with the Maker of the world—to see the world above and then to make the world below More beautiful, to learn, to know, And then to make, to shape, adorn, compose, produce, and turn a thorn Into an etching tool—to write, to say What never has been said that way, To sing, to draw, to paint, to build, To stitch and weave until we’ve filled The world with truth. For this God spoke, And Jesus died. 

This is our yoke. Our happy yoke. You will not take my work. 

Sloth, we were made to make.”

“So, Pilgrim,” Sloth replied, “you’ll earn Your heaven with your arts? Go learn Your Bible better. Saved by grace, Not works, the book is clear. Go chase Your heaven, laboring. That’s not my taste.”

“My heaven, Sloth” I answered, “chased Me long before I found my way to it. Grace, to be sure! The day Will show again the half-text you Left out. Sloth, we are made to do: We are his workmanship in Christ, Made for good works. He sacrificed His life that we might live in them. He the vine, and we the stem, And they, the fruit. 
Is not the fruit of love our life?” 

“Pointless dispute!”Sloth muttered to himself. He turned To go, and said to me, “You’ve spurned My offer of sweet rest. Go waste Your life. You are a fool. You’ll taste your sorrow. Mark my words.” And he was gone. And so, one victory obtained, my weary soul was kept. And I lay down my head and slept.

("Conversation between Pilgrim and Sloth", John Piper, 12-11-12)