The temperature is perfect, I’m settled into an Adirondack chair, wind chimes gently tinkling, the trees around the deck swaying softly in the warm breeze, leaves rustling ever so slightly. It’s Sabbath. All the housemates are gone. Jeff and Dutch are gone. Ben is asleep. Justice is settled in his own child-size Adirondack chair, watching the leaves and birds and bugs. Heidi is kneeling on the deck, watercolors spread on a wooden bench in front of her, painting. Justice just looked up and said, “Mommy, I love you.” Occasionally, a goat softly bleats, a chicken clucks. It’s so quiet.
This never happens, you guys. But it is now so I’m seizing this moment to say hello.
I’m a little rusty at writing. It’s been so long since I’ve written a post here I actually forgot my password.
A few weeks ago I wrote in my journal: I feel like I’m emerging from a hole, maybe a bomb shelter? That was the only entry for that day — my journal isn’t impressive, scraps of thoughts and prayers and Scriptures sprinkled into the few moments my arms are free each morning before the littles awaken.
What an interesting 18-months we’ve had, yes? And we continue to have … I’m not here to provide any commentary on current events (although I’m grateful for the thoughtful Christ-followers who are), I’m just hoping to get back in the rhythm of sharing nuggets of the Sacred in the midst of my mundane. I’ve mentioned before, I don’t know what I think until I write. For me, writing is therapy. Writing is processing. Writing is healing. Fourteen years ago this blog began because it was a dark season and Jeff knew that writing would help my heart. I haven’t outgrown that. It still does.
But oh my goodness, life is so full. The past five years have brought four family deaths, a precious friend’s son’s death, three miscarriages plus two babies (!), a global pandemic and unrest, historic wind and wildfires, an ice-storm, power outages, and significant shifts in close relationships. Notice that not all these things are bad. But they are taxing.
We the people are tired.
And so I Sabbath. Why? Because our King tells us to Sabbath, and every Sabbath reminds me that I am not in control of this world. It reminds me that I am weak and He is strong, and for 24 hours every week I remind my soul: There is a God. It is not me.
Without Sabbath I would miss the breeze and the wind chimes and I might even miss the smell of sweet apples in the garage waiting to become applesauce. Without Sabbath, I know — I would get tricked again into believing it all depends on me and if I don’t hold back the darkness what’re we going to do?
Last night we prayed. We gathered. Just a dozen of us but it doesn’t take many. We sat outside in a circle, in mis-matched lawn chairs, the babies on a blanket. We prayed near and far. From our own needs, precious to God, to the Afghan people, equally precious. We read Scripture. We sang. We laid hands on each other. We believed.
And I kept thinking that those 2+ hours were probably the most effective moments of my whole month. I kept thinking, “Why do I not do this more often? Why does everyone not doing this more often? This is our best work!”
So still. So many moments of complete silence. And yet with every ounce of my being I know work was accomplished. God is not limited by time and space. My mind blows all over again at the realization that I can actually help people on the other side of the world when I pray.
Sabbath stills us long enough to pray. We slip off the crushing yoke of believing we have to have this all figured out and having the RIGHT STANCE on every single issue RIGHT NOW.
I forget that prayer is actually super forgiving. Like, if I say the wrong thing on social media I will be crucified. But if my heart is turned toward God and I lift up what I think would please him as best as I know how, He can work through my efforts and bring His kingdom, even if I’m somehow misguided.
Glory hallelujah! Isn’t that good news, guys?
There’s so much I don’t know. God’s given me some pretty clear directives; I’m obeying those. Outside of that … I don’t know. I pray. I don’t feel like I fit comfortably into any “camp” these days. I’m not this-enough for these people and not this-enough for these people. Anybody else?
Haha, I guess it’s high time I realized I’m not enough of anything, ever. Goodness sakes, thank the Lord that He is enough!
And that’s what Sabbath says: God, you’re enough. I’m sure not. You are.
I saw a quote the other day that read:
No matter what is happening in the world, have your tea, make your list, plan your food preparation, read to your children, wash the clothes, do something creative for everyone and be a light in your home.
I love this, because while it’s not about Sabbath, it’s a recognition that no matter what is happening, there is probably someone you can serve, love, nurture, teach, help … right in front of you. Not advocating me stick our heads in the sand, good grief not at all, but we can sure get sucked into the joy-destroying trap of over-focusing on what we cannot control and overlooking that which we can.
So today, I’ll Sabbath. I’ll enjoy this stillness. Ben’s nap is almost over. Justice is eager for interaction. The chickens have gotten into my raised beds and are eating the kale. It’s time to sign off. But my goodness I’m grateful for this weekly rhythm of silence, slowing, of reminding my Soul that it really is ok to just stop.
O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.3 O Israel, hope in the Lord
Psalm 131
from this time forth and forevermore.