It’s quiet here this Shabbat morning. The windows are open and I can hear the rooster crowing and insects doing their thing, along with the occasional car passing by. I’m sitting in my glider with a cup of tea at hand and am pondering Shabbat.
I’ve been on a Shabbat journey these past five months. In May, Bill and I made a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Israel where we experienced the holy rest of Shabbat for the first time. Since then, I’ve been making an effort to rest on Saturday. (Yes, “making an effort to rest” sounds like an oxymoron, but it takes conscious effort to change lifelong habits.)
Why Saturday? Because, although Sunday is the day I go to church, Saturday is the seventh day–the Sabbath.
A very wise woman suggested I figure out what “rest” means for me and start there. So I stay off social media and try to avoid the computer and internet entirely. (How am I writing this, you ask? By hand. And then I’ll transcribe it tomorrow.)
Observing a Sabbath rest has been enlightening in so many ways. First, having lengthy, dedicated times of study helps me go deep. I have no laundry to lure me away. No appointments to keep. No deadlines.
I read, nap, walk, visit with my husband. Sometimes I get to play with my grands.
Does it get boring? Sometimes. Around 4pm, I’m usually ready to jump back into life. But I’m ready.
Not dreading the new week.
Not weary.
I feel recharged.
Energized.
I feel more productive through the following week.
That I have more to offer.
My daily times of quiet–my teatime with Jesus–are snacks.
Shabbat? Shabbat is a feast.