On Saturday, I had a plan for yesterday afternoon. Since I hadn’t made much headway on Friday with my seminary-class work, i would read backwards through my assignments: textbook chapter, three essays, and the Acts of the Apostles. And after weeding the front yard for a solid three hours with My Sweetie, I nailed down the textbook chapter… and one essay… AndThenIHadToDressForPlaytime. On Saturday night some girlfriends and I went to hear a (really good!) cover band, and I wanted to dress in period.
Which left two more essays, plus the part that’s actually due for class, a.k.a. the Scripture.
But as I returned home from worship, and from lunch with My Sweetie and one of his Sunday School mates, I was full… and drowsy…
I was an English major. I had seen the ending to this episode many times. It involved drool-blistered pages, and a neck cramp.
I decided to rewrite my script. I went straight to the nap.
As I rose to the surface of sleep midway through, I wondered: why is it we have to have so many rules about Sabbath? Are our barometers of rest and delight that broken?
Because it seemed pretty obvious to me.
Firstly, actual rest seems, well, restful. And holy, from a wholeness perspective–if I’m that tired, it’s a kindness to this physicality that God placed me within to let it grab the rest it’s reaching for.
Secondly, wouldn’t those things that bring a smile or a sprightly twinkle, wouldn’t those also delight God when we do them? The way a parent laughs when hearing the irresistible music of their child’s laughter?
In the midst of my nap, it seemed like Sabbath-keeping could be quite simple: rest, and things that delight.
As a grateful child of God, I gave thanks for Regency romances, down comforters, and percale. And continued the celebration of God’s goodness that I began in the morning.
Would that every Sabbath was so!