Before the World Wakes Up

We (DH and I) both woke up at an ungodly hour this morning--spontaneously and with no  hope of going back to sleep.  So we did what any normal people would do on a Saturday morning.  We bundled up and braved the 28 degree morning of our mountain town and went for a walk.  It was beautiful and dark and starry-- a marvelous, holy mystery of a morning.  We walked around our town--this new home of ours-- just watching the world wake up. We breathed deeply the brisk air, and took the time to notice things that we'd always been too busy to see: Flowers that, despite the cold, were standing tall and proud.  A seemingly useless set of stairs that went to nowhere-- except perhaps a delightful cottage that we couldn't see.  We talked and daydreamed and watched our dogs smell-- despite the hour, we were more awake than it seemed like we'd been in months.  We even stumbled on a geocache, which reminded us how much we've missed doing that.

And I realized this is what I've been missing.  We've settled in a new town, a new job and a new house, and we are marvelously in love with all of them, but something has been missing.  It's been a madhouse of busyness as we've gotten settled and had company and, and, and...  and I've missed having a chance to wander around with eyes open in holy wonder.

I've missed sabbath keeping-- not that I've ever done a stellar job of being a sabbath keeper.  But it has always, always been a deep longing of my soul.  And that's especially true as I'm now serving a much larger (ie much busier) church,  and despite the need for extroverted tendencies, I'm still a solitude loving introvert.   On a whim, I picked up MaryAnn McKibben Dana's Sabbath in the Suburbs, and have been savoring it one delicious bite at a time. Perhaps I love it so much because she struggles with creating a sabbath practice as much as any busy person, and unlike many of the other books on the subject seem to, her practice of sabbath does not take place in a vaccuum.  She has three small children and serves as a pastor, and the world refuses to slow down for her.  Yet, she creates a real sabbath practice, at turns by doing things "sabbathly" or by having sabbath moments when the world won't stop long enough to have a whole day of sabbath.

Today will be at least partly a work day for me-- a day of catching up from two days of sickness.  But before any of that, there was a thin place of reawakening holy wonder.  Before the world woke up, there was sabbath-- a chance to be fully presesnt with those I love in a place I love.  As I sit working by the fire, my day is different.  I am different.

Turns out there was nothing "ungodly" about the hour...

God said, "Let there be brightly colored paints"

I'm pretty sure that's somewhere in Genesis, while God was creating all sorts of delightful things. Why else would God have spent so much time describing the amazing birds and landscapes and oceans, if we weren't to use them as models for things to draw and paint and write about?

I've had a need to paint lately...almost as strong as the need that often holds me captive--to play with words. Something in my soul has needed again to feel a paintbrush, to create something vibrant and life-filled, to use big bold colors and potentially even bolder brush strokes. My "safe" color-pencils, though often a medium of choice, weren't cutting it. Pastels seemed too limiting. Pen and Ink felt too heavy to hold the subject with any integrity. The only thing that would do is a big canvas and super bold oil paints. Nevermind that I haven't painted at all since the two random pictures I did in seminary.

I spent the morning with my sketch, and did the color blocking for a painting that I hope to love. But that's the thing with oil. If I don't love it, I can paint over it or blend it into something else. Or if I really don't love it, I can pretty much scrape the whole thing away. But even if I don't love the finished product, even if I can't get the paintbrush to convey the emotions I'm feeling, I LOVED the process. I'm only beginning, but I felt so free as I was watching the strokes take shape in front of me.

And I loved the types of Oil Paint--the kind that thins with water. No nasty turpentine, no hours spent cleaning brushes, no reeking for two days, no long drying times. Every thing I didn't love about oils is gone. Now I can just paint without all the hassle. Where was that when I was doing a lot of painting?

As DH is in his busy, workaholic season, I'm glad to have something just for me. I can be nerdy and play classical music and leave the windows open. I can create the scenes that have only been visible to my mind's eye.

Lookout, boring eggshell walls. You may be next!

Soul Food

It's a delightfully chilly, cloudy fall day.  The husband is yelling at the Tennessee-Florida game, and the pets are hiding out from his loud voice.  I've had the windows open all day and have been snuggled in all the quilts that I collect. I didn't get out of my pajamas until 2. I've been fighting a cold, but mostly my brain is tired.

Today is everything I've ever prayed for in a day of rest. I started with a clean house.  I had a little time to myself while D was on the radio (sometimes, being an introvert married to an extreme extrovert is tough!) I'm getting ready to go on a long child that will require a sweatshirt.  And I've cooked. Spaghetti is simmering away.  I made D "pub dip" and pretzels, and a pumkin dip for me. Before the night is over, I'll have made most of the meals we'll eat during this busy week. Tonight, maybe I'll read and knit.  Maybe I'll start a new painting.  Or maybe I'll just be.

But I'm grateful for a chance to put myself back together, a day that has placed absolutely no expectations on me. I haven't cooked anything that would be classified as "soul food", but my heart doesn't know that.  Today is a happy-heart sort of day.

Carving out Sabbath Time

"Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy."  A commandment.  Perhaps the commandment with which I struggle the most.  But I know God must be trying to get my attention, because Sabbath keeping is showing up over and over again in the things I pick up to read.

Eugene Peterson started it off as I was reading his memoir about being a pastor.  He recounts a conversation with a colleague of his when they were in the diner.  His colleague had had many conversations with their waitress, apparently about the spiritual life. Peterson's colleague, Tom, says "Eugune, did you see us talking, the way she was talking--that intensity? I wish I could do that kind of thing all day long, every day.  Every time I come in here and there are no customers, she wants to talk about prayer and her life." Peterson asks why he doesn't, and Tom answers in a way that haunts me. He says, "Because I have to run this damn church."

Certainly, that must have been a sign of his colleague's burnout. It made Peteson and a group of pastors realize just how much they were all overwhelmed by the tasks of ministry. They all began a practice of serious sabbath keeping which Peterson speaks of in his chapter called "Emmaus Walks." Peterson made the commitment to keeping a Monday sabbath, and describes the shift they made from taking a day off to keeping a Sabbath.

I'm a little fascinated by this.  I try very hard to set aside one day as a day off, but my husband and friends would say that I'm not very good at it. There is always a sermon that just didn't get finished or there are bulletins to run or there is a possum to get out of the office (no, seriously!) When I'm in town, I might get a chunk of time for myself, but more often than not, I spend it cleaning or doing errands in town. Maybe I will get in a long walk with my doggie, but that's about it as far as doing something completely for myself. I understand that I need a day off.  But I also understand that it's not enough. I want something more, something other. I want delicious time to think and pray and listen and watch.  I want to fill my soul.

I've been "reading at" Abraham Herschel's Sabbath again, and I'm reminded of what a beautiful job Jewish folks do with Sabbath keeping. They don't cook or clean.  They don't drive.  They don't use electronics. They pray and worship and enjoy family time, without the destractions that weigh us down.  I want that.

I can't however, for the life of me, figure out how to actually make it happen.  I did make a start last night.  I stayed up and cleaned the house.  I ran my errands yesterday.  There is still a sermon to finish today, but it feels a little bit different.  It doesn't feel like one more thing on a very long to-do list.  It feels like a cherished time to write and think about God's word. Assuming the hurricane doesn't come in this afternoon, I'm looking forward to a long walk in the cornfields.  Maybe I'll cook, just because I love to cook--not because I have to get a meal on the table. Maybe I'll draw as I pray-- like I used to do.

Maybe I can learn to Sabbath a little bit at a time, until the whole thing just takes over my being.  After all, it's 8:42 in the morning, and I'm still in my pajamas listening to the dogs snoring on the couch beside me. I've not made a manic rush out the door in an attempt to fit more things in to an already crowded day.

It's a start.

 

If you'd like to read more about Sabbath keeping, here are some books I love:

Babara Brown Taylor's "An Altar in the World"

Eugene Peterson's "The Pastor: A Memoir"

Wendell Berry's "A Timbered Choir: Sabbath Poems"

Abraham Herschel's "Sabbath"

Don Postema's "Catch Your Breath"