If you were brought up in church, your Sundays probably actually started on Saturday night right after Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom with baths for everybody because tomorrow would be an early morning! Mama got up early and put the roast in the crock pot. Dad ran around the house trying to find his glasses, his car keys, his wallet, and of course his Bible. You always smirked because it was kind of a dead giveaway that he hadn't cracked it open once since last Sunday, but you had problems of your own because couldn't find matching socks. Ever.
The first act of God always happened when everybody managed to get in the car before 8:40. Sunday School was at 9:00 sharp and the main service started at 10:15. For the Lutherans, it was over by 11:14. For the Pentecostals, it was over by 1:30. All the other denominations landed somewhere in between.
Eventually, everybody who didn't have a roast in the crockpot at home made it to Marie Callender's or Furr's Cafeteria or Sizzler at some point in the afternoon. And after that?
We all observed the Lord's Day, regardless of whatever steeple we worshiped beneath, by taking naps. Sending everybody to bed for two hours was considered keeping the Sabbath and making it holy.
At least, that's the memo I got. It didn't exactly inspire.
As an adult, one who still stretches herself six ways to... Sunday... I ran headlong into my life, my goals, my ambitions, my agenda, and my schedule without a backward glance. With two careers, I worked seven days a week. Five days a week, I taught my kiddos. The other two days, I wrote books as well as this blog you've hopefully subscribed to, ran an online publication called RAIN Magazine for a few years, did editing work, hustled speaking gigs, and worked social media like a boss.
I hadn't had a nap in 37 years.
No respite. No downtime. No suspension of activity.
It worked out great--nothing that six-month stint on Zoloft couldn't get a handle on. Besides, Sabbath was some Old Testament thing they used to do. I had no idea as to its purpose in my life or the gift that it really was. IS.
So this was my shocked face when my pastor started teaching about Sabbath.
As it turns out, Sabbath isn't about pot roast and naps. I have learned loads about Sabbath and now I pretty well slather in it once a week, which is why I'm writing about it for the entire month of August.
It really is a gift, y'all. For you. For me. For all of us.
See you next week.
And subscribe to the blog -- you'll get one free download of either Juxtaposed or Hope Givers which you can keep for yourself or give to a friend.
Really!
Daisy Rain Martin is an author, speaker, advocate, and educator as well as a founding member of The Flying M-Inklings Writing Group. She lives with her husband, Sean-Martin, in the beautiful state of Idaho and teaches English and Literature during the school year to the best 7th graders the world over. Daisy spends her summers writing, speaking, researching, creating, gardening, and canning.
Hope Givers: Hope is Here, is the sequel, of sorts, to her comedic, spiritual memoir, Juxtaposed: Finding Sanctuary on the Outside, which was her publisher's (Christopher Matthews) #1 top selling book in 2012. She has also written a free e-book for anyone who has or is currently being sexually abused called, If It’s Happened to You, which appears in its entirety in Hope Givers. Please follow her weekly blog, SATURDAISIES, which addresses a plethora of current issues including child advocacy, all things hilarious, and matters of the heart. She would love for you to join the Rainy Dais Community by friending her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.
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