What Time Is It?

I can’t do 24/7. Not even 24/6. If I add in sleep, it’s more like 16/6, if I sabbath.

Before I started observing the Sabbath, I controlled my time tightly. Sabbath forces me into a circular rhythm, rather than an endless straight line. Morning and evening. Summer and winter. Round and round. The week waxes and wanes like the seasons, and asks me to join in the dance.

Autumn is turning my trees gold and russet and espresso. Winter will strip them bare. Then they will kelly up for spring. By the end of summer, they will look tired, ready for a cool rain.

So on the Sabbath, I notice the seasons of my soul, like I notice the trees. We are both moving through space, being changed in our rootedness. My Sabbath isn’t fixed, but is fluid, like time itself. I can’t grasp the tesseract — I can only step into the flow of eternity.

Sabbath is the day I ask, What time is it? and look out the window or in my heart for the answer.

Comments

  1. Beautiful!

  2. peace

  3. You have some great stuff.
    I’m going to include links and summaries of your blog and comments over at the Group Writing Project, “What about Rest” at http://www.redletterbelievers.com

    Keep reminding us !

Trackbacks

  1. […] a critical element of not only my week, but also of my everyday. Megan Willome reminded me in this poetic reflection on Sabbath.  And Red Letter Believers has been reminding me through a series of posts. You can […]

Speak Your Mind

*