I went to the grocery store today. I tried not to–really. But I needed cookies for church tonight, and fresh-rolled sushi sounded good after skipping lunch. I left half-confessing, half-justifying my $10.67 purchase. It was an imperfect Sabbath.
It always will be, for my rest here is only “a preparation for the eternal rest promised to Your people in heaven,” as the Book of Common Prayer says. All I know is that the more I prepare for this little-r rest, the more I long for the capital-R rest of Heaven.
It doesn’t sound boring anymore. In fact, as I wrestle with the fact that at least three members of my family are likely to go there this very year, it sounds downright wonderful. Why aren’t their bags packed? Why aren’t they holding their tickets in their hands? Why aren’t they ready?
I have to think that observing the Sabbath will make it easier to let go. When my whistle sounds, I’ll drop everything. I’ll wait in my Father’s house for him to fetch me. He promised he would come Soon.
