"Lego Garden," by Isaac Snook
Our family's Sabbath practice is a bit of a moving target. Sometimes, we practice Sabbath on Friday night and finish it up on Saturday night. Sometimes, we practice Sabbath on Saturday night and finish on Sunday night. The day that we practice Sabbath, we have found, isn't as important as the actual practice of it. Sabbath has become not only something we look forward to each week, but something that helps us through each week.
Our eleven-year old son has been interested in archery since reading about Legolas in the Lord of the Rings. Some of his friends at school told him that they had actually fired some guns and shot some bows in their hunter's safety class. It sounded like fun to him, so I signed him up and we attended the class together. It quickly became clear, however, that this was not the same stirring class his friends had been talking about. This class went from 6-10 PM on Friday and 8:30-4:30 PM on Saturday. There was no shooting of guns or bows. Not here. This was a lecture.
But we made it through knowing that Sabbath was coming.
And while we were learning the difference between lever-action and bolt-action rifles, our two younger sons (and their mother) were busy sorting Lego bricks. Over the years in our home, many Lego sets had been assembled, disassembled, reassembled, and disassembled again into a confusing conflation of individual bricks scattered between hither and yon. This disparate assembly was regathered, sorted by color and by size, and then placed into long-empty bins. It has hard, tedious work.
But they made it through knowing Sabbath was coming.
After hunter's safety and Lego sorting, my wife and I met for a couple of hours of tiling in the kitchen. Oh! The interminable kitchen project.
But we made it through knowing Sabbath was coming.
We finally stopped our saturnine strains and embraced the Sabbath. We had a beautiful dinner coupled with a cacophonous conversation with our oldest son brandishing his newly-minted hunter's safety card our youngest sons showing off their latest Lego masterpieces. (See above.)
It was soon time to go to bed. The boys were happy. Their parents were tired. It felt like the kingdom and we slept in peace.
And we were able to sleep in a little on Sunday. My wife preached and sang in the choir at a little church that was so appreciative of her gifts. After worship, we enjoyed a potluck meal. Our oldest son enjoyed two pieces of pecan pie. Our middle son savored the pumpkin. Our youngest son used pie as a vehicle for whipped cream. There was food for both the body and soul. It felt like the kingdom. God smiled on that little place and bestowed it with His righteousness.
We came home and put on our comfortable clothes and carved our pumpkins. During the remains of the day, I know that there was an argument or two between brothers and a reminder of chores and homework that still needed to be done. But what I remember about our Sabbath day was the episodic and spontaneous peals of laughter reverberating through our home. It was LOUD, and it felt like the kingdom. God had blessed our day with joy.
I sometimes wonder about my vocation. I sometimes wonder if I have been a good steward of God's gifts. I sometimes wonder if I am missing something. But sometimes, especially with Sabbath practice, there are those moments when God's kingdom sneaks into this unlikely life. The doubts dissipate in the assurance that I am where I need to be and I am what I need to be. Sitting on the couch, beside the mother of our own Legolas, surrounded by stray Legos, and in the presence of smiling Jack O'lanterns, I know that my life, at that moment, is pleasing to God and approved by men .
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