August

Summer is finally slowing down and stretching out, like long shadows on a lazy afternoon. June and July were energetic. Three different VBS weeks, baseball, family camp, drama, church activities. We practically ran from one event to the other, powered by the drugs of early morning sunshine and fresh cut grass.

But eventually, the adrenaline wears off and tempers wear thin. Structure, even fun structure, becomes a prison. And so we limped into August and fell head-first into a calendar filled with nothing but white space.

So here we are, week three of August. We have three weeks of summer vacation left. And I'm starting to feel my shoulders relax and come down from their perch by my ears. These are the days when I make plans with friends because the openness of our days scares me a little, when I let the kids stay up until 11:00 to watch family videos, when I say, "Oh, all right" when asked if they can have a treat after eating a paltry serving of vegetables.

This is the summer Sabbath. A time to rest, for sure. To recharge and refresh. But also to celebrate and enjoy the work of our hands. August is when I remember how much I like being with my kids when we have no demands intruding on us. It's when I treasure the simplicity of life as it is right now, when I have enough silence in my soul to behold it. Little ones in fresh-smelling pajamas. Connor and Natalie laughing over a video. The sound of lullabies competing with the hush of the trees after dark.

These are the days I wish August could last forever.

Practicing Sabbath

This post was originally published at my friend Megan's blog, as part of her beloved Lenten series Waiting Tables.



If you read Laura Ingalls Wilder iconic "Little House in the Big Woods" at some point in your life, you probably remember the following story.

Pa told it to Laura one Sunday, when she dared to run and play with her dog Jack after dinner, before the sun had set, when Sabbath was still being honored and no fun or work allowed. Rather than punish her, Pa took her in his arms and told her about a Sunday when her grandpa and his two older brothers could not endure the continual sitting and quiet Sabbath seemingly required either. The day before, they had finished work on a beauty of a new sled. But since they finished it after dark, they hadn't been able to use it. And despite their noses being in catechism books and their bodies being on a bench besides their father reading the Bible, all they could think about was that sled. So when they saw their father fall asleep, with his head on the back of the chair, the boys silently filed out of the room, out to the shed where their new sled sat waiting. They intended to slide it just once, silently, and then head right back inside. But as fate would have it, a big black pig stepped into their path just as they neared their house, and since they couldn't stop or turn, that pig ended up on the sled with the boys. "Squeeeee! Squeeee!" went the pig, the rest of the way down the hill. The boys could see their father standing in the window, watching them, as they swooshed past the house carrying the screeching hog. When the ride was over, the boys put the sled away, slunk back indoors to find their father reading his Bible. No words were exchanged. But that night, when the sun set on the Sabbath, he took them out to the woodshed where he "tanned their jackets."

Pa ended by saying, "So you see, Laura and Mary, you may find it hard to be good, but you should be glad that it isn't as hard to be good now as it was when Grandpa was a boy."

We laugh, but it has a ring of truth to it, even today in 2014. Sabbath may no longer demand 24 hours of sitting still. But it can feel like one more task on our to do list, one more badge we need to earn. Stifling. Boring. Rigid. A burden.

But that, my friends, is not Sabbath. That is the bare bones of the animal, picked dry and brittle by the devouring vultures of legalism. True Sabbath is a lithe, laughing, gentle beast, that woos us to come and play.

Sabbath is supposed to be the best day of the week, not the worst.

I know this, because three years ago, God gave me a year to study and practice and absorb what He means by Sabbath. To get the healing shalom of it right down into my marrow. It has become gift to me. Grace. I do not always observe it well, and certainly, I do not do it to the extent I would wish. But I do live by its rhythm and rhyme. And it has changed me.

So this Lent, if you want to make Sabbath part of your commitment, I want to bless you and give you a high five and a hug and say, "It's worth it. It's worth it."

And if I may humbly direct your gaze to the aspect of Sabbath that most surprised me, consider this: Sabbath is about delight.

Dan Allendar, in his book Sabbath, writes. "Sabbath is our play day - not as a break from the routine of work, but as a feast that celebrates the superabundance of God's creative love."

Does that make your breath catch a little? Sabbath is designed to restore us, to renew us. To let us set aside the drudgery of the every day and allow ourselves to wallow in delight.

So I ask the question: What delights you? What restores you?

And while you ponder the answer, let me stir this into the mix. In my favorite Sabbath book, author Mark Buchanan said Sabbath's golden rule is "to cease from that which is necessary." Don't do what you ought to do. If it something you must do, that you feel an obligation toward, then it is work and not restorative. Choose something that you want to do, something that makes you come alive.

Sabbath is a reprieve from what you ought to do, even though the list of oughts is infinitely long and never done. Oughts are tyrants, noisy and surly, chronically dissatisfied. Sabbath is the day you trade places with them: they go into the salt mine, and you go out dancing. It's the one day when the only thing you must do is to not do the things you must. You are given permission - issued a command, to be blunt - to turn your back on all those oughts. You get to willfully ignore the many niggling things your existence genuinely depends on - and is often hobbled beneath - so that you can turn to whatever you've put off and pushed away for a lack of time, lack of room, lack of breath. You get to shuck the have-tow and lay hold of the get-tos.

Keep in mind: what restores me may not restore you. And what restores me this week may smell like an "ought-to" next week. Many Sabbath celebrations are built on routine: the lighting of candles, the breaking of bread, the singing of praises and wonder. But there is also a continual discovery to it, a creativity that all things made new.

A few practical tips:

1. It doesn't have to be Saturday.
For centuries, the Jewish people have celebrated Sabbath from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. After Jesus' resurrection, the early church moved the celebration to Sunday. But let's be honest: for many of us, Sundays are not a restful day. So don't celebrate Sabbath then. Pick a day, or an afternoon, or an hour, when you can create the space necessary for Sabbath to breathe.

2. Let the themes of rest, renewal and restoration guide you.
Answer the question: What restores me? What would rest look like at this point in my life? I heard one man who leads Sabbath retreats say many of his participants fall asleep during the first session of quiet, and then wake up, horrified and embarrassed. He always reassures them it is good to sleep, for it means they finally feel safe enough to let go and surrender to their weariness. Maybe what you need most is a good, long nap.

3. It might take some work to truly rest.
If you truly want to carve out time to rest and restore, you will probably have to prepare in advance to get the most out of your time. If you've ever seen "Fiddler on the Roof," you've seen this play out. Everyone hurries, hurries, hurries on Friday to get all the shopping done, the house cleaned, the food cooked, the animals fed so that they can stop at sundown and Sabbath for the next 24 hours without the most pesky "oughts" bothering them.

4. If you have young children at home, you might need to get creative.
I hear the heart cry of every young parent at this moment, because I'm right there too: How in the world do I do this with young kids at home? My answer: I don't know, exactly. As I've worked at incorporating Sabbath into my own life over the past few years, I've found that I can't expect a full 24 hours at this stage of my life. Sometimes, my husband and I will trade a few hours on the weekend to give each other space to Sabbath. Sometimes, I create my own space during the week by placating my kids with Netflix and Goldfish. Sometimes, Sabbath is more about an attitude for me than a physical expression. Even that is healing and restorative for me. Baby steps. Because every move toward Sabbath is a good one.

Rest for the Weary

Source: flickr.com via Kelly on Pinterest

I crawled into bed just before 10:00 last night, utterly exhausted, weariness replacing gravity as the pull on my body.

The week, it's been a long one. The post-cruise vertigo is getting better, but at an almost imperceptible rate. Corey is out of town. I'm solo-parenting four kids who are wrung out after a week of go-go-go vacation. Kieran's body clock is messed up, so he keeps getting up in the middle of the night declaring it morning. Natalie started swim team this week, adding two nights of after-school practices to schedule already packed with make-up homework. Everyone is stressed and short, emotions and bodies pulled taut by a week of Too Much.

So it's understandable that I would run for bed as soon as I got the kids all tucked in. But as I sank into my flannel sheets last night, I heard a little voice in my ear.

"It's not even ten o'clock. Shouldn't you at least pick up the toy explosion in the playroom?" it whispered, condescension coloring its tone.

I brushed it away. "So sick of toys," I muttered back.

The voice tried again. "What about your blog? Shouldn't you at least write for 30 minutes before you turn in?"

I stared blankly. Weakly. The pressure was starting to build.

"Or at least get up and watch Downton Abbey. You're already two episodes behind. Besides, if you catch up, you won't have to be on the alert for spoilers everywhere you look."

I fidgeted under my down comforter, trying to squirm away from my overachiever, productive, perfectionist temperament.

Why can't I just rest?

That was my answer to the voice.

I need to rest. I'm tired. Right now, I choose being over doing.

The voice slunk away, murmuring a little as it went.

I picked up my dog-eared copy of Bittersweet. Shauna Niequist has been my steady bedtime companion for weeks now, and her true, witty and always hopeful words redirect my heart. They remind me of what matters.

And it's not that there are toys on the playroom floor.

By the time I set the book down and turn off the light, I'm at rest.

Sabbath Mode

Source: zsazsabellagio.blogspot.de via Kelly on Pinterest

Saturday afternoon, my fridge stopped working.

I was bewildered. The freezer was still humming away. The power wasn't off. No fuses had tripped. What would make the fridge go dark?

I turned to Google. And while it didn't help me solve the problem, I learned something unique about my appliance: It has an optional Sabbath mode, which puts the fridge in a temporary shut-down state. When the Sabbath mode is on, the fridge's lights won't turn on, the compressor won't run, even the ice-maker won't function. In this way, an orthodox Jew can still open the fridge to get a drink without causing the fridge to work and thus breaking the commandment to rest on Shabbat. Even ovens, dishwashers and lamps can be sold Sabbath-observant, I discovered.

I love my Jewish brothers and sisters, and their centuries-long commitment to keeping the Sabbath. They have sustained something mysterious and beautiful and dedicated to God's commandment. I believe that the Church has missed something precious by walking away from the Sabbath ritual.

But I also think, an over focus on the law causes us to miss the heart.

Sabbath, to me, is more than rest. It is restoration and renewal.

Yesterday, I celebrated Sabbath. I didn't take a nap or bake a cake or sit quietly and contemplate.

Instead, I cleaned my house.

The last two weeks, I've had family here from Colorado. We spent days at the beach and evenings at the park and we swam in the pool and ate ice cream after every meal just because. We picked strawberries and made pie and went to bed only when it was dark and drank strong coffee when the little ones arose with the sun.

It was the best kind of exhausting exhilaration.

And today? Today marks the beginning of VBS at our church. So I will be out the door early every morning this week, herding my own children to a building with 200 others so we can praise God together.

So yesterday, I needed a day in-between. I needed a day to right the ship and restore order to my world. I needed some soul quiet, a chance for me to encounter God in these quotidian mysteries.

So I washed sheets and towels. I cleaned toilets. I wiped my hair off the bathroom counter and dog hair off the floor. I scrubbed milk spots off the oven doors and I deadheaded the petunias. I pulled a lasagna out of the freezer, put there for just such a day, and baked it for dinner.

And then, when the work was done, and I was sweaty and sore, I put on my bathing suit and jumped into the pool with the kids and laughed at Kieran's belief that he can swim and clapped at Teyla's new doggy paddles. I cheered Connor's cannon balls and marveled at Natalie's lean legs standing straight up in the air during an underwater handstand.

Corey helped me carry plates and cups outside for dinner, and we ate lasagna and salad and strawberries on the patio as the sun set behind the pine trees. And the kids ran around on the lawn and tackled each other and shrieked in delight (and sometimes in frustration, let's keep it real).

By nightfall, when I took a shower and climbed between clean sheets, I was completely refreshed. Even though I hadn't stopped moving all day.

It was a great Sabbath.

Last year, my word was Sabbath. So I wrote about it, a lot, including the entire month of October, which you can read by clicking on the 31 Days of Sabbath button on the sidebar. But apparently, I'm not quite done.

Remember

I had almost forgotten the blessing of not doing.

This afternoon, when Kieran went down for a late nap, I did not sit at my computer and work on one of my Orphan Summit posts. I did not edit pictures or check in with Facebook or bake banana bread or fold laundry or try to figure out why I cannot get the toilet in the bathroom to stop smelling like pee. (I clean it and clean it and clean it and it's driving me crazy!)

Instead, I grabbed my favorite outdoor blanket and headed for the backyard, where the sun and trees were making lacy patterns on the turf. I laid down and inhaled the bright green smell of freshly mowed grass and I listened to the birds sing and I faintly heard a plane trace a line in the bright blue sky. I felt my pulse slow and I felt an ant zig zag it's way across my foot. (At least, I hope it was an ant. That's my preferred version.) And without even recognizing it, I fell asleep, thanking God for the sacrament of Sabbath.

Maybe this summer, as the days stretch long and the breeze becomes a friend, I will make a point to be not do for a time every day.

Because when I do, my soul returns and my heart is made whole and I remember.

Sick - 31 Days of Sabbath : 20

Teyla has been sick this week. An on-again, off-again fever. Circles under her eyes. A slightly runny nose. General lethargy. Enough whine to host her own weekend tasting.

So naturally – but uncharacteristically – she sleeps. Three times this week, she’s taken 2.5 hour naps. She’s gone to bed each night stifling yawns and fallen asleep almost immediately. And this is the girl who didn’t even nap as a baby, who reluctantly accepts her destiny of sleep only after the clock strikes 10, most nights.

Sleep is powerful. It’s restorative. Our bodies heal best while asleep. Our brains reset. A good night’s sleep spurs creativity, improves memory, sharpens attention, even helps reign in our appetite. It’s a miracle drug.

So why do we spurn it?

God created us to need rest. Need. It’s not supposed to be an occasional thing we dabble in, a treat we squeeze into our busy lives when we have a few free hours.

It’s both pitiful and sobering that it takes sickness before many of us will accept God’s mandate.

If we do not allow for a rhythm of rest in our overly busy lives, illness becomes our Sabbath – our pneumonia, our cancer, our heart attack, our accidents create Sabbath for us. In my relationships with people suffering from cancer, AIDS and other life-threatening illness, I am always struck by the mixture of sadness and relief they experience when illness interrupts their overly busy lives. While each shares their particular fears and sorrows, almost every one confesses some secret gratefulness. “Finally,” they say, “at last. I can rest.”
-Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives, Wayne Muller

Does that quote sucker-punch you like it does me?

I remember living like that.

Fifteen years ago, I worked as a TV news producer. My husband was a busy executive. We helped lead a group of young marrieds at our church. I was involved in the drama ministry. Corey played softball, religiously. We lived a typical, crazy, whirlwind busy Southern California lifestyle.

Rest? That was an after-thought. I indulged in a Sunday afternoon nap, occasionally. That was good enough, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t. My journals from that time reveal it: Whenever I got sick, I would sit still and pray and read my Bible and reflect. I would sense an emptiness in my soul that I couldn’t feel when I was moving. Sickness was my gift, a chance for me to sleep and be with God. I remember, even then, feeling sad that it took illness for me to rest.

I don’t live like that anymore. Rest is no longer a luxury. It is a necessity.

And oh. It’s also a command.

I don’t want to have to get sick in order to obey it.

Mondays as Sabbath - 31 Days of Sabbath : 19

For many years now, Mondays have been my day of Sabbath.

It isn't because Mondays are a day of rest; the opposite, actually. Mondays are when I reorder my life that has been upended by the weekend. I clean house, do laundry, bake bread. I wear yoga pants and slippers. I make lists and brainstorm menus and sometimes, I take a shower before bed just because it's what clean sheets demand.

But here's what I don't do: I don't do anything outside of the house. I don't sign up for Bible studies or swimming lessons or even library story hour on Mondays. My day is commitment-free. I don't answer my phone unless I want to. I try to stay away from screens, preferring instead to immerse myself in the real world and do work that makes my muscles ache and my soul settle.

It's funny how refreshed I feel by Monday nights. Maybe rest doesn't have as much to do with work as we think it does.

True Transformation - 31 Days of Sabbath : 18

Sabbath is easier to write about than it is to live.

I don’t know why this surprises me. You’d think years of Bible study in which fun, uplifting, encouraging lessons gets kneaded into my life in a gritty, painful, blisters-on-the-soul kind of way would have taught me something.

But it always comes as a bit of a shock.

You mean, it’s takes work?

Yesterday, we attempted a family-wide Sabbath for the first time ever. The two main rules were: No screens, and no work that felt obligatory. Corey and the kids did great. Kieran took a long nap, Corey took Natalie and Connor and built a small workbench, Teyla and I colored and painted and did puzzles. Everyone else seemed to have a great day of being together, resting from work and delighting in God’s many gifts.

But I was restless. Like a dog with a bone, my mind gnawed on the coming week, trying to fit together the tasks that need to get done. I didn’t have food prepared ahead of time, so dinner ended up being leftovers. I kept gravitating toward my phone to check the weather, check the hours of the local library, look up that recipe. I felt (dare I say it?) bored.

Part of my issues – I can’t type that word without putting mental finger quotes around it – can be addressed by preparing more for my day of rest. It would benefit me to have some of my week laid out before I try to set everything aside; otherwise, the details that I normally control turn around and control me. It would be wise to have an easy meal planned. It would also be helpful for me to have some plans for the littles and me. Maybe a craft? Maybe a letter writing extravaganza to our sponsored kids? Maybe we plan an act of kindness to do anonymously that week? I think I would do better with structure. I rest best within a framework of order.

But even though yesterday was more stressful than restful for me, I will not let this go. Because now I have an appetite for God’s rest. This is the fruit of 10 months of Sabbath study. My mind is being transformed. And that is half the battle.

Under God's economy, nothing really changes until our minds do. Transformation is the fruit of a changed outlook. First our minds are renewed, and then we are transformed, and then everything is different, even if it stays the same.
- The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath, Mark Buchanan

Application - 31 Days of Sabbath : 17

Tonight at dinner, I proposed to my family that tomorrow, we practice Sabbath.

"But I have homework!" shrieked Natalie with alarm.

Ah yes. There is always an obstacle to rest and delight, isn't there? But as our pastor pointed out last week, information alone doesn't bring transformation. Application brings transformation.

So tomorrow, we apply. The rubber meets the road. I have celebrated Sabbath in my own way, on my own time. But as a family unit?

Never.

I am aware tomorrow will not be a day of perfection, when children miraculously get along and I bake homemade bread for lunch and Corey lets me take a long afternoon nap and we hold a 90-minute prayer meeting and devotional at bedtime.

But I do hope the day is free from striving, that the work we do -- the nitty-gritty parenting work of changing diapers and emptying cereal bowls, of packing Monday lunches and even double-checking homework -- will be marked by a spirit of thankfulness. I want to ignore the obligations and revel in the present.

And I want my family to do it with me. I am praying the spirit of Sabbath woos our hearts and creates an appetite for her weekly blessing.

Candles - 31 Days of Sabbath : 16

In October, in Minnesota, our daily quota of light decreases. Dusk comes, not at bath time, but at dinner time. The sun's rays slant sideways, and the golden light is beautiful but lukewarm.

It is now that I light my candles.

(My favorite trio, shining nightly next to our front door. Originally posted on Instagram.)

It's an autumn ritual for me. Who needs the flickering flames when the sun shines bright until 10:00 PM? It is when the darkness closes in that I crave the light. Even tiny candles like the votives above speak comfort to me. They are a sign of the season, the annual rhythm that marks our life here in the Upper Midwest. Symbols of life slowing, of the coming exhale, of the time to rest.

Shabbath candles have a similar significance.

In the Jewish tradition, after ritual bathing, the woman of the household lights the two Sabbath candles, offering a blessing. When you light your candles, offer any blessing that reflects the thoughts of your heart.

May our hearts be lifted, our spirits refreshed , as we light the Sabbath candles. May the light fill our home with kindness and peace. Blessed is the loving Spirit by whose power we consecrate the lighting of these candles.

Like the sounding of a bell that calls the monks to meditation, as the lighting of the candles begins the Mass, as the lighting of the candles begins Sabbath time, so does the lighting of these candles call our souls to rest and delight.
- Sabbath, by Wayne Muller

Tonight, around 5:30, I will go around my house and light my candles. Today isn't Sabbath. But for just a moment, I will stop and pray and thank God for His many gifts. In this way, I celebrate a Sabbath moment.

All because of tiny candles.

Guilt - 31 Days of Sabbath : 15

I'm falling behind in my 31 Days of Sabbath series. Ironically, it's because I'm resting.

And while I doubt you've noticed, I've noticed. I'm embarrassed and squirmy and even a tad guilt-ridden about it.

Which is ridiculous, no? To feel guilty about resting during a series on the Sabbath.

But this is where we are, as a culture. This is where I am, as a person. Even after 10 months of reading and studying and praying about Sabbath, I have an uneasy peace with doing something as simple as falling asleep in Teyla's bed while I wait for Miss Bundle of Energy to calm down. (I did it twice more since Saturday, for the record.)

I suppose the good news, if I'm going to be completely honest, is that I'm learning to stop anyway. After all, I did allow myself the luxury of taking unintended Sabbaths after a Week O' Crazy instead of forcing myself to stay awake and post. I read a few extra books to Kieran when he asked, and I listened to Natalie's story about school the other morning instead of turing on my computer, and I stopped typing just a few minutes ago to "taste" the Play-Dough shake Connor brought to me. (It was delicious, by the way. Sour blue raspberry with lemon swirl on top.)

And I'm learning to shrug off the guilt, because God says rest is good. And I'm believing God, not my culture.

Life Saver - 31 Days of Sabbath : 14

Today, I am celebrating Sabbath. Not because I want to, but because I will crack completely if I don’t.

The last 10 days have been the busiest of fall, stuffed with fun like a scarecrow full of straw. We went Up North for a long weekend with Corey’s parents. An hour after we got home last Sunday, my parents, my sister and her three children arrived to stay with us for a week. We hosted a gathering for my parents to share about their new ministry and we ate at my families favorite Twin Cities restaurants (I lost track of how many times Emily ate at Café Latte last week) and we relished watching all seven cousins playing together under one roof. We went to Trader Joe's and the Minnesota Children's Museum and Teddy Bear Park. Everyone was gone by Friday night, just in time for us to celebrate Connor’s 8th birthday Saturday by hosting six boys here for a spy party. (I realized this weekend that I have thrown 22 birthday parties in my 10 years of parenting. Maybe next October I’ll do 31 days of Birthday Parties.)

Bottom line, as Corey would surely be saying to me right now, complete with that hand motion that says Get To The Point: We’re tired. Even good busy is busy.

This morning, at church, where I was manning our church’s Pumpkin Patch sign-up table, Natalie sided up to me and said, “So what are we doing today?”

Nothing, child. Nothing.

Sabbath is the healing I need. Today, it's not just a choice. It's saving my life.

A Jewish Sabbath - 31 Days of Sabbath : 13

A few days ago, I read a quote from Eugene Peterson (who is really responsible for starting me on this Sabbath journey) that I can't stop thinking about. In response to a question about how we slow down, he said:

There’s one book which I think is indispensable for convincing you [Sabbath is important] - Abraham Heschel’s book, The Sabbath. If you read that book three times, you will think, “There is no way I cannot keep the Sabbath. If I’m going to honor God, I’ve got to keep a Sabbath.” It’s a paperback, inexpensive. If the commandments don’t convince you, which they should, Heschel should do it. (Emphasis mine)

I immediately added The Sabbath to my Amazon cart. It came today. And I'm already entranced.

The author's daughter wrote the foreword. Her description of the family's weekly Sabbath observance makes me hunger for this sort of tradition for my own family. For me.

Friday evenings in my home were the climax of the week, as they are for every religious Jewish family. My mother and I kindled the lights for the Sabbath, and all of a sudden, I felt transformed, emotionally and even physically. ...

The sense of peace that came upon us as we kindled the lights was created, in part, by the hectic tension of Fridays. Preparation for a holy day, my father often said, was as important as the day itself. During the busy mornings, my mother shopped for groceries, and in the afternoons, the atmosphere grew increasingly nervous as she cooked. My father came home from his office an hour or two before sunset to take care of his own preparations, and as the last minutes of the workweek came to a close, both of my parents were in the kitchen, frantically trying to remember what they might have forgotten to prepare. ...

Then, suddenly, it was time: twenty minutes before sunset. Whatever hadn't been finished in the kitchen we simply left behind as we lit the candles and blessed the arrival of the Sabbath My father writes: "The Sabbath comes like a caress, wiping away fear, sorrow and somber memories."

Don't you love that?

I will write more in the coming days about the intersection of Sabbath theory and Sabbath reality -- and intersection that is quite messy and congested for me, since I didn't grow up with a Sabbath tradition and I'm a mom to little ones.

But for now, I will just wrap that picture of Sabbath around me like a fuzzy fleece blanket and let it warm me all the way to my soul.

Unintended Sabbath - 31 Days of Sabbath : 12

I just fell asleep in Teyla's bed.

It's the involuntary consequence of lying down next to a clean, cuddly three-year-old in a darkened room after a triple reading of Apple Trouble at the tail end of an exhausting day.

I thought I was snuggling. Turns out, I was celebrating an unintended Sabbath. Instead of fighting the tiredness, I gave in to it and let it to overtake me like a oceanic tide. I sighed and wrapped my arms around Teyla's frame and I slept. (For at least a few minutes.)

Almost every Sabbath book I've read this past year has a story like this one from Wayne Muller.

When I gather with friends and colleagues for Sabbath retreats, those courageous few who manage to carve out a day or a weekend for quiet reflection often arrive thoroughly exhausted. By the afternoon, some inevitably fall asleep right in the middle of our meditations. When they awaken they quickly apologize for their spiritual transgressions; they feel ashamed and embarrassed. I reassure them it is good when they sleep. It is a sign of trust, that they feel safe enough finally to let go and surrender to their weariness.

Allowing myself to admit I'm tired, feeling the ache in my bones and my feet, thanking God for a warm bed and even the tasks that created my weariness - these are echoes of Sabbath rest.

When was the last time you consciously chose to let yourself sleep, even when you had other things to do?

Unitasking - 31 Days of Sabbath : 11

It started because I was tired of calling my kids the wrong name.

“Na .. Con .. you! You on the couch!”

All moms do it at some point. But for me, it had become an epidemic. A little self-examination, and I diagnosed a scattered brain. My black belt multitasking skills had chopped up my concentration. I couldn’t focus to save my life. Even when I was sitting still, my mind was chasing thoughts that flew like scraps of paper in a windstorm.

The phenomenon isn’t unique to me. The last few years, a myriad of studies says multitasking isn't as efficient as we want to believe, that the deluge of data we face every day drastically affects our ability to focus. Stanford researchers found multitaskers "do not pay attention, control their memory or switch from one job to another as well as those who prefer to complete one task at a time." One of the world's leading brain scientist even believes the technology barrage is "rewiring our brain," that while the multitasking stops, our thinking remains fractured. (Wondering how your brain is doing? You can test your focus here.)

There are many strategies to combat this. I would gently suggest Sabbath should be at the top of our list. For what is a day of rest but a day of learning to pay attention to what is right in front of us? Sabbath, by definition, is a time of sacred unitasking.

I tried this myself, back in August. The final three weeks of summer, I tried to do only one thing at a time. No checking Twitter while I waited for the Star Tribune site to load. No looking at the forecast at a red light. No reading blogs while listening to Connor tell me a story. I even turned off my beloved Pandora so I wouldn't be distracted while cooking dinner.

I'll be honest with you: It was a hard three weeks. My brain has almost completely lost the ability to focus. Even without outside distractions, I would find myself standing in the middle of my closet, with a blank look on my face, wondering why I was in there. I would daydream when I tried to play with my kids. And yes, I still got their names wrong, occasionally.

But. I got them right more than usual. In the end, I found my unitasking experiment taught me the following things:

1. I can only do one thing at a time. No. Really. I might think I can do two things a a time, but I'm really just switching back and forth between two tasks. All those times I called one of my kid by the wrong name? It was almost always because I was talking distracted.

2. Social media is a blessing and a curse. I am grateful for the friendships I nurture on Twitter and Facebook. But because both streams of information update in real-time, I find it impossible not to sneak a peak whenever I am the slightest bit bored. (Read: I run to my computer every five minutes.) Solution? Shut it off. The last three weeks of August, I checked Facebook and Twitter just twice a day -- once in the morning, once at night. And because I use Tweetdeck to update both, I shut the program off the rest of the time. This made it harder for me to sit at my desk and mindlessly surf Twitter -- something I realized I do a lot, to my horror. Exiting Tweetdeck also got rid of the pop-ups that announce something new is posted. Otherwise, I was -- what one researcher called -- a "sucker for irrelevancy."

3. Unitasking is hard work. It took a lot of mental energy to do only one thing at a time. And my productivity decreased, for sure. But you know what? I enjoyed life more. Once the internal swirl stilled to a mere breeze, I found it easier to be present in the moment. I noticed more, thought more, prayed more. I lived more intentionally, less on instinct. (Funny that unitasking requires intention for me, while multitasking has become default.)

4. Ultimately, I need Sabbath. Taking one day a week to unplug and set myself before the Living God is cleansing. I am reminded of how big God is, how loved I am. Life's stresses become largely irrelevant. My ship is righted. I am able to set my face toward the coming days with a quiet peace and joy, knowing that God goes before me.

My prayer is that Sabbath will renew my mind and restore my center. I don't want to live distracted. And someday, maybe someday, I will call my children by their rightful names without having to concentrate.

Let it be, Lord. Let it be.

Thanksgiving - 31 Days of Sabbath : 10

Sabbath is a nesting doll. Tucked inside are layered sibling concepts.

Mindfulness. Joy. Peace. Trust.

And at the heart of it all, thankfulness.

It is impossible to have true Sabbath without gratitude.

As I write this, my Canadian friends a few hundred miles to the north celebrate Thanksgiving. My mind naturally draws toward Ann Voskamp and her One Thousand Gifts.

What was it Ann said about eucharisteo, about how counting gifts slows the time?

When I fully enter time’s swift current, enter into the current moment with the weight of all my attention, I slow the torrent with the weight of me all here. I can slow the torrent by being all here. I only live the full life when I live fully in the moment.

And when I’m always looking for the next glimpse of glory, I slow and enter. And time slows. Weigh down this moment in time with attention full, and the whole of time’s river slows, slows, slows. ...

Giving thanks for one thousand things is ultimately an invitation to slow time down with weight of full attention. In this space of time and sphere, I am attentive, aware, accepting the whole of the moment, weighing it down with me all here.

During Sabbath, time slows. We are present, aware of what we have, not what we need. Aware of what we've been given, not what we want. God's beauty surrounds us always, and during Sabbath, we suddenly see. Like the disciples on the mount, when we become fully awake, we behold his glory.

And our hearts pour out thanks upon thanks.

A Sabbath Mood - 31 Days of Sabbath : 9

Whatever is foreseen in joy
must be lived out from day to day.
Vision held open in the dark
by our ten thousand days of work.
Harvest will fill the barn; for that
the hand must ache, the face must sweat.
And yet no leaf or grain is filled
by work of ours; the field is tilled
and left to grace. That we may reap,
great work is done while we're asleep.
When we work well, a Sabbath mood
rests on our day, and finds it good.
- Wendell Berry (a man I've come to see as the Poet Laureate of Sabbath)

The Ancient Paths - 31 Days of Sabbath : 8

We are at the North Shore again this weekend, hiking between towering pine and golden aspen and pounding surf that is the color of sea glass. The trails whisper to me. "Walk here. Behold the beauty. The Sabbath awaits."

It is a new path. But it has a wise soul.

Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. (Jeremiah 6:16)

Misunderstood - 31 Days of Sabbath : 7

You know what's hard about Sabbath?

Other people might think you are lazy.

They might think you are taking the easy way out when you say, "I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I need to rest." They might think you are un-American for not always being busy. They might believe you are looking for ways to shift responsibility. They might judge your motives or your passion or your priorities.

Ironically, the best way to free yourself from the chains of external approval is to celebrate Sabbath. For there, you find your way back to God's heart. And once again, His blessing is all that matters.

To that end, I am now going to turn off the computer and rest. Even if you think I'm being careless.

This is scary.

Counting - 31 Days of Sabbath : 6

Teyla is a spunky and bright three and a half years old now, and thus, getting quite good at counting. She usually makes it to 12 or 13 before she starts to lose her way. And then it's "14, 18, 17, 18, 15, 17, 20!"

She is delighted with herself, and it goes without saying, we are delighted with her. Learning to count is one of those basic skills of the Western preschooler. Not only does it set the foundation for early math, but it helps them to navigate the world of parental demands. "You can watch two episodes of Bubble Guppies, and then the TV goes off" or maybe "I will count to three, and if your shoes still aren't on, you will go straight to a time out."

But I sometimes wonder if we are teaching our children to count the right things. In our society, numbers are important because, with them, we count money, possessions, years. We count the number of times we've moved and the cost of a new car and how many miles we have to accrue before we can go to Hawaii.

Numbers give us the tools to assess our world. Nothing wrong with that. But do we teach our children to count most the things that are important to God? Do we number the tangible and thus give it weight, and leave the intangible to the breeze and thus render it inconsequential?

The Sabbath teaches us to count what's real.

Wayne Muller tells this story, in his book "Sabbath."

My friend Janie was visiting the home of an old potter at Santa Clara pueblo. She was admiring the enormous collection of pots her host had on display throughout his home. "How many do you have?" my friend innocently inquired. Her host lowered his eyes. "We do not count such things," he replied quietly.

During Sabbath, we stop counting. How do we count friendship or laughter? How do we count the value of honesty, or bread from the oven? How can we count the sunrise, the trusting clasp of a child's hand, a melody, a tear, a lover's touch? So many truly precious things grow only in the soil of time; and we can only begin to know their value when we stop counting.

During Sabbath, things that grow in time are honored at least as much as those things we would buy and sell. At rest, we can take deeper measure of our true wealth. If we do not rest, if we do not taste and eat and serve and teach and pray and give thanks and do all those things that grow only in time, we will become more impoverished than we will ever know.

Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:12)