Wonderstruck by Margaret Feinberg Page B

reflection.
    A church gathering.
    A book read in pinches throughout the day.
    A meal with dear friends.
    An afternoon nap.
    An early bedtime.
    I discovered the Sabbath isn’t about what is done or left undone as much as breathing in the goodness of God. The more I inhaled, the more I desired another long breath.
    Setting apart one day each week required forethought. Sometimes it’s easy to read the story of creation and think that on the seventh day God’s work was done, but really God’s work had only just begun. Yet God chose to break anyway. That’s an important detail because on the evening before the Sabbath I, too, discover how much more could be done. I can’t run headfirst into the Sabbath sanctuary and expect to find deep spiritual replenishment; rather, I’ve had to learn how to develop a relaxed stroll. Slowing my pace has to begin a day or two before as I make sure the houseis relatively clean, the dryer empty, the clothes semi-neatly folded so these chores don’t niggle at me during the day of rest.
    One Sabbath lingers in my mind as especially meaningful. I awoke that morning, crawled out of bed, and opened the blinds before nestling back in bed with a long s-t-r-e-t-c-h. Through the window, I imbibed the beauty of the indigo sky. Expressions of worship and adoration naturally flowed as I reflected on God’s goodness. I lay in the stillness for some time before following the sweet tangy scent of simmering green chili into the kitchen. Lifting the lid of the Crock-Pot, I inhaled the zesty deliciousness. Then I plucked a tangerine from the fruit bowl and joined Leif on the living room couch where he shared the details of a zany dream from the night before involving Secret Service agents and a speedboat. We chatted for some time before becoming absorbed in reading—he dove into his book on the fear of the Lord while I relished a commentary on the Gospel of John.
    The allure of the green chili chicken became irresistible. 3 With the meal prepared the day before, cooking on the Sabbath becomes an option rather than necessity. I heated a handful of white corn tortillas. We sat gathered around our kitchen table to eat and pray. Then we both took time to engage in life-giving activities. Our choices couldn’t be more different. Leif caught up with friends on PlayStation; I reflected and prayed during a long hike. That evening we gathered in the kitchen for another round of chili before watching a light-hearted comedy together.
    The Sabbath is a reflection of so many attributes and characteristics of God—his love, goodness, wisdom, holiness, and sovereignty to name just a few. Through Sabbath, I rediscover God as the source of peace amid activity, the source of quiet in the noise, the sustainer of my soul. Though this particular day wasn’t marked by any spiritual epiphany or profound moments, when I crawled into bed that evening, I sensed the sweet smile of God on my life. In Sabbath, I unwrapped the culmination of the good gifts God had been longing for me to experience all along. In a mere twenty-four hours, God enhanced everything from my perspective to my energy level to my appreciation of others. The day renewed my joy in the beautiful gift of God called life.
    Sabbath became an extension of the rhythm of rest God was working into every area of my life. This weekly spiritual practice shifted from a negotiable to a non-negotiable—a holy moment when I practiced establishing healthy boundaries with myself, others, and God. At times I still struggle to distinguish between the borders of work and play and rest. I accidentally bump the up arrow rather than the down arrow on the treadmill. But the mistakes I make one day can be redeemed the next.
    Looking back on the transformation that came through choosing to embrace rest, I’m shocked that such small changes could have such an enormous impact. Yet they’re changes that almost anyone can make. We can choose to develop a healthy rhythm and learn to