Thinking, that's All: We're not in Chicago anymore

Beneath afternoon sun and clouds, only the shadows of tree leaves and branches danced besides our own, shading tiny stretches of sidewalk beneath our feet, as we walked with purpose and precision in search of lunch.

Though shops and restaurants, boutiques and businesses lined the brick-paved walkway, almost all had signs propped in windows quietly sharing a secret that those of us from the always vibrating and lively Chicagoland didn't know:

Closed Sundays.

"I guess we're not in Chicago anymore," I'd said aloud and shrugged my shoulders, half amused, half irritated.




As we walked the beautiful yet deserted streets of downtown Kalamazoo finding only a smattering of open doors, only a few other bodies moving along the streets, I felt our pace noticeably slow.

We drifted away from the task at hand and lunch as planned as we slipped into conversation and an rogue open doorway for a tea and coffee before we headed back to the cabin to make a meal of garden veggies and turkey slices that found their way into the vacation cooler we'd packed just two days before.

And somewhere amid closed doors and that one that opened, a wave of relaxation swept over me; as the sleepy city rested and breathed, I found myself doing the same.

When we returned to the cabin, nestled against the still blue waters of a little lake tucked into rolling hills just about 20 miles beyond the little-big city, I quenched my hunger for food, but the one for that feeling of deep rest lingered long in my chest.

And it left me really ready to let go of the shoulds and needs and musts for this week of scheduled family vacation -- this upcoming week where I'd told myself I'd press the brakes and take a break from all of our normal life affairs {how lucky are we that we have good friends who babysit our garden and our house and our business?!}, including writing -- my very first intentional writing sabbatical.

No deadlines. No schedules. No memes. No edits. No publishing. No work. No feedback.

Just my pen and lots of open, empty journal pages while my family and I enjoy time together and the beautiful spread of this lovely lay of far-from-home land.



Because, no, we're not in Chicago anymore.

And, you know, that was the point all along.

*****

While I'm on my hiatus from blogging, I have the privilege of introducing you to my little sister! 

Jill's going to be here all week telling stories -- like how she was a rock-star during the home-birth delivery of her daughter and maybe also about how our mother gave us mullet hair cuts when we were younger along with an apology letter she penned her sweet baby E regarding the former hair debacle and genetics. 

 She'll probably also try to tell you about the time I was pulling her in a wagon and went around a corner too fast and tipped the wagon thus breaking her finger. And she'll probably tell you I was being a little snot when I did that, and probably, you'll believe her because she's the charming, younger sister ... and if you do, we can still be friends. Because I don't blame you; she *is* charming.

She'll be hosting Bigger Picture Moments  HERE this THURSDAY, too, so be sure to come and share life Thursday this week as she hosts her first link up!

Thinking, That's All: The Space of Rest

We all quickly pour ourselves in through the door, breathing out the chaos of the day and inhaling the quiet of the space stretched out before us

Weekly we come together to slow down, to discuss life in this foreign land of busy, seven polar explorers* trying together to navigate the harsh terrain of our over-busy, over-scheduled lives in bodies that weren't meant to pushgopushpushgo.

You know that jar analogy? one of the seven asks, a half smile spread across his face. The one with the rocks and the sand and how if you put the rocks -- the big pieces of life -- into the jar first and then put the sand -- all the small, less important stuff -- in, everything fits?

The rest of us nod, all too familiar with the jar and the overflow of the sand spilling out everywhere and the rocks never all fitting.

It's a lie, he says, spitting out the words like bitter fruit.

I lean my head in to really hear what he's saying, and he continues.

All of that sand, all of those rocks -- you just can't fit it all. Some of that sand, some those rocks just have to go, he finishes, relieved to have spoken up against the prevalent thought that if we just ordered it all right it would fit.

The jar is only so big, someone else pipes in. 

It's true, I say. There's only so much space. 

We sit around this truth like its a fire radiating warmth into cool arctic air, explorers intent on thawing cold noses, hands, hearts that have been captured by numbness.

I know this all too well; time and space have long been rigid squares on the flipped open calendar I'm forever trying to pen my life into.

Thing is, though, just like the jar, all of the life I'm trying to cram in doesn't fit in two by two inch squares.

Just like we can't make the jar bigger, there's no way to add inches to the calendar boxes.

And, the truth be admitted, we weren't made to fill every crevice of time, every inch of the jar until both are overflowing out of control.

Truth be admitted, we were meant to rest, remember every one day out of seven.

Sabbath.

It's a  foreign sounding word here in the arctic -- archaic and bound up in thoughts of rules and judgement and nos.

But at its roots in means rest and remember.

After we unlearn all of what it isn't, breathe in a bit of understanding that was lost in translation of restirction and culture and supposed righteousness, what remains seems to be this enormous box with a ribbon.

And all I can ponder is if I'm really going to unwrap it instead of just picking at the paper.

*Annie Dilliard first related our journey here in this time and space to that of a journey of polar explorers who find that they cannot do life alone in such harsh elements. Her short essay appeared in our VantagePoint3 material that detailed what it looks like to live in community. Our group of seven is journeying together through year one of VP3. What we discuss in our groups is sacred, and I sought out permission before publishing from the group member who shared about the jar before sharing here his revelations that have lead to truth in my mind, just to be clear. :)

This piece is a product of our Bigger Picture Blogs Writing Circles, where writers come together virtually to share a work and then offer encouragement while giving constructive criticism while applying benevolent pressure to others in the circle.

Sabbath Experiement: Why We Need Rest

This is the second of a three-part series about our family's journey in experimenting with taking a day of rest every week.

Sabbath Experiment: Part One: Who has Time to Rest, Really? {signs of needing a sabbath}

This week, Suzannah of So Much Shouting So Much Laughter and I have collaborated our thoughts on why we've found we need this weekly deep rest; we've color coded our words, with Suzannah in teal and Hyacynth in green.

****
"How are you?" they ask.

"Busy!" we reply, wearing weariness like a badge.

We live in an era of constant motion. Overscheduled and underslept, we're running on empty, tethered to the technology that promised to ease our lives but somehow delivered more obligations.

A wearer of the busy badge front and center on my chest, I've long wished for 26-hour days, daydreaming about an added two hours to each day, giving me the time I need to {fill in the blank}. I can assure the word "rest" was not on my list of words for that blank.

Before my family began the Sabbath Experiment, I constantly wondered why I couldn't fit all of our activities into a seven-day time period.

Why couldn't I have a super-clean house, healthy, home-cooked meals, head up a few different organizations, spend time with the family and read my Bible all while doing things I enjoy?

I saw other women who looked like they were successfully doing it, so what was my problem? Why couldn't I keep it all together and smile through it all?

We were created for so much more than the rat race. When we set aside a day to rest, we acknowledge that God is in control, and the world does not revolve around us or our efforts.

Sabbath-keeping, at its heart, is about humility. It's a command, but more than that, the sabbath is a gift and a blessing.

Sabbath exists to honor the God who rested from creation, but it is for us, too: God desires to renew his people, replacing our worry with joy.

As we rest from work and take time for recreation, we are re-created by God, who refreshes and prepares us anew for continued work and ministry. When we set aside a day for worship, play, and rest, we allow God to fulfill his promises to us:

"If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath and from doing as you please on my holy day, if you call the Sabbath a delight and the LORD's holy day honorable, and if you honor it by not going your own way and not doing as you please or speaking idle words, then you will find your joy in the LORD, and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob." The mouth of the LORD has spoken. (Isaiah 58:13-14)

After reading His promise regarding Sabbath, I've no longer found it ironic that our family had actually gained more time thought we'd essentially erased a day from our calendar every week by designating it as a day for rest.

We now have more time to laugh. More time to nap, recharge for the week to come. More time to enjoy each other. And even more time during the week to fulfill those commitments I'd been struggling to accomplish.

Of course, Sabbath essentially has forced me weekly to re-examine commitments. I've really had to prioritize my days and engage in the most important interactions -- which then leaves little time for idle distractions that seek to lure me away from what I've deemed most important.

Practicing Sabbath means committing to intentional living daily; it means having a decided heart about what actually is most important in life because there simply isn't time to dip our fingers into the shallow pools of the unimportant.

In the whittling down of commitments, I'd also discovered another reason I couldn't fit all of life into a week's time frame: My life rhythm was off.

I was essentially trying to dance a four-step salsa to two-beat song, neglecting sleep, relaxation and just plain time well spent with the people I loved. Enjoyment of life was fleeting and replaced often with shoulds and musts, as I hurried from one activity to another, sporadically entering into the fullness of each moment and the beauty found in the everyday.

God, our Father, gave us an example of what our life rhythms are to look like, and rest coupled with enjoyment was part of His example:

"And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation." Genesis 2: 2-3

Our all-mighty Creator didn't abandon work on the seventh day because He was too weary to continue; rather, he was modeling enjoyment -- the breathing in of His vibrantly colored sunsets, delicate flowers, turquoise seas -- all things we miss when we're too busy trying to do it all, be it all.

He was showing us a rhythm -- our life rhythm.

In surrendering our schedules and priorities, God pours out the thing our grasping hands cannot reach alone, no matter how far or fast we run.

Joy is found in the ancient practice of sabbath-keeping. A balm to the world-weary soul.

Part Three of the Sabbath Experiment: How to make Sabbath a Reality: A Simple Guide will be published, hopefully, next Monday. :)

Virtual Coffee: Ten

Try not to do too much of a double take as you walk in the door for coffee today.



I promise, you are in the right place. It's not often that our guests {or simply our own feet} can actually walk through the front entry way without tripping over toys, coats and shoes, but for an ENTIRE WEEK it's been like this around here -- totally passable hallways, dirty dishes loaded in the dishwasher instead of sprawled over the counters, dining room table cleared off paper piles and toys and glasses.

You'd likely walk into the kitchen quiet and maybe a little shell shocked at the huge difference. I know, I'd whisper as we were standing in my tidied kitched waiting for the water to finish boiling for tea as the kiddos played in the {most-likely toy-infested} living room, it's insane, isn't it?

And, probably, because we're pretty good friends by now, you'd ask me if we hired a housekeeper or if I'd perhaps sold the kids to the circus or something. I'd shake my head no, smiling, and I'd tell you that it's all because I've begun pretending like Sunday, as a day, doesn't actually exist on the calendar.

Pick your brew, I'd welcome, and we'd then head over to the dining room table to chat while sipping our teas.



Likely, you'd want some sort of explanation about me ditching Sundays as a day, and I'd tell you about how as a family we've decided to observe an official day of rest every week, which has directly and indirectly resulted in our clean{ish} house.

We've chosen to consistently rest each Sunday, and this past week, our
first planned week, we observed this day in a decided way; and it has helped our lives fall into this very beautiful rhythm. And, ironically, our living space has benefitted from it, too. {I promise to write in detail about our newly established Sabbath practice sometime this week.}

While sipping tea, I'd ask how you've been this past week. And I'd probably share with you some of the thoughts that have been weighing on my mind -- mostly that of community.

I've been participating in Megan's 40 Days of Community over at her blog, Sorta Crunchy, and yesterday I shared a common struggle with being engaged in deeper relationships within the context of community.

What about you? Have you found yourself wading in the shallow end of relationships instead of venturing out into the depths? If you have, gosh, I feel you. Also, we're not alone.

On a lighter note {ha!}, you might ask about how the house updating is coming. And I'd excitedly tell you that we've decided on a beautiful espresso color to cover the horrible salmon-mauve that's currently chipping and peeling from our trim.



Though the painting won't begin for another few weekends, when it's hopefully warmer and dry, we did actually put new lights up, and that's kinda helped move our poor Charlie-Brown-Christmas-tree house on the block up a notch or two.



Kinda being the operative word.

So what's on your list to do once the weather officially turns to spring? Anything fun coming up now that it's almost April{!!!}? <