Sightless Among Miracles
"Jesus!" I yelped reflexively. As it turns out it was only a fifty pound Labrador, Barnie, and his owner Dave. I did not hear them sleeking through the trails in the woods as I waded into the bay to cast my bait toward some activity on the surface thirty feet offshore. Behind me, Barnie rumbled a baritone, snarling growl, which I thought was a black bear - the one whose tracks I'd noted as I slipped down the secluded shoreline - away from the pier and away from the workweek. Away, really. Just, away.
I'm searching for rhythm, for rest. I'm listening for the pause, the interlude, the rest in the pulse of incessant productivity. I'm searching for Sabbath.
My beloved Jewish sisters and brothers know how to tell time. There's no question about when Sabbath begins and ends: Sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. There's an app for Sabbath time keeping. We Christians have forgotten how to tell time.
Time began to slow its speech as my finger-sized mullet rippled its way toward a small redfish. Shirtless and immersed to my waist, I breathed deeply the salty air, hoping it would clear the mucus in my airways. Hoping it would clear everything.
I began to breathe. I began to see. I began simply to be.
Then, Barnie. A low growl. A snarl.
Another email. Another need. Another check of the social media. Another, thing, interrupting.
I'm searching for Sabbath because my rhythms have changed with my change in location from North Carolina to Florida, from University life to Church life. From Elizabeth working as a homemaker to Elizabeth working as a teacher. From working Monday - Friday to working Sunday - Thursday.
I'm searching for Sabbath because Sabbath was made for me. I love her, the Queen of Days. And, I miss her.