|Photo courtesy of Sharee Basinger|
As it takes us awhile for us to get out of church, it was well after 2:00 by the time we arrived at the grassy field parking lot to await the school bus shuttles to the festival. There were diapers to change, people to hug and plastic communion cups to gather to take home to recycle. The latter is a chore my husband and I took on awhile ago after discovering the cups were simply being tossed out. As Laura got old enough, she started participating and now that is her "ministry." Every week she eagerly climbs the steps from the nursery and runs into the sanctuary where she carefully peruses each pew, gathering the cups for recycling. Of course, this activity takes a bit longer than when Bill and I did it ourselves, but she feels a great sense of purpose in it; you can see it in her eyes. And, in case you are wondering, it is always followed by a good hand-washing!
After the bus ride past fields and cows and a couple alpacas, we found ourselves walking around the festival in a chilly mist. Lincoln was wrapped tight against his mommy, who shielded him from the dampness. Laura didn't seem to mind the weather at all. It was the two of us old folks that started wondering what in the world we were doing on our Sabbath, trudging through muddy fields in what ended up being a very rainy day!
The wait for the shuttle to return us to our cars was the worst. By then, it was raining...hard. With no shelter, we just stood there, trying not to get overly irritated by the rather long wait.
"Be nice," Bill warned me. I was. I even thanked the bus driver without a word as to why it took him so long to come get us!
We climbed into our cars, soaking wet and I quietly thanked God for my heated leather seats! After a drive home that took nearly a good 45 minutes or so, I headed upstairs for a long, hot bath. There is something very satisfying about peeling wet clothes off and climbing into a steaming tub with a cup of tea and a good book. Finally, I was resting on the Sabbath. By 8:00, I was in the kitchen making dinner. Bill and I ate our spaghetti in the living room in front of the TV, discussing a better plan for next week's Sabbath.
You see, the point isn't about not working...it is about resting. And this week, we missed the mark. So next week, it will simpler. It will restful. Unless, of course, the kids come up with another plan for a fun-filled day with the grandbabies...after all, how do we say no to them?!
Learning from doing,