My son’s 100 person Western Kentucky wedding reception/fried catfish yard party is over and has been vigorously marked off my List of Things To Do with a three-inch permanent marker and a can of black spray paint. I don’t know if I am high from a lack of responsibility or an abundance of paint fumes.
I look around me slowly. I am too hot and too tired to look around quickly.
The yard is empty.
The kitchen is clean.
The left-over food . . . enough catfish and potato salad to keep a third-world country alive until Jesus returns . . . is stored in my fridge and freezer . . . because shipping fish and potato salad seemed a bit problematic and my kids suggested that physical death is preferable to eating potato salad every day till Jesus returns . . . or every day till the end of the month which is pretty much what they will have to do.
And, I am tired.
I take a seat in the swing on my front porch and I rest.
This isn’t a Sunday afternoon kind of resting . . . like the 20 minutes that people have free after church when they put up their feet and think about how much they don’t want to get up and go to the next meeting.
This is God and me on a porch swing. My feet push against the floor and rock the swing. His Spirit rides on the breeze and refreshes my soul.
I pray slowly. I am too hot and too tired to pray quickly.
“Wasn’t it a good party?”
He nods. It was.
“Those are good people.”
He nods. They are.
I’m pretty sure that this is Sabbath Rest.
I rock. He refreshes.
He smiles. I am welcome.