Sabbath Portrait: Enjoying Your Unique Smoothie

31 Days


During this 31 Days of writing, I have focused each Sunday post on Sabbath rest, the culmination of all of our “blending”. If you haven’t read the first posts, I suggest that you read them before you read the last post today:

Why You Should Turn Off the Blender

When You Should Turn Off the Blender

How You Can Turn Off the Blender


Since we are using the blender analogy, consider with me what happens when you put all the different ingredients into the blender for a smoothie. You blend it for a minute or two and watch as individual fruits and liquids and ice come together to form the drink you want. However, if you keep blending indefinitely, you will never get to actually enjoy your smoothie. There has to come a time when you turn off the blender, grab a tall glass, pour in the icy goodness and take a big swig.

That is much how I see the Sabbath in our lives. It is when all the things we work so hard for come to a stop, and we get a glimpse of why we’re really doing it all.  In order to explain what I mean, let me give you a portrait of our typical Sabbath day. It won’t look exactly like yours, because….well, our family portrait doesn’t look like yours either. My hopes are that it will give you an idea of the blessings of true rest.

My cell phone alarm goes off two hours later than usual. It’s so nice to look out the window and see the sun woke up before me for once! I make coffee and set out a simple breakfast of cereal or granola from the day before.

Once everything is ready, I wake up the family. The kids get their own cereal. By the time they are finished, I usually have their dress clothes ready and they start getting dressed. I have yet to perfect this routine. As always, I wonder if this is the day someone will not be able to find one of his dress shoes or throw a fit about the outfit I chose.

An hour later, we pull into the church parking lot. We go to a traditional church where everyone goes to their own Sunday School class first thing. Worship comes after the learning. We hang around after worship and fellowship with our church family. Fellowship is a big part of meeting for worship after all.

While most of us lead busy, separate lives through the week, Sunday is the day our family gathers together for feasting. We change clothes and head to Mom’s house and eat her delicious roast beef and mashed potatoes. Sometimes one of us will bring the dessert or contribute another item, but Mom usually capably handles it all. We pull up high chairs and sippy cups and rejoice in what our family has become. A few times a year, we travel out of town and follow the same Sunday family feast routine with my husband’s family.

After everyone is full and conversation lulls, we head home for a quiet afternoon. No one is working outside or inside the home. The children don’t do schoolwork or the main work of childhood: active play. We take rest seriously. The kids listen to audio stories, build with Legos, do a craft or read books. Mom and Dad take a nap or read.

Late in the afternoon, we grab a quick snack and put our dress clothes back on for another service of worship at church. After the evening worship and fellowship, we head home again for the last celebration of family before a new week begins.

Everyone gets in his pajamas, straightens up the shoes and toys in the living room and heads to the kitchen for a serve-yourself snack. It’s usually sandwiches and small snack items. Unlike my wonderful mother, I don’t like to cook on Sunday!

Although we think it is important to have dinner together as a family around the table most nights of the week, Sunday night is the exception. We usually pile onto the couch, eat our snack and end up with some candy or special treat.

Everyone throws away their plate (I don’t like to do dishes on Sunday, either!) and puts away 3 of the food items. That generally leaves me very little to do for cleanup. After everyone is tucked into bed, I might read some more or plan the week ahead.

This is the reason we do it all: the smoothie we call our life.