Note: When I refer to the terms Shabbat and Sabbath, they are used interchangeably as a weekly set aside day of rest. My family is not Jewish by nationality or religion, and we don’t abide by all the traditional rules outlined in the Torah. 

Years ago, before kids, when Matt and I had all the time in the world, we began a weekly rhythm of celebrating Shabbat. Our ritual began on Friday evening with communion around a refinished wood table inside our 1976 Argosy airstream. The best meals always started with Trader Joe’s challah bread and a $4 bottle of red wine poured out in long-stemmed glasses we received as a wedding gift. A fresh bouquet of flowers filled the vase at the center of the table. Our Saturdays were spent at a leisurely pace, with little agenda. We often went for walks or runs together, chasing the sun on a long country road that led to the property we lived on. Other times we would take naps or read or meet up with friends.

So much has changed over the last decade. We now have two little man-cubs with endless energy occupying every second of our time. “Rest” and “free time” feel like impossible pursuits in this season. But we continue to fight for our weekly Shabbat, believing in the act of slowing down, even if we never actually make it to a complete stop. 

Sometimes we come still holding onto the stress of the day, the weight of unresolved problems, minutes after a time-out or a broken up fight. Still we come, imperfect. Ready. Hopeful.

Here is what our Sabbath looks like these days—

It looks like my four-year-old and me in the kitchen on Friday mornings, making dough and braiding homemade challah bread—him with his tiny rolling pin and a layer of flour covering the countertops and hardwoods. Laundry is on rotation and books and toys that have accumulated on the dining room table are being brought back upstairs to their respective homes in the playroom. 

It looks like four of our fanciest (plastic) cups of grape juice on the kitchen island, with all of us gathered around a dimly lit room on Friday evenings. We have made it through another week and we come ready to enter into another day of rest. Sometimes we come still holding onto the stress of the day, the weight of unresolved problems, minutes after a time-out or a broken up fight. Still we come, imperfect. Ready. Hopeful.

Cyrus opens up his Bible to the scene with the Last Supper and begins to read. River repeats a simple prayer, “Dear God, thank you for the bread and the blood.” We tear off a piece of bread and pass it around then all sip from our cups. We are each in a different place mentally and spiritually. But we are together. A few minutes later, I am laying out a picnic blanket on the living room floor. The rest of the challah bread gets carried over along with a tray of finger foods. We pick a movie we can (mostly) all agree upon and end the evening snuggled up on the leather sofa. 

The next day, we follow no set rhythms, other than whatever feels restful. Some weeks we eat pancakes at my in-laws or waffles at my parents’ house next door. The day plays out imperfectly as we fight to push aside the need to constantly be productive. This Spring, River will play soccer and our Saturdays will likely be spent in lawn chairs with juice boxes and fruit snacks in tow. Some weeks, complete rest is unavoidable because the Jeep needs an oil change or one of us has a gig. Other times there is an event or gathering we’ve previously committed to. We try not to beat ourselves up when things pop up, remembering that the Sabbath was made for our benefit, not our burden. (Ref. Mark 2:27) We take a lot of liberties in how we choose to spend our time, minimizing the to-do list as much as we are able. I use this day as a detox from social media, intentionally limiting screen time to be more present. 

Our observance is largely imperfect in all of the ways, but to say I look forward to this weekly practice would be a huge understatement. As a busy mom with several side hustles and a husband who works two jobs (totaling around 60 hours a week) we don’t see the Sabbath as a luxury, rather a necessity. A needed refilling of cups when the world leaves us feeling disconnected and weary. We don’t Sabbath because we have a ton of time to spare or nothing better to do. We Sabbath because the other 90% of the week we are hurried and scattered and running a million miles an hour. And this one day is our reminder of what’s possible when we stop long enough to see the beauty of it all.