It’s Sunday, the seventh day symbolizing the day of rest. To worship God.
Afterward, maybe your day of rest will be to simply take a break from a long week of work, to sit on the sofa, watch a move or a football game.
I’d like to play. The meaning of which most of us have forgotten. It’s been lost somewhere in our childhoods from long ago. My eyes light up and sparkle at the wonder beheld in my grand-daughter’s blue eyes whenever she’s at play. Truly, it’s one of the things I enjoy most about her. Often, I peek around playroom corners to peer at her darling playfulness. I am in awe at the tender way she feeds her babies. While she rocks them ever so gently, she feeds their fiercely closed mouths magic bottles full of “milk”‘ that never empty. She doesn’t seem to care or even notice. Yes, it’s “magic,” all right.
Everything, Gracie, sees or touches delights her. Perchance a fairy godmother from the page of one of her story books flew to pay a special visit just for her? When did we lose that? I want to feel her innocence, the childlike wonder of it all! Give it back to me for just a single day. Maybe today, the seventh day, it’s meant to be.
After a warm and hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and whole wheat toast, I’m going out to play! Me, yes it’s true! I’ll dress warmly and look silly of course, but I don’t care. I’m sliding in the snow today. Going to build a snowman too, with a crooked carrot for his nose and a warm wooly scarf around his neck. I’ll throw a snowball at my friend (careful not to hit him in the face), fall down and giggle deep babbling sounds from my belly, the kind that hurt so good!
When I’m nearly finished, I’ll find a special place that’s still soft and white, left untouched by deer from our small forest land. I’ll lay down flat on my back where I can listen to the quiet of God above. The snow will take turns falling at intervals from the barren trees high in the grey skies over head. Plop…..plop…..plop….plop.
Like years ago, I’ll flap my arms and legs back and forth, making patterns to create snow angels, like my father once taught. Maybe one, two, three or more. I leave them for God’s eyes only, no one else can see except the Man above. It is the seventh day, my day to rest, my day for long-lost play.
Thank you, God, I needed that. How did you know?