Drawing Lines on Sunday—A Diversion.
What counts as rest?
We're a church-going family, though not perfectly. Some Sundays the spirit is willing but the flesh is tired—worn out from staying late to clean the church after a wedding, or simply beaten down by the week's thorns and thistles. I know this is a failing of the flesh. I'm not loving God with all my heart, soul, and mind. Thank God I have a Savior who kept the rules I cannot.
Since COVID, our church broadcasts Sunday services. With two preschoolers at home, we occasionally watch from our couch rather than wrestle everyone into the car. Not ideal, but better than skipping entirely.
This morning is one of those stay-home Sundays. I've used the extra time to organize our disaster of a tool room—moving boxes, finishing projects, hauling old car parts around. But when I think about writing, I stop. Sunday writing feels wrong. But I can't deny the pleasure in getting things done. So I'm in the tool room/craft room/storage room, reclaiming order from chaos, one square inch at a time.
I'm not sure why I make this distinction. My day job rarely requires Sunday work, but my writing—the work I choose—can wait. Sunday is for reading, not creating. It's my attempt at keeping Sabbath in a world that's forgotten commandments.
Yet here I am, organizing a messy room. Have I already violated the Sabbath? We can't stop all activity. The question isn't just where we draw the line—it's why.
If I avoid writing from laziness, or skip cleaning while claiming "it's not good to work on Sunday," I'm missing the point. But if I refrain from something good because it would dishonor God, that's different.
I don't know what the point of these reflections is. Perhaps just to show the messiness of life, or to admit to compromise. Even now, I'm compromising—dictating these words while I clean rather than typing them out. So I give that a pass. It feels different: talking instead of typing, less work-like, more organic. Not perfect. But this side of heaven? No work, or rest, is perfect.