Rabbit!

About three weeks ago, we got a pet rabbit (from a girl who advertised him on Craigslist). Especially since I've mentioned him here a couple times already, I figured this blog is overdue for a cute picture--or two. So here's the rabbit exploring the bookshelf (which is now off-limits since he tried to eat too many books):

And here he is in a slightly more natural habitat, about to chew on his favorite rug:

He is a dwarf rabbit, five months old now, and he is utterly adorable in action. We call him Pipkin, after the little rabbit in Watership Down (which, upon recent re-reading, I think is my favorite novel).

As it turns out, his personality is nothing like that of the original Pipkin, who is timid and constantly in need of reassurance. Our Pipkin turns out to be a bold explorer. He has ventured, for instance, into all the heaters he has access to, and dug out diverse small objects therefrom, such as coins, buttons, and a pink plastic Easter egg. We keep having to chase him out of those burrows when he starts assiduously yanking out the insulation or whatever it is that sticks out between floor and wall... A couple days ago, after I moved his cage closer to the couch, he figured out that he could jump from the top of his cage onto the arm of the couch. He is sitting there now, in fact, cleaning between his furry toes with his tongue.

When I started this post a couple minutes ago, he was racing back and forth along the couch, reveling in the fact that he can run properly on this fabric surface. (On the hardwood floor he slides hilariously when he tries to change direction too fast.) Then he hopped carefully onto the back of the couch, and looked out the window for a long moment.

Now he is lying on the armrest at the cage-end of the couch, ears up but hind legs sprawled out. This position signals supreme relaxation and security. With his legs out behind him, he wouldn't be able to get away as quickly if a predator came at him. It makes me happy to see him so confident. He surveys the living room like a king on a throne.

A moment later, he is up again, compacted, attentive. Listening: What's going on? Will I need to run? I wish he would let his guard down more of the time. There really aren't any dangers here at the moment; there's no need for him to be on the alert, nervous, wired. (Of course, I do the same thing so often. I stress about things that don't matter or that end up not happening. I carry tension in my body when I could be resting. I probably look a lot like Pipkin from God's perspective: real cute but way more worried than I need to be, and inclined to chew on a lot of things that are bad for me. Hopefully one day Pipkin and I will both learn to really rest, trusting we're safe.)

He is always changing. But whatever he's doing, he is always adorable and I love to watch him do his funny, bunny thing.

Sabbatical Me (Pt. 3)

Last month, I wrote a couple of posts about the Sabbath in response to a friend's questions, but I left this last set of questions unanswered:

I'd be even happier if you would also reflect on/write about the role of Sabbath in your life, in general...perhaps including (but by no means limited to) what you do/don't do on that one day of the week, what your conception of Sabbath is and how/why this has changed for you over the years, etc.

Essentially, S. is asking me to tell the story of my relationship with the Sabbath. I started writing a reply to these questions three weeks ago, but the post kept getting longer and longer. The more I wrote, the more I felt that I do not know and cannot say all there is for me to write: that the story of me and the Sabbath is still "coming to a middle" (to quote the captain of Serenity). And now it's the middle of March, and I think this is destined to be a post without a conclusion. With that prelude, here it is.

When I was very young, my parents read me the Little House on the Prairie books, as well as various accounts from the Puritans, in which the characters took the Biblical mandate to rest on the Sabbath very seriously and strictly. They construed "rest" and "holy" to mean no play as well as no work. As far as I can recall, this was my earliest picture of Sabbath: something austere, defined by all its negatives. Later, my parents took up a habit of fasting on Sunday at lunch time, and I think this also played into my perception of Sabbath as a time of deprivation.

When I was ten or eleven, I began to be concerned about my relationship to fiction, novels in particular. I don't recall what triggered this--perhaps a sermon on idolatry? teaching in my Sunday school class? I do remember talking to my dad about it. He was not as hard on me as I was on myself. Thus it was entirely my own decision (I'm not sure I even told my family about it) to stop reading fiction on Sundays. I kept to this practice for years, with varying levels of stringency; to some extent I still follow it. I don't feel good about watching Firefly or reading Anathem on Sunday. This Sabbath practice represents a seeking of holiness and godliness by turning away from worldly things, and a prioritization of God and God's values (for instance, love for other people) by setting aside pleasures that I sensed to be worldly/fleshly.

This version of the Sabbath wasn't the austere and empty time seen in Little House on the Prairie; the void left by not reading was filled by games or cooking or hiking with my family, and by lively time in my church small group. Nonetheless, it was a negatively defined Sabbath: Sunday as the day I don't read.

Another dimension to my observation of the Sabbath came into play in middle school when my workload at school increased. My middle school forbade weekend homework assignments (thank God), but was big on projects which one inevitably ended up working on during weekends: posters, research papers, art projects, book reports, ... It only got worse in high school. I--probably with encouragement from my parents--decided any schoolwork I needed to do over the weekend should get done before Sunday (if possible); if necessary there was always Monday morning. (I was the kind of kid who did better finishing an assignment at 6am Monday than at 11pm Sunday, or even 10pm. Definitely a lark, not an owl.)

Not doing homework on Sunday reflected the day-of-rest aspect of the Sabbath. Still a negative-space definition of Sabbath (no homework day), but moving toward something more positively defined (rest day).

At some point in middle or high school, I heard John Ortberg preach a sermon on the Sabbath, and he called it a joy day. (A cursory search on mppc.org didn't yield the sermon in question so I leave it to you to seek it out if you're interested.) I think this was the first positive definition of Sabbath that I encountered. He spoke of using the day of rest to focus on relationships, beauty, anything that brings joy. I think this is a much-needed perspective, and a lovely picture, if an incomplete one. But if there's anything I've learned from thinking about Sabbath and other things God-related, it's that no picture is complete.

There was also a conference I went to with my family where the speaker (Mark Labberton?) addressed the Sabbath and exhorted us to observe it more conscientiously. He advocated never buying or selling on Sunday. My dad was not convinced, and talked to me about Romans 14:5--

One man considers one day more sacred than another; another man considers every day alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind.

--which remains the primary source of uncertainty for me about the present day significance of the Sabbath for Christians and the applicability of the Old Testament laws concerning the Sabbath to Christians. You can read more about his perspective here.

In college I tried to avoid homework on Sunday, but it didn't work out too well. Then for a while I tried to keep Sabbath from sunset on Saturday to sunset on Sunday, on the grounds that the Jewish model begins and ends the day at sunset. This was better than trying to cram all my homework into Saturday at the cost of staying up so late that church was painful the next morning; but it felt like I was cheating and I was never convinced that it was really the way to go.

Somewhere in there I read Lauren Winner's lovely book Mudhouse Sabbath. I don't remember what impression of the Sabbath it left me with, but it was a thought-provoking and life-enriching book. Anyone interested in tradition or spiritual discipline or Judaism and its relationship to Christianity should read it.

At present I keep the Sabbath mainly as a day of personal rest, not really focusing on the social justice aspect. I avoid buying things on Sunday mostly because that feels like work for me. But I don't have pangs of conscience about eating out on Sunday because that results in rest for me. But I don't have a good sense of whether that's God's plan for how I keep the Sabbath. The part I am more convinced about is that I need to avoid novels and movies on Sunday, to surrender that pleasure-source up to God, and spend the day loving my God and the people He has put around me (in this season, mainly O.)

So: that's where I am, and those are the places I've come from. I'm still on the journey, so feel free to check back with me in a few years on this topic! I hope you will join me in continuing to wonder and ask God about His good, pleasing and perfect will for the Sabbath.

Things a sick person is grateful for

This gratitude-list is perhaps not very dignified, but it is entirely sincere!

• lotion-enhanced tissue
• Ricola cough drops
• a husband to bring home the cough drops & take out the trashbags full of dirty tissues
• herbal tea that tastes of cinnamon
• honey in the tea
• the microwave (or the stove & kettle) to heat the water for the tea
• decongestants recommended by the doctor
• the doctor
• insurance to pay the doctor
• a furnace
• the furnace being on and working properly

I have essentially been sick for four months straight--ever since marrying and moving here. At the same time, I've been struggling with questions about whether it's okay for me to be here being absolutely unproductive (by external standards), for months on end. What does rest mean? What does it mean for me to rest? Who am I when I'm not doing anything?

I think this sickness, annoying as it has been and continues to be, may be God's way of making sure I know it's okay and even good for me to rest and to do nothing. In the ordinary course of life, I believe rest is good but I don't necessarily believe it is good for me to rest. When I'm sick, though, I know I should rest, that it's the right thing to do. I tend to see that as a temporary state of affairs, though: the sickness departs, and at that point I ought to go back to doing and doing and doing. I've never been sick this long, and I've never rested so much. I'm learning. I just hope it won't take lifelong sickness for me to absorb the lessons of lifelong rest and an identity dependent on relationship, not accomplishment!

But thanks, God, for teaching me.