Sundays are for silence

The sun slowly sets, kissing the horizon. The neighbors scurry home, collecting their children and the wash hanging on the line to dry. The air becomes still with anticipation and quietness.

It's a tradition three thousand years in the making.

The family gathers around the table on a Friday night, clustered around a candle. The mother begins to pray, for it is the woman that ushers in the rest of the Sabbath and the peace of the Lord. A candle is lit to mark the start of something beautiful.

The prayer ends, but no amen is heard. It is a prayer that will not end until the following evening; from dusk to dusk is a communion with the Lord. The entire time in between is set aside for a continual prayer, an anticipation, an expectancy.

Lord, let it be.

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My theme for the year is identity. 

Finding myself.

Finding Christ.

Finding myself within Christ.

My discipline for the year is silence. 

It is here that you hear your own thoughts.

That you hear the words of the Lord.

That you commune with the One who made you.

Last year I was redeemed. I discovered what I am not; now I am searching for what I am. 

Last year I practiced journaling. I learned how to talk to God; now I am practicing how to listen.

So if it's Sunday and you need me, come knocking.

My phone will be off. Facebook will be signed out. 

Make plans ahead of time; emergencies will have to wait.

Sundays are for reading The Little Princess on the porch hammock, exploring museums in LA, lying by the pool with an Arnold Palmer, hiking to the top of the A, napping in the ampitheatre, praying and meditating,

just.

being.

quiet.

The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Exodus 14:14