I’m not sure where the seeds of this Sabbath thing were sown, but I suspect they grew from the inability to pray.
When I get really, Really, REALLY mad at God (which happens more than I’d like to admit), I stop talking to Him. When my husband looked for work for three long years, I told the Almighty, Please just leave me alone.
The first time I took this insolent tone with the Lord was when I was about 7 years old. Exhausted from nightmares, I told Him that if He didn’t give me a good dream, I was never going to go to sleep again. God sent me a dream of Heaven that I never forgot–a dream that comforted my mom in her last days.
During those last days, I wasn’t much for praying, either. I purchased a Virgen de Guadalupe candle at the grocery store and lit it. Would you believe that 99 cent candle lasted exactly three days?
Nevertheless, I have continued to observe the Sabbath for the last eight years. Even when I can’t pray, I can rest in God’s presence. I actually look forward to a day in I don’t need to pray. Sometimes I pray anyway.
On Passover, Jews leave the door open for Elijah. Who knows–tonight may be the night he shows up. In the same way, every Sabbath, I stop praying and just sit in the presence of Jesus. Who knows–today may be the day He shows up.
I’ll leave the door open.