Her voice calls to me, and I must follow …
Amazingly, Preparation Day (Friday sunrise to sunset) has come again so suddenly. It seems like it was only three days ago. I remember how slowly the days ground by as a pre-teen. That agonizing period between 14 years old to 15 ½ years old when the State would let you get a learner permit. It was at least three æons long. But the 15 years that I have been here in retirement haven have gone by in a blur of high points.
Preparation Day, for the uninitiated, is the day I prepare for the Shabbat. The Shabbat is a celebration of God resting from the labors of His creation. I think that the word would be better nuanced as that ceased from his labors. The world was complete, time had been created within eternity, and his creation would produce fruit at the end that would re-enter eternity.
Eternity is not something that I comprehend yet it is something I desire. Odd that I would desire something I have no understanding of. But then, I have never been totally rational. No matter what I put my hand to, something always compelled me to look beyond them. Eternity is like a faint song that catches me in its beauty at unexpected times. I can’t evoke it. I cannot speak it into existence. It captures me at its own leisure.
I have tried at times to be an atheist. I have tried to take an agnostic position. I have had periods where faith fled from me. But then, that song would faintly play just beyond that gossamer veil, and I would cast aside my doubts and rejections, and begin following that song again.
So on this day I try to prepare enough food for the special day that begins at sundown. Of course, not living in eternity, I can’t really practice that. People must be fed. Babies, livestock, and pets all need tending. And the world at large does not observe the day, nor comprehend why I do. And frankly, neither do I. The song just suggest I do. And so. I do.
And this musing flows through my mind as I stop to spend a little time in this daily journal, coloring my words, my thoughts, and at times, even the work of my hands.
Good morning.
Rusty's Armory 