God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day. Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array.
By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. Then God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done.
The word mo'edim used in Leviticus to discuss the holy days means appointed times. I've discussed before the interesting choice of words, here, so I'll skip it this time (lucky you!). The point is, that God realized that we need rest from work, and appointed times of rest and celebration: seasons of praise. Just today, a friend of mine whose mother the doctors said would die by the end of the week was sent home, seemingly on the road towards remarkable healing. This is a cause for celebration. I think there it is more difficult, sometimes, to notice the praiseworthy things extant in our day-to-day than the painful things. Sometimes it is hard to rejoice in the Lord always. And sometimes, you look up at the stars and celebrate; listen to the breeze shifting the pines and maples and pour out blessings; feast with friends, for today is a day the Lord has made, and we should be glad to share it.
I was going to write more, tonight, but the lion of sleep is devouring me. I feel like the cogs of life are turning a titanic wheel, a big-ben-timepiece with a chaotic cuckoo chanting the time, a tiny train racing around the base, a symphonic piece played on the quarter hours in hollow chimes. My life is like the daytime version of the clock in Night Circus, enigmatic and somehow intrinsically a piece of the greater circus surround. Come, sleep, devour me. Let the dreaming begin, Sandman.
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