Today I'm ending an unexpected and brief sabbatical, brought on by me getting sick for the third time in three months. Ten days ago I realized that I was out of gas and needed to see a doctor, and when I did she let me know I had bronchitis that would quickly turn to pneumonia if I didn't get some meds in me and take an immediate rest. I took her advice, got the scrips filled, and took myself off the grid for what has now been a week and a half.
I already had some downtime planned for Thanksgiving, so I began my holiday break five days early and added a few extra days on the backend. My decision to pull the plug on everything, while the wise one, is not my typical approach to being sick and busy at the same time. But, this time it was the necessary decision. And, it's been more than that. Things done out of necessity alone do not mean they will be life-giving. However, the practices, attitudes, and decisions that are life-giving are definitely necessary. You can probably say our lives depend on them.
These ten days have allowed me to recover more than my wind and energy (although both are still in process). Being still more often, not just moving at a slower pace, but being more present in the moment as opposed to moving through it to get the next thing, letting my mind rest as much as my body...these are a few things I've experienced during this time. I'm looking forward to getting back to work tomorrow, back to a different pace and energy level. I'm also grateful that these ten days have strengthened my hope and resolve concerning my work. I once read an interview with a writer who said he regularly practiced the art of slowing down in order to speed up. I'm glad for being able to slow down during this time. I'm looking forward to how it catalyzes new movement and pace.
One last thing. It occurred to me earlier this morning that this ten-day sabbath was culminating on the first day of Advent. A little while ago, without prompting each other, my wife and I simultaneously lit candles in our dining room as she decorates our Christmas tree and I write these words. I find great metaphor in that. Juxtaposed against my sickness and stillness is this longing for breath and light, this desire that something, that someone will break through those things that are not life-giving, that life will be about more than the necessary. We may wait in stillness, but we hope for movement, both his and ours.
In this quiet, candlelit room, with coffee, with Vince Guaraldi's holiday music in the background, with lights on a tree, with each other in close proximity, we wait. And believe.
Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel.
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