The seventh day
Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labour, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work. You shall not work at all. You shall not pick up a broom or a mop to clean your floors; you shall leave them for another day. You shall not do the laundry or clean the bathroom, even if you're running out of clothes and the shower recess is caked with soap scum. You shall not cook; instead, you shall eat leftovers, get take away or eat out, and you shall leave the dishes to someone else, or rinse them and leave them in the sink 'til morning.
You shall not turn on your computer to check your email, update your blog, surf the internet, or chat online with friends; you spend enough time on that machine and, if you don't need a break from it, it needs a break from you. If socialising with other people constitutes “work”, you shall see no one on your Sabbath, unless they are someone you can relax with. You shall not answer the phone; let the answering machine catch your calls and keep your mobile turned off. You shall not do the shopping or run errands that take you across the city. For that matter, you shall not tackle the traffic for it is not restful.
You shall enjoy sleeping in and taking a long hot shower, or a bath if you prefer. You shall go out for breakfast and enjoy bacon and eggs and mushy toast, even if it's lunchtime. You shall take as long as you like to read the paper. If it is a nice day, you shall take your family and the dog and go for a walk—no, a stroll—in the park or along a beach. You shall spend some time in patient prayer that is more than the just-before-you-go-to-bed or just-before-a-meal sort of prayer. You shall do some exercise in a leisurely kind of way, such as yoga or riding a bike.
You shall spend time poking around in your favourite bookstores, searching for nothing in particular. You shall curl up with a good paperback and a hot chocolate in some out-of-the-way café, or on a favourite couch, where you shall possibly drift off to sleep. You shall finally read a chapter of one of the Christian books that's been sitting on your bedside table since the last Christian conference or birthday, and use it as food for thought. You shall listen to The Marriage of Figaro with the volume set to Loud. You shall sing songs you normally sing in church while accompanying yourself on the piano without giving too much regard to the notes or who is actually listening to you. You shall write a poem about stars. You shall enjoy the sunset with your nearest and dearest. You shall spend the evening watching your favourite movie over popcorn. You shall go to bed early.
You shall not be tempted to check your work e-mail ‘just in case’. You shall not worry about the upcoming week. You shall trust God to run the world without you. You shall celebrate him for the goodness and the glories of his wonderful creation: “thank you Father for chai tea! Thank you Father for Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy!”.
You shall rise early on the following day. You shall have energy to tackle washing and work and traffic. You shall be reminded that nothing bad happened because you left these things to themselves for one day. And you shall be ready to resume your labours once more.