It’s Monday of the second full week of my supposed-to sabbatical. I was supposed to be in Ventura, CA, on the beach, for the month of June during my sabbatical. I was supposed to be walking dunes and eating at quaint cafes before taking long naps in the afternoon. I was supposed to be visiting with friends and colleagues. I was supposed to be reading and writing, free of the ordinary concerns of home and church.
But, several pulmonary embolisms later, my doctors have advised me that travel is questionable and staying by myself (however charming the accommodations) is out of the question. So, I’m trying to take sabbatical time at home. Ha! It turns out that my supposed-to sabbatical involves a whole lot of housework, because—you know—I’m home, so there are seven loads of laundry, and meals to cook, and dishes to be loaded and unloaded, and groceries to be purchased, and…well, that’s the idea.
On the bright side, I am reading and doing some writing. The naps—given my health scare—are non-negotiable, and I bribed my daughter to go with me to Vogel Canyon for a long-ish walk. I baked a sponge cake for the Queen’s jubilee (see below). I read a novel, cover to cover.
Is it the sabbatical I was supposed to be having? No, not even close.
Still, I keep going back to the second, largely neglected, half of Niebuhr’s famous prayer:
Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as the pathway to peace.
Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it.
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His will.
That I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with Him forever in the next (here)
No, this is not the sabbatical I was supposed to be having, but is it good enough? Probably, reasonably, yes.
Here’s the spongecake: