At Art House America, Shelly Miller writes about how Sabbath is an axis of rest in times of uncertainty:
Walking past a sink full of dishes, a cluttered coffee table, and my writing desk with deadlines awaiting attention, I escape to the back porch, curl up on my damp couch in my pajamas, and savor each sip of steeping tea in my cupped hands. Listening to a cacophony of bird chatter with my eyes closed overrides all other senses. Slowly, I begin identifying each chirp, squawk, and haunting coo of the mourning dove among the chorus. A gentle breeze blows through towering pines like the shimmy of grass skirts swaying on an empty stretch of beach. And an imaginary blank canvas rolls out over my worries, pushing anxiety and doubt to the edges.
This day is a masterpiece awaiting inspiration, but stress threatens to block it out. In my second year practicing Sabbath with an online community of nearly 300, I’ve learned that peace and purpose are often found in the whitespace.