S.O.S.

I’ll begin with an unashamed announcement. This party loving people person right here adores social media. I’m all over the ones I can figure out, (Hello Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram!) and if I could  decide what to do with the others, I’d be all over them as well. (Sorry Goodreads, Linkedin and Google+— but I do try to be timely in accepting my friend requests, so there’s that. )

I’m hoping that by putting that disclaimer up front, it will be clear what I’m not saying before I start saying what I am saying. Are we good?

(If you are already confused, you’re  probably a new reader and I may have wasted the entire ten seconds of your attention span that I have access to before you click to the next squirrel video. Bummer. Do come back.)

S.O.S.

Those of you who are still here, (and I love you for that), are waiting for me to explain what S.O.S means, so I’ll get right to it.

Tomorrow is Sunday and my fourth S.O.S.

Being a blabber mouth, (be nice). it’s been hard for me not to share this with y’all sooner but I wanted to get fully into it before I put it out there, to see if it was going to stick or if it would turn out to be just another fleeting idea that I thought was great at the time. Not that I have a lot of those. Okay. Yes, I do, but that’s not the point.

S.O.S.

Four weeks ago yesterday, I felt a life change sort of challenge come on me out of the blue with one repetitious word that surfaced early that Saturday morning and kept returning. “Stop.”

I thought I recognized Father’s inside voice but I didn’t know what He wanted me to stop and why. However, experience had taught me that if He was speaking, I could trust Him to elaborate if I would pay attention. And so He did.

By nightfall I knew that He was calling me to rest in a different and deeper way the next day than I usually do.

It’s not that Sunday wasn’t already sacred at the Tomlinson house.  As a rule there’s never a question of if we’re going to church. Will we be late might be a fair question but we know we’re going.  (If I could blame that late thing on my man, I would.)

Backstory: I was raised by parents who strictly adhered to keeping the Lord’s day holy and not working unless our ox was in the ditch. If you weren’t raised strict Southern Baptist, you may not understand that reference– especially if I told y’all we didn’t even own an ox, but it basically means resting on Sunday unless there is an emergency afoot. I share their conviction and my custom is to rest from my writing labors on Sundays.

This was different.

I felt like the Lord was asking me to take my posting, sharing, emailing, twittering self and just Stop. on. Sundays.

It’s not a new law or a new doctrine I’m trying to live by; it’s just that on Sundays my phone reverts to– well, a phone, and nothing more.

This new S.O.S. has been wonderful and challenging. The challenging part has been actually remembering. I can’t tell you how often during the last three Sundays that I’ve opened Twitter or Facebook before giving it a second thought. I’ve been one keystroke from posting when I remember that I’m stopping on Sunday.

The wonderful part has been the deeper rest I’m experiencing. It’s a truer Sabbath than all my previous non-laboring Sundays that came before it. This is my heart responding to God’s wisdom to get off the merry-go-round one day out of seven and rest completely in Him.

I’ve found it to be a life preserver of the heavenly kind. And it may be your invitation from God, too. That’s between the two of you. All I can say is that if you try it, you won’t regret it.

I’ll see you at the first of the week. Tomorrow, my soul will cry S.O.S to the One who created me and I’ll Stop on Sunday.

Hugs, Shellie