Saturday’s Strength

It’s Saturday Morning. Ah-ha…that day after the question I always ask, “It’s Friday, right?“

Growing up, I remember Saturday morning cartoons in black and white. Then, around 9 am we would do chores for several hours, stopping sometime after lunch, and then have the day to do what kids do. Depending on where we live, we might not come home until near sundown! Backyard baseball. Tromp the trails in the woods, fight never-ending “war” games through the yards, ditches, and roads.

In younger adult years, Saturday was all about making extra money. In today’s vernacular, mowing yards was my side hustle. When our kids came along, my bride quit work to be a full-time mom so I brought in extra money wherever and whenever possible. If it were raining, then I would extend a few hours into the workweek evenings and fill in the schedule there. I did not rake, bag, trim, edge, or any other grooming techniques. I just mowed.

Saturday was also the time we would head to the country. Go-cart, trail bike, bicycles, BB Guns, pocket knives, and canteens if we remembered them. It was about hitting the backroads of East Texas and enjoying the weekend. I remember many a late-night trek home in the back of the Dodge Pickup (long before there was a Ram), and watching the night stars. If it were raining, we huddled close to the cab of the truck. We never thought we were disadvantaged because we weren’t. This was life and there was no one to compare it with.

Some years in some churches, Saturday was a workday. Cleaning the church, ringing doorbells, running Sunday School bus routes, or attending a conference of some sort. In my 30+ years of pastoring, I’ve focused on Saturday being reserved for families to live life.

As I age, Saturday becomes my only day off. Sunday is a long day with church responsibilities, and I find no “rest” on this day. It’s a day of “work!” Since I no longer have a secular job, Monday is my down day of recovering strength from a hard Sunday. I never knew aging would wear me out on a Sunday!

The weather report says another atmospheric river is headed our way. A week of rain, possible flooding, and snow in the mountains. Today, I will finish planting some trees, pick up some equipment, take care of puppy needs, ask some questions about my barn, and get ‘er all done before 2 pm. That’s when the rain is supposed to start.

Today. I celebrate Saturday.

Growing up, Saturday often meant a trip to The Salvage. I’ve written about it often, but Saturday and the coffee roasting smell goes hand in hand. If I were into roasting coffee beans (hmmm, new project?) then I would do it Saturday Morning!

Saturday, as we like to call it, predates everything we know in more modern times but from other peoples around the world. In Hebrew, it is Shabbat and is the Holy Day remembering that God rested after creating all we know. Work six days. Rest one.

The Romans changed their 8-day week cycle to a 7-day week and the names of the days revolve around their deities and other astrological events. Saturn was recognized as the planet of the morning and for some reason, Saturday stuck as the day I’m celebrating now.

For some, Saturday is the sixth day of the week (ISO 8601) whereas Monday is the first day. Most religions that are rooted in the Bible see Saturday as the Seventh Day of the Week, where Sunday is the first day.

When Israel left Egypt, God taught them the law of the rest (my words). The manna provided would only show up on six days. On the sixth day, you gathered enough for the seventh day when there will be none.

Six days you shall gather it,
but on the seventh day, the Sabbath, there will be none.”
Exodus 16:26 NKJV

So. I rest today. There are a few minimal labor chores I will enjoy, but for the most part? It’s getting ready for Sunday.