Come Saturday Morning | Forum for Theological Exploration

Come Saturday Morning

By: Alie Jones
March 30, 2011

When did Saturday morning become a time to prod through my obligations, pick out the most important ones- definitely not laundry- and line them up against the inner wall of my mind? As a child, I woke up on Saturday morning when my body was restored. Not in the afternoon, weathered by late nights filled with triple shots of espresso, grade point average anxiety, and looming disappointment from my beloved professors if my paper wasn’t perfect. Not at 8:30am to go to yoga because somewhere amidst my genuine love for yoga, I’ve found my intention to stem from the pressure-cooker known as spring break. A time intended to get away from it all has become one more deadline to get bikini ready.

With 48 hours in a weekend, Saturday morning is now the starting line for the 2-day dash. The sound of the alarm going off notifies the adult contenders that the race to get it all done has commenced. First thoughts: definitely not laundry. Taxes need to be filed; it’s a gorgeous day to go for a run; I need to write Paul back, then again, it’s a gorgeous day for gardening. Coffee- I need to go downstairs for coffee. I remember my concept of coffee as a young child: so sophisticated, so desirable, so Mom and Dad. Now I drink this coveted cup every day. I must admit it was exactly what I hoped it would be: so sophisticated, so Mom and Dad.

Mom and Dad were the keepers of time on Saturdays. After feasting on cinnamon and sugar toast while watching One Saturday Morning cartoons, I would have to do the weekly task of cleaning my room. This was the one part of the day I did not enjoy, but knew it had to get done. There was no checklist; it was just another week that I needed to do my chores. Once it was clean, I could spend the rest of the day creating whatever I wanted to create my day to look like. It was raw impulse. Maybe I’ll get on the teeter-totter for a bit, play four-square, tether-ball, or rollerblade. Or maybe I’ll dress up and imagine myself to be someone fabulous with little gold-sequined high heels and a silky scarf that once served as a bumper guard in my baby brother’s crib. I didn’t know what it was or where it came from, all I knew was that it trailed behind me like a train fit for the fabulous woman I was.

I had no concept that I should be spending any amount of time on something for it to be valuable. Whether I was done swimming after 15 minutes or 3 hours, I was done when I had my fill. It was such a free way to move through life: never motivated by what I should or could be doing, but rather by who I was. I didn’t do it because it was cool or righteous, it wasn’t because the world deemed it valuable, and I did not do it to add to my resume. I did it because it was pulsing through me to do. To run through the sprinklers, to put on purple lipstick and play my own variation of Alice in Wonderland, to build my own snail farm in an old stock pot, to pick up a rollie pollie I found in a cement crack and marvel, giggle, and wonder as it transformed from ball to bug.

As an adult, I wonder how to live in a way that acknowledges the world outside my own backyard, working hard for my keep, and extending freedom to other children. While I continue to explore my vocation, I want to continue exploring the world like I did as a child. I question how I will play during my free time as an adult. And what a concept that is. Free time: time to be free, to jump off the diving board, to pick up a frog in the park to be your pet, to play dress up or not. What are my options and how will I imagine new ones?

God has given us this day out of grace and loving kindness, how will we receive it?

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