The mornings are crisp and cool these days when I venture outdoors to greet the dawn, once leafy trees laying their many-coloured splendour at my feet. Summer’s labour over, Earth sighs contentedly, her fruits abundant, ripe for enjoyment.

In New Zealand, Susan shared in her mid-October post, the birds are in springtime mode, carefully tending their young. This side of Earth’s equator, it is time now for rest.

I have been learning again the meaning of “Sabbath,” of the divine commandment to “remember” the Sabbath, as if we would forget! Wayne Muller’s exploration of the Sabbath theme and his invitation to consider the indispensability of fallow periods in life has been a companion along the way:

Sabbath honors the necessary wisdom of dormancy. If certain plant species, for example, do not lie dormant for winter, they will not bear fruit in the spring.… A period of rest – in which nutrition and fertility most readily coalesce – is not simply a human psychological convenience; it is a spiritual and biological necessity. A lack of dormancy produces confusion and erosion in the life force.¹

I am learning to embrace dormant time in my life. Remembering to Sabbath, the ordinary miracles shaping the ebb and flow of each day sharpen into focus. Cyclical patterns invite their appreciation of space, of presence here and now, soothing life into wholesome balance. Linear preoccupations with past, present, future, and its myth of progress give way to another kind of understanding. The spiral of repetition heals. There is much for which to be grateful.

Richard Rohr writes that “Sabbath might be saying that at least one seventh of life must be about non-performance and non-egocentric pursuit, or we forget our life’s purpose.”²

On the threshold of November, our year cycling into remembrance of companions who have shared in LIFE’s unfolding story, I do not wish to forget.