We are not religious, we don’t go to church or temple, but we do have our own acts of faith and sacred rituals.
My garden is my act of faith. Saturdays we have art, and the seemingly mundane little ritual has become a sacred thing for our family. It started a few years ago when a five-figure health care bill performed a total cashectomy on our budget, temporarily but severely curtailing our other favorite ritual – breakfast at Bob’s.
While brunch at our favorite diner became unaffordable, we were fortunate to still be living in an area rife with art. Vermont is a haven for artists in every media, and there is always an opening (complete with snacks) or a free library gallery. Combined with a smattering of music groups and museums offering free admission on Saturdays throughout the year, it was possible to spend most of the day feeding our souls for the cost of a gallon (or two) of gas.
We’ve retreated from the abyss of financial meltdown, and breakfast at Bob’s is once again part of our Saturdays. But Saturday is still a day of rest. It is still a day of finding beauty and discovering the divine in our neighbors and our little world.
Thing 2 loves it; Thing 1 is not such a fan of museums without gadgets (we keep telling him he’ll thank us someday). And, while the adventure of shepherding two boys on a weekly journey of discovery can be frazzling, accepting the chore of keeping them in line each Saturday afternoon has resulted in an unexpected contribution to the nurture of our family’s soul that is now as sacred to us as any Sunday.