Traditional Saturday Mornings

I would say I’m an experienced student. Spent the majority of my life full-time in a classroom, at a desk, books open, glasses on, pencil scribbling. Studying was my job. And it still is.

So, whenever Friday rolls around, I am pooped. Utterly exhausted from days packed full of language learning. Yet this particular exhaustion is good — like the kind that you feel after an intense workout. You’re exhausted because it was hard, but because it was hard you know it was good. I welcome this particular exhaustion. I know it’s not for no reason.

My brain has seriously put in its hours. Daily working its wheels in order to comprehend the secrets of learning a language foreign to any language pattern I’ve ever studied. I’m still amazed at the focus I’m able to muster up on Fridays… Amazed at the strength God never ceases to fill me with.

At the same time, my brain demands a break.
It needs rest. Sabbath. A mental respite.
A day to heal the tears made from stretching it to its capacity.
It needs Saturday.

Every Saturday I sleep-in. And then I make pancakes.

Coffee is poured.

And then my roommates join me in the kitchen. We cram around our little table by the furnace, hold hands, say grace, and spread goodness on our pancakes. Goodness that comes in an ooeygooey form called Nutella.

 

And then we put on the tunes, grab sponges and brooms, and perform some deep cleaning on our apartment. Making our beautiful wooden turkish floors glow.

And then we rendezvous in our living room. Feet happily resting on the purple ottoman. Scents of lemon and lavender lingering. A whole day ahead of us freely devoted to fun and much needed rest.

Maybe I’ll walk along the Bosphorous.
Maybe I’ll go back to the kitchen and bake.
Maybe I’ll open my craft box or my new book.

Whatever happens today, I’m thankful for traditions, for slow Saturday mornings, and for the balance it helps restore to my mind, body, and soul.

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