Yellow Flowered Adventures: Sabbath on the Islands

Church in Delap doesn’t quite sit with me. It’s like a predictable montage, if such a thing exists. These fragments and elements are taken from different views on how church is supposed to be, then put together to create a sort of formality they call worship. Sermons are given, often word for word, by slides on a projector. I have hymns memorized. I wear skirts past my knees because heaven forbid anyone see that bony part of my leg. I sit, I stand, I kneel when they tell me. And I bring paper and a pen, so I can draw--but they frown at me. I go--Wednesday, Friday, and twice on Saturday--because I must. “It’s part of my service as a student missionary.”

Yesterday I did not go to church. But I did experience Sabbath. Travis, Carrie, Scott, John, and I grabbed breakfast, packed our bags, and headed out. We were off campus by 8:30, and with packs on our backs, we started walking toward the edge of our atoll. Before we hit the water, Carrie and I freed ourselves from the skirts we had over our shorts, slipped on our water shoes, and treaded the first stretch of knee-deep water to get to the next island.

We did this for six hours and eleven islands--picking up shells, talking, climbing trees, forging paths, and laughing all the while. Our last stop was a lovely, little, unoccupied island with a small, but beautiful wooden house, lawn chairs, open gazebo, and a dock where we settled to eat lunch. Scott noticed some gray clouds coming our way, and we realized that with the speed of wind, it’d soon rain on us. And it did, a rather cold and hard-hitting shower. We huddled under the shelter of canoes until the rain passed, and then decided it’d be best to start our trek back.

Walking back over the coral and through water held less laughter and excitement as the bottoms of our feet and exhausted muscles fought against us. But as we were in-between islands, I told our group that for the first time in a long time, I enjoyed my Sabbath.

God is seen in more than a building filled with pews. He can be found where you earnestly seek Him. And just as much, he can be hidden behind a forced routine and set of rules. We sometimes lose sight of God, and focus on us, on Adventism, on doing it right and looking good, rather than sharing and experiencing Him in, what seems to us, an unconventional way, but perhaps in a way others see Him best.