The Bible tells us that this is the day the Lord has made, and we will rejoice and be glad in it.
But to be honest, after a packed, noisy house on Thanksgiving and the bleary-eyed exhaustion of early morning Black Friday shopping, I am just flat tired. Active rejoicing sounds like it would require a long nap first. “Being glad in it,” however, seems much more achievable—as long as I’m not expected to do much of anything.
Today sits as a strange kind of bridge between two distinct worlds. We have just spent the last forty-eight hours trying to live inside a Norman Rockwell painting—working to ensure the turkey was perfect, the faces were bright, and that the family felt completely whole, even if not everyone could make it to the table. It was beautiful, but Lord, it was work.
Now, in our minds, we are already looking toward the new, festive village we will arrive at tomorrow. We can see it in our heads: a Currier and Ives print where people are dressed in festive colors, carolers sing on doorsteps, and folks walk about with brightly wrapped packages as the town is sprinkled with snow.
But we aren’t there yet. Today, we are simply walking across the long, utilitarian bridge that connects them. We know the celebration is coming, but we also know that this concrete span is just the means of passage, not part of the magic itself. We are tired and rather washed out, simply doing the work of quietly crossing over. Honestly, the idea of rejoicing feels a little out of reach when your sore back and tired feet are demanding so much of your attention.
So perhaps the “gladness” for today isn’t found in the noise or the festivity, but just in the quiet, steady walking from one good season to the next. We’ll get to the village soon enough. For today, the bridge is enough. And take your time; sprinting across it isn’t going to get us to our destination any sooner.
So for today, feel free to rest and refresh. Now that I think about it, rejoicing in that is very doable.
“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4)
. . . and that’s what I know today.