Summer Sabbatical - Part 1

It was a difficult school year. Unless you're a teacher, you may not realize the energy it takes to be everything to twenty or more active seven- and eight-year-olds, five days a week. Constantly hearing your name, answering endless questions, repeating yourself, resolving conflicts, and showing empathy while managing short attention spans is only the beginning. To have little hands pulling at you all day—knowing you can't meet all their needs, despite your deepest desires—drains your soul. Add the pressure of district expectations, administrative demands, a multitude of assessments, meetings, extra duties, and interventions, and it becomes even more exhausting. If you know, you know. The modern classroom is no longer just a place of learning; it is a battleground for the hearts and minds of the next generation. It leaves me wondering: how does God handle His children constantly pulling on Him with all of our needs? But He is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, and always more than able to handle it.

Because we are not omnipotent, the recovery phase at the end of the day looks vastly different for each teacher. For me, it requires absolute solitude and a chance to refocus my brain on something of inconsequential value. My body needs to recover just as much as my mind. I initially thought this exhaustion was related to my age, but I soon learned that young teachers go home and veg out on Netflix all night—seeking their own version of brain recovery. This evening reset becomes even more complicated when you add a family and children into the mix of an already exhausted mindset. I have immense sympathy for teachers who go home to manage their own households, families, meals, cleaning, projects, and pets. The Lord knew I couldn't handle all of that. Perhaps this is why the school year has built-in holidays and breaks. Critics might say, "Well, that's what you signed up for. Stop complaining." But this isn't a complaint; I truly love my students. It is simply the truth. And while this scenario certainly applies to several other professions, it is the reality of the classroom.

Some may argue, "Okay, but teachers get the summers off." Yes and no. We all have passions beyond the classroom walls that often get pushed aside during the school year, like morning devotions, prayer, Bible study, or personal ministry. Since 2017—excluding the pandemic—I have spent my summers leading and facilitating mission trips with a volunteer organization. Even though I absolutely love this work, it still requires planning, labor, and time. I can easily sound like Martha from the Bible, always needing to be busy. However, it is more than busyness; it is part of God’s divine purpose for my life. While the mission trip list was extensive this summer and my desire to serve was strong, the pull to sit at Jesus' feet like Mary propelled me into a summer sabbatical instead. As Jesus said, Mary chose the "good part, which would not be taken from her."

The term sabbatical comes from the Hebrew word Shabbat, which means to "rest" or to "cease." Historically, Jewish sabbaticals (known as the Shmita) were a God-ordained time to give the land itself a season of recovery. As Exodus 23:10-11 (NIV) states: 

"For six years you are to sow your fields and harvest the crops, but during the seventh year let the land lie unplowed and unused. Then the poor among your people may get food from it, and the wild animals may eat what is left. Do the same with your vineyard and with your olive groves."

Many Christians have adopted a version of the sabbatical year by taking intentional time away from labor, ministry, or careers to focus entirely on spiritual renewal. It functions as a divine mandate of obedience. Surrendering our schedules to cultivate a deeper intimacy with Him restores our passion, purpose, and relationship with the Creator. Taking the posture of a student at the Master’s feet is not an extended vacation; it is a deliberate retreat from the distractions that drown out His voice. Can you imagine God wanting to speak to you, but you are simply too busy to hear or understand? As The Message Bible challenges in Mark 4:23, "Are you listening? Really listening?"

My summer began with exactly that kind of dedication: Lord, I am giving this summer to You, to sit in silence, stillness, and solitude—finding sacred spaces to spend in Your presence. I looked forward to being in sweet communion once again at the feet of Jesus, where so many of my favorite memories have been made. Yet, old habits die hard. I woke up this morning with my mind racing, anxiously thinking that perhaps I could still squeeze in just one mission trip before the summer ends. When I asked the Lord what He thought about that, I picked up the Bible, felt His gentle course-correction, and started writing this blog.

His answer came in the familiar, life-giving words of Matthew 11:28-30 (MSG):

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."

Writing this blog post was the precise confirmation I needed. The Lord’s response to my morning anxiety was clear: my work can wait, but my relationship with Him cannot. True recovery from a grueling school year doesn't come from mindless television or endless media scrolling, nor does it come from filling our breaks with even more labor, no matter how noble the cause. It comes from surrendering our schedules to the only One who is truly capable of carrying every burden. So, I am choosing the "good part." I am stepping away from the classroom, putting down the mission trip logistics, and choosing to rest. This summer, you will find me exactly where I need to be—sitting quietly, listening intently, and renewing my soul at the feet of Jesus.

When God calls you to sit with Him, there is no room for compromise, and there will be absolutely no regrets.

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