My wife is smarter than me. Honestly, she has her Master’s in Construction Management from Georgia Tech and until she stopped working to take care of our kids, she was the breadwinner in the family. Whenever someone comes to do work on our house they see my eyes instantly glaze over in confusion (which end of the wrench do I hold?) and instead address her, which is a little emasculating. But I’m fine with that, she can’t tap dance like me, so we each bring something important to the table. Every now and then though, she’ll correct my grammar and it drives me a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs.
When I say something like, “He made it down the stairs pretty quick” she’ll quietly respond, “quickly.” Or if I tell my daughter to “lay down so I can change your diaper,” she’ll say, “lie down.”
I have friends that do the same exact thing when it comes to the Sabbath. They couldn’t tell you a single thing about the Bible or Jesus or God or anything remotely spiritual. But if you ever say, “This Sunday, I’m going to really focus on living according to the Sabbath” they will instantly blurt out, “Well actually, the Sabbath is a Saturday.”
It’s one of those Christian technicalities we love to be right about. Like arguing about tithing gross or net or the most accurate version of the Bible or what God really says about whether you can or cannot drink a Sam Adams Summer Ale.
And if you’re one of the readers that posted a comment or emailed me about which day the Sabbath is, we’re still friends. I love that you’re even reading and taking the time to connect. Let’s get together for a Summer Ale.
