My Day of Rest

By Tammy McPherson Champo

My cousins Erica, Kristin, and I had moved into a trailer park in Montana to work for the summer. We paid too much money to live in a trailer that rattled every time a truck zoomed past the highway outside our front door. The vibrations woke us up at 6 a.m.—that is, if our neighbor, “Mad Jack,” didn’t wake us first by chopping firewood.

For three months I had two jobs. I cleaned cabins during the day and waited tables at night. Being on my feet from 8:00 in the morning until 10:30 at night was enough to make even a mattress on the shag carpet floor seem inviting.

Through the hard work and exhaustion, I gained a new appreciation for the Sabbath. Sunday was a day of blissful peace in a dismal week. It was something I could look forward to. One day a week I could be with people who knew the truths I knew, people who could strengthen me and lift me and prepare me for one more week of scrubbing toilets.

I understood why Sunday was set aside—not only to learn of the goodness of the gospel of Jesus Christ but also as a time to be strengthened by the good saints of the Church who believe as I believe. The Sabbath is the one day in seven to rest from the pressures of the world and to remember Christ and the blessings He has given me.

Illustrated by Kristin Yee