Dad came upstairs and was doing something in the office. Almost as a side note, he asked me, “If someone asked you, what would you say your occupation is?” Well, it was my Senior year and I had spent many hours filling out scholarship applications that asked that very question so I didn’t even have to think of my answer. “A student.” Dad nodded and accepted that answer. “And what kind of work do you do for your occupation?” I hadn’t expected that question, so I thought a moment and responded, “Studying and homework, I guess.” Dad went back to whatever he was doing and I went back to my paper. A bit later he asked, “What would you think of me if I worked on Sunday?” Then he left.
I just stared at the open doorway for a while. I had never before considered that doing my homework was considered working on Sunday.
That moment had a great impact on my life. I stopped doing my homework on Sunday. At first it was really hard. I had spent years and years waiting until Sunday night to do my homework for Monday morning. Friday nights and Saturdays were for playing, not doing homework. But over time, as I actually did it, it became easier to remember and to sacrifice other weekend time for homework. After a while, it even became preferable. Suddenly Sundays truly became my day of rest. While other people couldn’t go to a fireside or come over for Sunday dinner because of homework, I could do anything I wanted (that was Sunday appropriate, obviously) and not feel any guilt. Sure, there were a few times, especially around finals or when a big paper was coming due, that I really seriously considered putting in a few extra hours of studying on Sunday, but every time that one small conversation with Dad would pop into my head and then it was easy to decide to give my Sabbath day to the Lord. Not to my professors.
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