“That’s done. Next?”

We say that often in our house, Nancy and I. After every checkmark on a to-do list, after every project, after almost every every.

I’m fabulous at asking “Next?”

I’m not great at “That’s done.”

A sense of completion, a sense of finished.

Years ago, I walked out of our church building after the Christmas event I’d written and said to my boss, “Time to start working on Easter.” But it wasn’t. It was time to stop and be grateful and eat lunch and take a nap.

I understand that nothing feels done these days. For those of us with several bosses, with scrolling thumbs, with kids, with parents, with ourselves, there is a constant sense of obligation, of expectation. And there will always be that subcurrent of doing. Three-year-olds can’t cook for themselves. Work has to happen. I have to write or I don’t know what I’m thinking.

But I could have a moment of acknowledgement when projects are complete, when seasons finish.

As I write this, there is the noise of drywall mudding on the other side of the office wall. After 6 months, we know for sure that the back of our house isn’t going to fall off. I mean we knew, but there were these cracks that we didn’t have an explanation for. Now we do. And the cause has been remedied.

Though my life isn’t lived in an academic calendar the way it was for my first four decades, I’m aware that the 2024-2025 school year is done. The three courses I taught are complete. And a bunch of other things are, too.

Years ago, I wrote about the kinds of moments that marked the life of Israel. There were daily prayers, weekly celebrations (Sabbath), monthly, annual feasts, breaks every seven years, and Jubilee every fifty years.

So clearly, I know the concept. But implementation is a challenge.

So I’ll mark this post done. And move to the next project. But before the day is over, I’ll celebrate. With a nap.