The other day I was trying to do some emails, and both Firefox, the web browser, and AOL, my email provider, posted strange and wonderful messages that I have not seen before or since.

Neither would allow me to get online, an unusual confluence, but instead of some brief and clipped techno reason, something very human appeared. I can’t remember the exact words, but both companies said, in effect:

“We are overwhelmed right now, and can’t possibly do what we are supposed to do. There is too much going on. Please try back again later.”

OK, so there is a little editorial license here, but not much. Each message was replete with the sense of hands thrown up, limits reached, and the ensuing time out: mandatory.

The glitch did not last long, but it left an impression. I have come to think of it not as a glitch, or a moment of inconvenience for me, the typist, but as a poignant, and essential, summer reminder: Sometimes we just need to come to a full stop. Sorry, world, I cannot compute right now. I can’t function. I need a breather. Come back later.

Is summer not the season for just such pauses for the soul? Ecclesiastes reminds us: “To everything there is a season. A time to……” What is that time for you now? Do you have a need to drop balls, to not be available, to breathe?

There is power in stopping. And sometimes we have no choice, whether we are Firefox or our own mysterious selves. As the contemplative writer Marv Hiles reminds:

“There are days that feel disjointed. Nothing seems to go smoothly. It may be that we are hearing the muffled voice of soul within us, asking us to let ourselves be lost for a while. We are not machines, but spirits in search of home.”

May you get lost and also find your home this summer. May you disappear into whatever Sabbath imperative claims you. May you trust any disjointed days, and follow them as they go from seed to flower.