Thanks, Esaias
It seems to me that God's first rest was a climax, a point of culmination, in which that which was formerly formless and void, was now perfectly formed and full, replete with life and hope and goodness.
Imagine if you spent great amounts of time and money and effort building a house, and finally, the day arrives when a barren plot of land is going to be your home, the first thing you might want to do is, have a seat on your sofa, put your arm around your wife, sit your kids on your lap, and bask for a while.
Why is that instinct in us? Why do we like taking a step back and admiring the work of our own hands? Paint a wall and if you've done a good job, you're pleased. Put a crib together getting ready for baby number one, or baby number ten, and you see in yourself the divine spark placed there by God. You are a maker, like Him. You savor those moments. The child comes and you are in awe of God as you see his or her face for the first time, unconditionally in love with someone you have never met, that you and your wife created nine months earlier in the most intimate and powerful and profound relationship you can ever have with another human being.
Rebuild an engine and hear it roar or purr as the case may be, and you can't help but smile. Tag-team a piano down the stairs with your brother and you and he just might high-five each other, glad no one got hurt.
These are the little things we rejoice in every day. All these little life moments where we exercise our capacity to create and reenact and embody our roles as imagers of God. Sabbath is the memorial for all of this. I can think of no good reason why not to take time each week, as a typology for the creation of
Genesis 1, to do exactly what God Himself did.