As a child I never liked Sunday because there wasn’t enough action going on to meet my interests. Stores were closed, restaurants had shorter hours, and nobody ever called to make plans. It was truly a day of rest, just as serious as if it were the original seventh day where God himself rested.
I don’t think it’s that way anymore. Malls and big box stores are open 24/7. Movie theaters have multiple screens for multiple movies, all shown at the same time. Supermarkets never sleep.
What’s also different, however, is my feelings toward Sunday. Now I relish that I can relax, do nothing, ignore the phone, and stay home. Today was a perfect example.
We rose late because we’d been to a party last night. No big deal. We decided to forego our usual breakfast out; instead we foraged for ourselves. I cleaned the house with the lick-and-a-promise method, since the cleaning lady isn’t coming for another week. I also played piano, washed my hair, read the paper, and didn’t wonder why the phone never rang. It was glorious.
It’s interesting that today the world is busy on Sunday and I am not, while years ago it was the other way around. I longed to be involved and couldn’t wait until Monday morning to get back in the swing of things. Sundays were drones. I’m the drone now.
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