It was the kind of Sunday that I could wax romantic about, on and on.
We slept in, having gone to the vigil Mass.
Baby and I meandered downstairs for quiet prayer time and coffee together.
Daddy and Babs woke up and joined us a couple of hours later.
I made breakfast, Baby in swing and other two tucked in together on the couch. I made soup for a parish supper on Tuesday. I did dishes, drank coffee, listened to an audiobook, and buzzed along happily.
We ate breakfast, and then I did some odds and ends that have needed done for who-knows-how-long.
We ate dinner with surprise visitors, and we crossed some things off our lists, though we did it at a comfortable pace.
Not once did we shower. Not once did we hustle. Not once did we raise our voices or argue.
All through the day, I could only think of the words of praise of the Psalms I’ve been reading in the mornings and evenings thanks to Morning and Evening Prayer.
And now, on Monday, I find myself refreshed and ready (well, as ready as I’ll ever be).
Thanks, God, for the gift of the sabbath!