The Day of RestSometimes I think it’s funny we call Sunday the day of rest. For after a day of laundering and cleaning and shopping and planning I don’t feel very rested. I swiffer my kitchen floor and I smile at how silly it all seems– I clean and work and shop and cook today so that I may begin again tomorrow, dirtying the clothes and messing up the kitchen and eating the food. Where is the space between the cleaning and the dirtying, the acquiring and the consuming? Where is the rest? And then I think… maybe Sunday is about a different kind of rest: Sunday is full of what remains. Monday is a new project at work and Tuesday is the school play and Saturday is swimming and ballet. And Sunday is the rest –- homework and chores, shopping and more –- always the same: math computation, vacuum meditation, meal organization. And football on TV, kids still in jammies at three, giggles and snuggles, “You’re the best, Mommy!” Yes, but I must do the laundry… Maybe Sunday is the reminder that after I get dirty from racing around all week, I find a comfortable calm in the predictable peace of all of the rest.
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