Sundays were special as I was growing up. They were predictable, and yet delightful. There was a regularity to the passage of a Sunday that never wavered, and yet it was the most wonderful day of the week to me. The routine felt anything but monotonous. Because it was family day.
We went to church in the morning. I was in Sunday School with my parents, and then I sat in the pew in front of my Papaw and Gram and Aunt Jan during the service. As I would walk to my seat, I would sneak up quietly behind Jan. I would peak my head around the edge of her wheelchair until I was in her peripheral vision. She would notice me and squeal, announcing to the whole congregation with a wide-toothed smile that I had arrived. Once seated, I would often sling my arm over the back of the pew and shoot a mischievous grin over my shoulder, and I would be rewarded with a mint from Papaw's jacket pocket. Gram would tell me how pretty I looked, and ask if my dress was new. We would wait until it was time to "greet those around you" and then we would all hug each other, as if we hadn't seen each other in ages.
Without fail, at 2pm on the dot, we were expected to leave for Mamaw's house on Sunday afternoons. We'd make the drive across town following the same route as always. We would pass the Pal's and Food City, and someone in the car would comment on how "there's a good crowd" at one or the other. We pull in at Mamaw's house and park in the upper driveway closest to the house. Then comes Dennis and Sandra behind us in their black truck. Not long after that comes Janet, Kevin, and Kristin and they park in the lower driveway. Inevitably, as we sit in the living room chatting, Mamaw tells us about her "beaver" that she saw the week before. Mom asks that we turn the ceiling fan on. Dennis turns on a movie or a game on the tv and falls asleep with his chin on his chest. We all snicker at his snores.
When the afternoon wears down and it's time to go home, my sister and mom and I climb into the car and roll the windows down. Mamaw always walks us out and yells her goodbyes as we pull out of the drive. We all wave at her as we start up the hill and head home. By the time we get to the end of the street, Momma has told me to "call your Daddy and ask him what he thinks about dinner." He doesn't answer his cell phone because it is in the other room, so I have to call the house phone. He always sounds surprised that he missed the cell call.
We pull out the tv trays to eat our dinner on and the cats stare at us while we eat. They want a share. We watch football or a movie or a tv show that makes us all laugh no matter how many times we've seen it. Somewhere between 9 and 10pm, one of us (probably me) will yawn and mention that it's "getting close to bedtime." We'll all start making our way to our rooms for the night and turn in. Another Sunday in the books.
Even now, as I recount the regular pattern of a Sunday, I can't help but smile at the fond memories. These are things that I can count on. Like the sun rising and setting, these aspects of a Sunday bring structure and support for the rest of the week.
I've not had these moments for several months now, as I have made the transition to living full time in the convent at OSH. My Sundays look different now, but I am finding that there is a different kind of regularity and pattern even here.
I'm "in church" a lot these days, but even still I dress up for Sunday mornings. It feels different, somehow, and I feel the need to mark the difference. Matins starts at 7:30am and Eucharist follows. We sing hymns on Sundays during Eucharist, and I get to hear my favorite singers in our choir sing songs that are dear to them. It makes their voices sweeter, I think. Then several of us gather for breakfast and we share laughter and oatmeal and cinnamon toast. I steal Sister Linda's napkin when she isn't looking, and when she notices she puts her fists firmly on her hips and says "Okay, hand it over..." then looks pointedly at me. She knows who the mischievous one is.
I spend the rest of the morning in my room either cleaning or doing laundry. Diurnum is prayed at 12:30pm on Sundays, and Lizzy and I meet up in the refectory immediately afterward to wait together on lunch. We sit at the end of the table. She is on the right side, I am on the left. We pick out napkins to match our outfits for the day, and we comment on how good or bad of a match we have made. Not too much time passes until Sister Rosina comes in. We tend to hear her humming one of the morning's hymns before we see her turn the corner. We turn to greet her and she giggles. "Hello, Ama," she says to me. She always calls me Ama.
After lunch I spend the afternoon finishing laundry and crafting. Lizzy and I tend to watch a movie together while we work with our respective yarn projects. Vespers is prayed at 5pm and we all skip Compline to spend the time together in Community Hour. We talk together, and someone inevitably brings up memories of sisters of the past. Every now and again the talk turns to something completely random and surprising, but mostly it's just fun.
I have learned here among my sisters that this Sunday routine is just a different kind of family day. I have learned that there is a pattern and a regularity to it that I expect, and one that I so enjoy. Praise God for the little ways that Sunday is a regular blessing. A simple, easy family day.
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