Sunday is a time for something spiritual. It is The Day Of Rest, the end of the week, and the opening door into the next week in our lives. Of course that is not how it is seen by many, but I ain't going there. This is my Sunday devotional after all!
For me, this day for devotion, is based on the good old American Sunday Drive into the country. If nothing else, Ford gave us this tradition. This was a big change from our weekly life, and we looked forward to this day when we went out with either pair of Grandparents. Would we fish, hunt for blackberries, or take off on a long lazy drive farther away than normal?
We never knew exactly where we were going to go, sometimes the adults had a basic idea and sometimes we would want to go to a place we had been before. We did not do zoos, museums or fairs. We did little streams under a canopy of trees, with filtered sun beaming off of the parts of everything, it was a jeweled world with natural wonder and tiny treasures lying or hiding everywhere. We turned over rocks and looked for salamanders and crayfish, and little crawly brand new things to our young eyes. We walk bare foot in running water, on large flat grey stones bigger than our door at home. We ask the name of every plant and many times on Grandparent knew the name and even had some lore to tell about it.
We would pull over on a dirt road and pick apples, berries, cherries and flowers, in a place with no real name, just somewhere outside of the world that we would never find again. But that was no matter, we would find another place just like that one.
We stopped at little diners, real diners, those streamlined sliver ones, sitting on a road to nowhere particular, with red leather and metal swivels seats and matching booths lined against the large plate glass windows. We ate, watched the traffic and the people inside, and knew we were in a foreign land at that moment. we got back in the car with new energy, refilled by food and drink. There was something new around each bend, each car may have people in it from far away, we sat back and rested, as we are commanded to do, and smiled with our grandparents in a secret language without words.
The slower ride back home was quieter, as we made visual hymns to the day inside our heads. The daylight dimmed, the birds found home, and we looked towards our home also. We arrived back home, satisfied that our spirits had been lifted, that we had communed with something larger than our selves and our lives, and we shared a deep family moment of righteous joy, in a sea of constant sorrow.
Sunday can be religious in many ways, church or family traditions, hiking and fishing, gardening or home maintenance, swimming or running, or even just getting in the car and going for a drive, is done to lift up our spirits, so that we can soar in the breeze of life with out flapping our wings much at all.
What is your perfect Sunday like?
A true joy to see is an individual soul in flight.