Today is Sunday. I woke up around 7, like always, but it was Sunday, so I willed myself back to sleep. My clients don’t call (well, most of the time). The store is closed. One day out of seven, I can do this. Covers over my head, bury myself beneath the dander of dog hair on my comforter (she’s not allowed but she’s good at cheating), and close my eyes tight. In this small space of Sunday morning, cravings that are ignored weekday-in-and-weekday-out are heard.
I need to mow the yard, write garden notes for three clients, get ready for an hour long seminar next Saturday, review notes on the client’s I’ll visit on Monday, weed the perennial bed, vacuum (remember the dog dander), buy groceries, walk the dog, fill out insurance papers, go to church. My church is 40 minutes away. Do I do the drive? (I hate it when things I love become chores.) Pay bills. Figure out where the darn ants are coming from. Vacuum again. These are not the cravings, if you’re wondering.
These are. I want to shop for my daughter-in-law’s birthday, which is this month. She is a fall girl. I want to pamper her with gifts that smell like fall. I want her day to be joyful. I want to look at the picture of the ultra-sound she texted me yesterday–a new grandchild due in May. I want to lie still and listen to the nothingness of Sunday morning. I love the Body of Christ, but I don’t want to drive anywhere today. I want no place to go. I want to cook something nourishing, because it is 58 degrees outside and suddenly a crock pot full of food is so tempting. I want the house simmering with the smell of it. I want to write. I want to take the dog on a long walk and snap pictures of gardens. I want to go to McDonalds and get black coffee and sit on my screen porch, on my glider, sipping it to the sounds of the birds chirping away. I want to organize my pictures. They’re all digital, ugh. I want to FaceTime my granddaughters. I want to hear their silly laughs, and Miss Priss say, “YaYa, do you want to play with me?” I want to talk, really talk to my children. I do want to vacuum because the pet dander can only be stood for so long. I want to finish reading the book, And I Shall Have Some Peace There, because if she found it, surely I can too. I want to plant the fall flowers I bought for my community spot in my little town, to make me happy, to make others happy. i want to garden. I want to create.
In my small space on Sunday morning, all these cravings, unheard over the drone of the workday week, present themselves. Head down, tucked under the covers, I am torn. It’s not as easy as it seems. Take the day, and rest, Cinthia. Just rest. The Sabbath for you, Jesus said. Created for man. Created for our refreshment. Take the day.
My clients are side work, done on my days off. If notes aren’t written today, then it’s an automatic behind for the week ahead. I don’t have another day off until next Sunday, and this week’s evenings will be spent preparing the fall clean-up seminar. The insurance man would probably like his papers filled out so he can clear his desk of my file. The bathroom needs a cleaning that no amount of candles or diffusers will disguise. If I want lunch at work this week, then groceries are a must. I could possibly do the crock pot, but I will miss the dog’s walk, because a day is only 16 hours. I have no idea when I last paid bills, but I am grateful for all this work, because I can pay them. Don’t read this as griping about work. I am thankful for the blessing of work. .
But sometimes, it seems the pursuit of creativity/personal care/relationships/life is overshadowed by the pursuit of money. How much is enough? My boss often says you can tell who is hungry and who is not by how they work. I am evidently quite hungry.
Fun Fact for some of you: Did you know that if you start taking 4% out of your retirement account right now, it will not deplete in your lifetime? (But does 4% pay the bills?) My financial planner is full of these little nuggets of wisdom.
The time ticks away with my head still buried under the blankets. I swear I hear the sound of the digital clock, and this small space of Sunday is almost gone. This moment when the world is quiet and a day could possibly be spent in creating (cooking? writing? gardening? photography? long walks for inspiration?) a possibility. I know that when my feet touch the ground, and the shower head starts to steam the bathroom, that these Sunday dreams will cease, and I will end the day wondering, what was it I wanted to do today?
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