What I’m musing on this Sunday is, my actual relationship with Sunday’s. To clarify I mean the day of the week not the delicious dessert … hmmm I wonder if there is any ice-cream in the freezer.

Right, *shakes head* the day of the week.

When I was growing up, me and Sunday’s had a distinct love hate relationship. At the beginning of my memory, they loomed at the end of every week, and were shucked off once we returned home, never to be thought of again … until they inevitably loomed once more.

I owe a lot of my hobbies and enjoyment ‘leisure’ activities to Sunday’s. Hobbies and activities I carry with me to this day like reading, doing jigsaw puzzles, Lego, and playing board games. I know, I know. I hear you saying, but then Neen what could make you hate Sunday’s?

Ah, yes, the hobbies and activities were indeed born out of Sunday afternoons, but oh the Sunday mornings were the price I had to pay for them.

Sunday morning’s (and later the afternoon’s on alternate years) I was wrestled in to a dress and told to sit still and listen to people telling me all the ways I could burn in hell once I died. Urgh, church! THREE HOURS every single Sunday. Some days the reward of my afternoon freedom was not nearly worth the cost.

The thing about Sunday’s is that in the beginning I wasn’t specifically told I could indulge in these activities. What I most clearly remember was being given a list of things I could NOT enjoy on those afternoons.
* No rough or loud play (we were energetic active kids who loved playing all kinds of ‘rough’ games in the bush)
* No television
* No visiting friends
* No non-church music
* No choreographed dancing (my older sister loved choreographing is younger ones to be her back up dancers .)

What we were told to do was churchy things like reading one of the 4 gospels, thinking about god and subsequent churchy things like listening to church (ie slow and boring) music.

It took me a long time to find ways to enjoy my Sunday afternoons. And soon I discovered I almost looked forward to Sunday’s, almost. It got a little easier once I realised I could start my hobbies a bit earlier then I technically should have. Most notably was my smuggling books in to my church bag. Books that were most definitely not one of the 4 gospels the religion practiced. I read my first Virginia Andrews, Stephen King, and Babysitter’s Club books tucked into the back corner of my ‘class’. The second hour of church where everyone split into age groups.

So yes, there were fantastic things that eventually came out of Sunday’s but it’s taken many years to truly shrug off those mornings and the weight that pressed against my chest when I would wake up on a Sunday dreading what I would learn about hell and my inevitable place there. Especially when I realised I didn’t think about the boys at church the way I thought about the girls. And wheeew did I feel like a pervert when I thought about the girls – burning in hell #16395

The last few months, it’s really hit me how much Sunday’s have not just redeemed themselves but have become my favourite day of the week. Yeah, I do some of the life and house prep for the week on Sunday’s but those chores are definitely worth the fun I get to spend with my family.

Thus endeth today’s musings

Be safe
Be brave
Be kind

Neen x