Sunday Quiet

It's nearly one o'clock, and I am curled up on the couch in our living room, buried under a pair of afghans. One knitted by my Grandma as a gift, and one hand crocheted by me, in a spurt of creativity a few years back. I'm wrapped in a heavy woolen sweater roughly the color of oatmeal that my dad purchased in Ireland in the late 1970s, and that I stole from his closet and made my own sometime in my teenage years. It's -25C or so outside today, with a severe windchill warning in effect that makes the air more like -38C.

I woke slightly later than normal, from deep and moving dreams. I lay for a while in bed, enjoying the quiet, and praying for those whom the dreams involved.

Eventually I bundled myself up, and ventured out - a quick trip to the grocery store to buy mandarin oranges, and pie filling in a can for a baking project I may or may not attempt later today.

And then, then I came home, and curled up under the blankets and began to read.

I am tempted to turn the television on, or to pop a movie in the dvd player, but I remind myself that this Sunday morning time while my roommates are at church is precious, and, that in a short time, when they return, and our house is again filled with noise and laughter and conversation, I will regret that I spent my precious hours of quiet on a movie that could have been watched later, or a television show that does little if anything to stimulate thoughts worth pursuing.

And so, I've been curled up with Robert Benson's "Living Prayer" for the last hour or so. I've read two chapters - one on creating sacred space for prayer, and one on journaling as a form of prayer. As I've come to expect, both chapters had much to offer. There is only one chapter remaining, and I'm hoping to savour it over the course of the afternoon. Few books recently have so moved me, so touched my heart and soul in the places that it exists, so explained this odd existence of prayer that is slowly becoming the norm for my life, and I will be sorry when this one draws to a close.

And yet, I'm plotting ways to extend the pleasure. Recording it in audio form, to share with a dear friend, and to listen to that wisdom again and again as I drive to and from work. It's a beautifully written book, the words strung together artfully and gracefully, and will be lovely read aloud.

And now, I'd expect that my roommates will return momentarily as the church they attend likely ended it's service nearly an hour ago, so I'm off to enjoy the remaining minutes of quiet in my home, before the bustle of three women, busy preparing for trips abroad (my roommates, not I), for the holidays, and for the coming week once again takes center stage in our home.