My ideal Sunday goes something like this: Go to church. Eat a simple lunch with the family. Take a nap. Write (with no distractions) for an hour or two. Eat popcorn, talk with Will, and play with the kids. Clean up the house and go to bed at a decent hour. I like a day that flows by a simple, ordered pattern.

So this was not that kind of Sunday. First of all, we didn’t have a way to church other than good, old-fashioned walking, which is excellent if all your parts are in shape. But my knees are still messed up from an injury last February, and I can’t walk far without pain. So our two oldest boys biked to church, and we called up some friends and asked for a ride for the rest of us. Our friends were sweet and accommodating, but it’s a little humiliating to be reduced to a vehicle-less state.

Church was wonderfully refreshing. After listening to a talk about seasons (Ecclesiastes 3) and how God wants to shepherd us through the seasons (Psalm 23), we had a period of silence as a group. We spent time asking God in our hearts to show us what season we are in, and how He wants to meet us in that season.

I don’t know why we often feel like church has to be full of talking and talking. Taking time as a group to be still, to reflect, and to listen for God’s voice is an incredibly moving experience.

I concluded that I am mostly in a planting season; both with teaching my children and with building connections in town.

At home again, our family ate lunch and I curled up on my bed for a nap. But Desiree decided she wanted to keep me company, so she brought her toys and sewing cards to bed. I couldn’t sleep with all the wiggling and squirming going on, so I finally gave up and dug out some chocolate for us to savor together.

Another ride came to whisk me off to a bridal shower. I don’t know how many years it’s been since I attended a bridal shower! Too long to remember. But I had a happy time with the ladies. We drank sherbet floats and ate tiny cookies and talked about fun things. I hardly have a social life anymore, so I felt both happy at the opportunity and sad at the realization of how lonely my life really is.

By the time I got home, it was too late for a nap and I had almost given up the idea of writing. Maybe I could sneak back to the bedroom yet and get in a few paragraphs, I thought. I was aching to write something that’s been burning in my heart about women whose…wait, I’m not going to tell you just yet.

Instead, I ate ice cream in the back yard with my family and two extra kids. The air was sun-kissed, but not too hot, and ice cream dribbled down little shirts and onto bare feet. Since Bloomer the cat was hungrily sniffing sticky feet under the table, Keane willingly fed her with a spoon.

I noticed the little girl hanging out at our house badly needed a hair job, so I sat her at the table and started on the tangles. She is precious and beautiful, and patiently drew pictures while I worked. While I was in the thick of the mess, another mom-friend stopped by. When she saw what I was into, she ran home for some baby oil and other products. Finally, after over an hour of detangling, I sent the girl home to ask her daddy if I could cut off the hard knots I couldn’t untangle. He gave his permission, so I cut out the worst gnarls. Then I washed, conditioned, and dried her hair before braiding it into a lovely golden rope.

By then it was bedtime, so I brushed my little ones’ teeth and told them scary stories about germs to keep their mouths obediently open while I brushed.

Cuddling with Desiree at bedtime is mandatory, by her rules, so I snuggled with her and we debated whether or not angels were in her room. I said she had guardian angels watching over her bed. Desiree said, “No, angels are too big to fit in my room!” We had to agree to disagree.

Then I ignored the messy house, iced my painful knees and tried to keep my eyes open enough to read a book, and was moderately successful.

I had such a good Sunday doing all the wrong things. Begging a ride to church, losing my nap, eating too much junk food, and having no time for myself turned out to be quite nice after all.

Maybe God cares more about chocolate conspiratorially eaten with little girls, hair detangling parties, and ice cream shared with the cat than all the hoity-toity writing anyway.