I loved sitting as a family, being fed by good word of God, and that feeling that lingers back... at home as ideas and new understanding sparkle dinner conversations.
We decided early on that we'd do our best to see Sunday as the Sabbath and dial the world back on that day. The world can be so loud, so fast, and so intrusive at times. I grew to love Sundays more and more as that trend increased. We needed a break from it and we knew our kids did too. We were grateful God foresaw that before we did.
Sunday was spent together, doing things that exercised hearts and spirits, while building family bonds and love of God. Party invitations were politely declined, and jerseys remained in drawers that day. Siblings played with each other, and with us unless we had guests in. To ease the agony of peer separation we pulled out special games, built blanket forts, and I cooked my token Sunday roast or chicken which made arriving home feel like Thanksgiving. The boys had a strip contest in the car to see who could be down to pants only by the time we drove the two miles to home. (I cannot personally recommend the "strip contest.")
We had bumpy days, Family Nights that looked like a WWWF bout, and on more occasions than I care to recall, some Sundays ended with angry sibs squared off in solitary confinement until practicums in repentence and forgiveness were completed. But we also served others, read from the scriptures as a family, welcomed guests into our home, made great memories, and we learned wonderful things about one another.
I've been in all their homes, and yes, despite the best efforts at organization, my kids and their spouses still scramble for shoes and ties and books and talks Sunday mornings, but they still remain tightly bound to one another, which I attribute in great part to our Sunday traditions which really affected everything else in our collective lives. And for that, I am truly grateful.