Ser

There is something magical about Sundays.
If I ever think of what I want in my life, I distill it down to a Sunday.
Waking up, coffee and the paper in bed.
Breakfast of eggs, and bacon, toast and juice.
Afternoon naps, Redskins games.
A book, a couch, a loved one, and a silent, private conversation.
A day in half-time.
All the Monday through Fridays of deadlines and commutes, alarm clocks and bites to eat, the Saturdays of errands and to-dos, laundry and lag-time. Chronos. Sunday is Sabbath--the day of kairos, a day of being--the moments that simply are.
I wish I would learn to distinguish my verbs and leave them to their days.
Sunday is the Spanish ser: to be.
"And then there is time in which to be, simply to be, that time in which God quietly tells us who we are and who he wants us to be. It is then that God can take our emptiness and fill it up with what he wants, and drain away the business with which we inevitably get involved in the dailiness of human living." -Madeleine L'Engle