It is Thanksgiving Sunday here in Canada. And in the Vancouver area particularly, it is beautiful and heading upwards of a 70 degree day.

As I write this, I’m sitting on my (as yet unmade) bed. In my housecoat. Tea at my side. Computer on my lap.

I had planned to go to church today per usual on Sundays. But the quiet of the day, the sense of gratitude and serenity about life that envelopes thanksgiving, has me still on my bed, in my housecoat, sunshine slanting over me, and in a haze of peace and ‘I won’t be going anywhere’ heart-set.

I’m staying home this morning.

It feels just right.

The problem with Sunday’s is that there can be a busy, busy, busy kind of energy to such church days.

Years back, I recognized within myself and the subculture I’d grown up to know, a certain and explicit driven-ness about Sundays. They are not often actually days of rest.

With the ‘oughts’ and the ‘shoulds’ piling high on Sundays, they wear a certain heaviness that I am quite sure the Lord never ever intended.

And so I’ve learned, to delight in church, to find peace and pouring into there, to be refreshed and encouraged by song and message and people… when I am there.

And when I am not there, there are other blessings that a Sunday holds, and other bounty of the Spirit that is mine (but only as I leave the ‘oughts’ and the ‘shoulds’ behind).

Today is one of those days. Sunshine. Quiet. Solitude.

Later today, will be ample fellowship with some 30 people for thanksgiving dinner.

So right now: Sunshine, Quiet, Solitude, Housecoat, Tea, and The Spirit.

Utter contentment.