Monday Never Feels Holy
Sunday is always a good day. The spouse and I take a long morning walk. We go to choir practice where we make music with people we like. We sing hymns. We take the sacrament. I play the organ loudly, badly and with great joy. We spend two hours with toddlers who think every idea we have is a good one. Yesterday we made palm fronds out of sticks, construction paper and smiley face stickers. We paraded the hall at church waving our leaves and singing Hosanna. Toddlers trying to march and wave at the same time is hilarious. Embraced by my religious community and Sabbath worship habits, I went to bed eagerly anticipating the upcoming Holy Week. I would be my best self this week.
Monday morning came and reminded me that while I am a well-intentioned spirit, I am a spirit encased in flesh and my flesh is weak. The list of holy intentions I made before going to bed sits at the kitchen table mocking me. My spirit is willing but my flesh just wants to go back to bed. Fortunately for me, I've had a life time of Monday mornings. I know