On a Sunday morning to end all Sunday mornings, Jacob came over bearing an already proofed but not yet baked loaf of bread. I'd got the oven warm, and we put it in immediately (after carefully putting a tray of water in the bottom of the oven to steam the bread while it's baking and give it a nice crust - Jacob doesn't make 'just any old bread')
We ate it with jam and peanut butter and banana and avocado and baked beans I'd made fresh that morning (not the Heinz kind that I despise and Jacob actually likes -- we have to agree to disagree on some things, although it is always me who is disagreeing since Jacob is so agreeable about everything.) and the sunlight came through the window and caught his clear eyes.
This was on a no-work Sunday, something Jacob does habitually and which I really respect and decided to try out during term. The first no-work Sunday that happened felt so wonderful and intentionally restful that I spent my rest doing things that filed me with joy - I went for a run, did laundry and hung it out inhaling the smell of fresh clean clothes, and baked maple tahini cookies. I woke up without an alarm, and felt no tiredness at all. I can't say it's perfect, because in subsequent weeks I've sometimes had too much work not to squeeze some in on Sunday, and other times I wonder if the no-work Sunday is truly something I offer to God or if sometimes I lapse into doing it just to challenge myself. But that morning, that breakfast, that breakfast bringer, that was a little moment of perfection.
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