My Anywhere But Here Blog

The Quiet Beauty of Remembering Splendid Sundays

There was a time when I used to call them Splendid Sundays.

Not because they were filled with grand plans or extraordinary moments,

but because they carried something quieter… something steadier.

I loved Sundays. For me, they were consistent and truly did set the tone for the coming week.

Sundays meant, as a small child, yummy local bakery breakfast rolls—treats like apricot pockets and pecan rolls smothered in icing, glasses of chilled Concord grape juice, and a leisurely breakfast.

Yet around 8:45, we would hear Mom say to hurry and get ready—we had church at 9:30, Sunday school, and worship at 11 a.m. I so looked forward to that time with my family, the children’s sermons, and the hymns that today still carry so much joy in my heart on heavy days.

I cherished sitting with my grandmothers—my father’s on some occasions, and my mother’s mother every Splendid Sunday. They were so special to me. I treasured them in my life.

Sunday was the day we would occasionally go out for an afternoon drive and have a family dinner at special places like The Hornaplenty or The Tavern in a quaint Amish town near us.

Or many times, we would be at my aunt and uncle’s house celebrating a birthday or special occasion. It was family time, and it reassured me how much family can carry a person through both fun and difficult times. We had a splendid family to match the Splendid Sundays.

When I was a child, there were more times than not when we would simply stay home—relaxing, footloose and fancy-free, as the old saying goes.

As I got older, I treasured that phrase—footloose and fancy-free. Days where I could start my morning praising God and thanking Him. Then perhaps lunch with friends, a leisurely day reading, or planning to cook a simple yet scrumptious dinner for my parents. I still love cooking to this day, though now it is harder due to physical limitations.

“Splendid Sundays”… I love that it still applies to my life, even now, on some level.

I love that one day a week can carry me through the rest of my week.

One day a week reminds me I do not walk through life alone.

One day a week reminds me to hold on to the precious things—things that may seem small to some, but to me hold deep meaning.

One day a week where I can pause and whisper softly, “Thank you, Lord, for getting me through another week… and for seeing me into the next.”

“Splendid Sundays” are where it all ends and all begins—at the very same time.

It is my hope that you, too, may come to call your Sundays splendid.

My Sundays have always just felt… splendid.

Sundays felt different.

Sundays had a way of softening the edges of the week.

The rush would ease, the noise would settle, and life—if only for a little while—felt less demanding.

There was space.

Space to sit a little longer.

Space to breathe a little deeper.

Space to simply be without needing to become anything more for that day.

As an adult, sometimes splendid means nothing more than a slow morning.

A cup of coffee that doesn’t grow cold from being forgotten.

A chair by the window.

A moment where time doesn’t feel like it is slipping through your hands.

Splendid does not mean perfect.

It does not mean everything in life is in place or easy.

It simply means there is a gentle pause…

a quiet permission to rest within the life you are living.

And perhaps that is what makes these Sundays so meaningful.

They do not ask anything of me.

They do not require energy I may not have.

They do not expect me to keep pace with the world.

They allow me to step just slightly outside of it.

Now, life does not always offer those same kinds of Sundays so easily.

Schedules fill.

Responsibilities grow.

The mind continues to move, even when the body longs to rest.

But I have come to realize something…

A Splendid Sunday is not something we find.

It is something we gently choose.

It may only be an hour.

It may only be a moment.

But even within a tired and complicated life,

there can still be a small corner of the day that belongs only to you.

A quiet cup of coffee.

A walk without urgency.

A pause where the world softens just enough.

And in that space—however brief—there it is again.

Splendid.

Not loud.

Not grand.

But quietly enough.

Sometimes, a Splendid Sunday is simply the reminder

that life does not always need to be rushed to be meaningful.

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Susan Thomas

My Anywhere But Here… is not always a place we go,

but a moment we allow ourselves to feel.