I try to make Sundays my rest day for sure. Even if we are within the four walls of a church I take time to reflect on the weekend behind and what I want to see change within my control this week. I try to make it a day that my girls and I spend some quality time, even if that means in our PJs watching movies. Love spending time with them.
Your chili recipe sounds really good, I always seem to have a lot leftover and not enough people to finish. What do you do with all the leftovers?
I love this so much. Sundays like that are such a gift — not perfect or performative, just intentional. Reflection, church, pajamas, movies, and being fully with your girls… that kind of presence shapes a home in quiet ways that last. It sounds like you’re creating memories and margin at the same time, which is no small thing.
And yes to the chili question, leftovers are half the joy. I usually freeze a portion right away so it becomes a future “thank you” to myself on a busy week. The rest gets repurposed: chili over baked potatoes, tucked into quesadillas, or stretched with a little broth and beans to become a second soup. Sometimes it even turns into a messy, cozy chili-mac situation, which feels very Sunday-night approved.
Thank you for sharing this slice of your life here. It means a lot to me, and I’m really glad you’re part of this space 💛
This letter is a reminder that rest is not weakness…..it’s inheritance. The way you honor Sunday as presence over urgency, as care lived through the body, food, and memory, is both grounding and brave. You give language to a kind of power that moves slowly, nourishes deeply, and refuses to rush past what matters.
Whew. Thank you for this. I had to sit with your words for a minute. “Rest as inheritance” is exactly what I’ve been trying to listen back to, even when I don’t fully trust it yet. Writing this felt vulnerable in a quiet way, and knowing it landed with you like this makes the risk feel worth it. I’m really grateful you saw the care, the slowness, and the courage in it. Truly 💛
Wow what precious memories I remember those Sundays also at grandmama house then after grandmama death auntie house But then something changed 🧐 So now I spend Sundays I used to spend my Sundays going to church and then something happened 🤔 then when I got a family we start going to church it wasn't a steady pace so now I'll just spend my Sundays cooking or relaxing but always in the presence of God I've even reading some spiritual listen some podcast oh yeah my favorite spiritual performer, I learn that God is too big for a building Don't get me wrong I visit But I haven't been in a member faithfully nowhere in the last 20 something years
Thank you for trusting me with this. I can hear so much life, change, and honesty in what you shared.
Those Sundays at your grandmama’s house, then your auntie’s… those places weren’t just buildings either, were they? They were containers for love, routine, presence. It makes sense that when those people and seasons shifted, somethingshifted in you too.
What I hear now is not absence, but evolution. A faith that learned to breathe outside of structure. Cooking, resting, listening, reading, being still, staying aware of God’s presence in ordinary moments — that is a living, breathing spirituality. And you’re right: God is far too big for one building, one schedule, one way of belonging.
There’s no failure in the winding path. No requirement to explain the pauses or the changes. It sounds like you’ve found a way to stay connected that feels honest to who you are and the life you’ve lived. That matters.
I’m really grateful you shared this here. Your story adds depth to this space, and I hope you always feel welcome to bring it just as it is 💛
I missed Sundays with my moms, it’s was Sunday school, church services and home but special Sundays we stayed late at our own church or visited others. I like the day when we came straight home. My mom will heat up our dinner which we ate early around 3 and my brother and I couldn’t wait to go outside. Now my Sunday, I rest catch up on my school work to be turn in later that day.
Thank you for sharing this. I can feel how full those Sundays with your mom were. The rhythm of church, coming home early, eating together, and then rushing outside while the day was still wide open. Those kinds of memories stay in the body.
I love that now your Sundays hold rest and care in a different way. Catching up on schoolwork, tending to what needs to be turned in, making sure you’re steady for what’s ahead. That’s its own kind of devotion.
Sundays change as we do, but the heart of them stays the same. Making room. Taking a breath. Letting yourself land where you are now. I’m really glad you shared this with us.
In my 'Ready. Set. Go! Lifestyle' Sundays have become my Ready. Set and Mondays are my Go! But Saturdays? Ooooo...now that's the sleep in late, hot tea on the patio, big breakfast day for me. No rush, no fuss. I didn't grow up with church being a core part of my practice. When I was a teenager, I came here to Chattanooga to live with my grandma. She was a Seventh-day Adventist, and she believed in observing the Sabbath from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. Although that is not my religious practice today, resting on Saturdays has become a ritual for me.
Thank you for sharing your chili recipe. That was such a warm surprise at the end of your writing. It definitely felt like more than a recipe.
I love how clearly you see your own rhythm. Ready. Set. Go. And then Saturday comes in like a gentle rebellion. Hot tea, a slow morning, no one asking anything of you. That doesn’t feel accidental to me at all.
Your grandmother gave you more than a religious practice. She gave you a felt sense of rest. Sundown to sundown taught your nervous system that the world will keep spinning even when you stop. And even though your beliefs have evolved, that wisdom stayed. That’s the kind of inheritance that doesn’t need rules to survive.
I also love that Saturdays became yours. Not borrowed. Not copied. Chosen. That feels like such an honest way to honor where you’ve been and who you are now.
And yes… the chili. I’m smiling because you saw exactly what I hoped someone would. It was never just about the food. It was my way of saying, “I’m glad you’re here. Stay a minute. Let this nourish you.”
Thank you for sharing this. Your story brought depth to the room, and I’m really grateful you spoke up 💛
I love this Marie! Things that take a while tend to last longer. Your Grandmother wasn't just making food, she was making family! The memories, love, and wisdom that was created outside of the pot are the "stock" for what is still Becoming today! This is awesome, keep cooking Cuz!
I have never forgotten that moment, you talking about grandma, teaching you how to make biscuits at her funeral. Of all the things you could have named, you chose that. Not just a recipe, but the way she taught you. The patience. The tenderness. The way our matriarchs never rushed instruction, never shamed questions, and always made room for learning with love.
You’re right, she was not just making food. She was making family. And you naming the “stock” as what was built outside of the pot… that’s exactly it. That’s the inheritance. That’s what is still becoming in all of us.
I’m holding back tears reading your words because it feels like a full-circle moment. Her care and her way are still feeding us now, through memory, through language, through how we show up for one another.
Thank you for seeing it. Thank you for saying it. And thank you for always carrying our people with such reverence.
Sunday is my PAUSE and DECOMPRESS. I love the memories you shared, takes me back to my childhood years. I really miss those Sundays at granny house. Thank you Marie!! That Chili looks AMAZING by the way😊
This really touched me. Sundays at your granny’s house carry so much tenderness you and the kind of memories that live in the body long after the details fade. I love that Sunday still feels like a pause and a decompress for you now, almost like you’re honoring that younger version of yourself who learned what rest felt like there.
Thank you for sharing that with me. It means more than you know. And I’m smiling about the chili too — food has a way of holding memory just like places do 💛
Learning to choose presence over urgency — and rest over efficiency — is such tender, countercultural work. It asks us to unlearn so much of what we’ve been praised for. The fact that this landed in your body and not just your mind tells me you’re already listening to yourself in a deeper way.
I’m really glad you’re here, and I’m grateful you shared this. Your words matter in this space 💛
My Sunday is to rest and recharge as well. My mother would always prepare Sunday dinners from scratch when I was younger, not as much once I got older though, Lord rest her soul. Those were some great memories we shared. This was a great read. Thank you.✨️💜
Thank you for taking the time to read and to share this with me. I’m really glad Sundays became a place of rest for you too. Your mother’s Sunday dinners sound like a kind of love that didn’t need explaining — just time, care, and presence. Those memories don’t fade; they settle into us. I’m grateful you felt seen in this, and I’m holding her memory with you 💛
This brought back so many memories of Sunday dinners at my Grandmothers house. When she left this world I vowed to keep her spirit alive by picking up the torch. Sundays mean family time, soul food and loving on family.
This is so beautiful. What a powerful promise to make — to pick up the torch and let her love keep moving through you. That’s how legacy really works, not as something we remember once in a while, but something we practice.
I love that your Sundays are filled with family, soul food, and affection. Those are the moments that teach the next generation what belonging feels like before they ever have words for it. When they look back one day, they won’t just remember the meals, they’ll remember how it felt to be gathered, welcomed, and loved.
You’re not just keeping her spirit alive… you’re passing it forward. And that is such sacred, meaningful work 💛
I try to make Sundays my rest day for sure. Even if we are within the four walls of a church I take time to reflect on the weekend behind and what I want to see change within my control this week. I try to make it a day that my girls and I spend some quality time, even if that means in our PJs watching movies. Love spending time with them.
Your chili recipe sounds really good, I always seem to have a lot leftover and not enough people to finish. What do you do with all the leftovers?
I love this so much. Sundays like that are such a gift — not perfect or performative, just intentional. Reflection, church, pajamas, movies, and being fully with your girls… that kind of presence shapes a home in quiet ways that last. It sounds like you’re creating memories and margin at the same time, which is no small thing.
And yes to the chili question, leftovers are half the joy. I usually freeze a portion right away so it becomes a future “thank you” to myself on a busy week. The rest gets repurposed: chili over baked potatoes, tucked into quesadillas, or stretched with a little broth and beans to become a second soup. Sometimes it even turns into a messy, cozy chili-mac situation, which feels very Sunday-night approved.
Thank you for sharing this slice of your life here. It means a lot to me, and I’m really glad you’re part of this space 💛
Chili freeze well and just made sure you thaw it All the way out in fridge usually the day before 😊
Powerful, Marie Mott.
This letter is a reminder that rest is not weakness…..it’s inheritance. The way you honor Sunday as presence over urgency, as care lived through the body, food, and memory, is both grounding and brave. You give language to a kind of power that moves slowly, nourishes deeply, and refuses to rush past what matters.
Whew. Thank you for this. I had to sit with your words for a minute. “Rest as inheritance” is exactly what I’ve been trying to listen back to, even when I don’t fully trust it yet. Writing this felt vulnerable in a quiet way, and knowing it landed with you like this makes the risk feel worth it. I’m really grateful you saw the care, the slowness, and the courage in it. Truly 💛
❤️❤️❤️🙏🏽
💛
Wow what precious memories I remember those Sundays also at grandmama house then after grandmama death auntie house But then something changed 🧐 So now I spend Sundays I used to spend my Sundays going to church and then something happened 🤔 then when I got a family we start going to church it wasn't a steady pace so now I'll just spend my Sundays cooking or relaxing but always in the presence of God I've even reading some spiritual listen some podcast oh yeah my favorite spiritual performer, I learn that God is too big for a building Don't get me wrong I visit But I haven't been in a member faithfully nowhere in the last 20 something years
Thank you for trusting me with this. I can hear so much life, change, and honesty in what you shared.
Those Sundays at your grandmama’s house, then your auntie’s… those places weren’t just buildings either, were they? They were containers for love, routine, presence. It makes sense that when those people and seasons shifted, somethingshifted in you too.
What I hear now is not absence, but evolution. A faith that learned to breathe outside of structure. Cooking, resting, listening, reading, being still, staying aware of God’s presence in ordinary moments — that is a living, breathing spirituality. And you’re right: God is far too big for one building, one schedule, one way of belonging.
There’s no failure in the winding path. No requirement to explain the pauses or the changes. It sounds like you’ve found a way to stay connected that feels honest to who you are and the life you’ve lived. That matters.
I’m really grateful you shared this here. Your story adds depth to this space, and I hope you always feel welcome to bring it just as it is 💛
Thank you Marie That mean a lot 🥰
I missed Sundays with my moms, it’s was Sunday school, church services and home but special Sundays we stayed late at our own church or visited others. I like the day when we came straight home. My mom will heat up our dinner which we ate early around 3 and my brother and I couldn’t wait to go outside. Now my Sunday, I rest catch up on my school work to be turn in later that day.
Thank you for sharing this. I can feel how full those Sundays with your mom were. The rhythm of church, coming home early, eating together, and then rushing outside while the day was still wide open. Those kinds of memories stay in the body.
I love that now your Sundays hold rest and care in a different way. Catching up on schoolwork, tending to what needs to be turned in, making sure you’re steady for what’s ahead. That’s its own kind of devotion.
Sundays change as we do, but the heart of them stays the same. Making room. Taking a breath. Letting yourself land where you are now. I’m really glad you shared this with us.
In my 'Ready. Set. Go! Lifestyle' Sundays have become my Ready. Set and Mondays are my Go! But Saturdays? Ooooo...now that's the sleep in late, hot tea on the patio, big breakfast day for me. No rush, no fuss. I didn't grow up with church being a core part of my practice. When I was a teenager, I came here to Chattanooga to live with my grandma. She was a Seventh-day Adventist, and she believed in observing the Sabbath from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. Although that is not my religious practice today, resting on Saturdays has become a ritual for me.
Thank you for sharing your chili recipe. That was such a warm surprise at the end of your writing. It definitely felt like more than a recipe.
I love how clearly you see your own rhythm. Ready. Set. Go. And then Saturday comes in like a gentle rebellion. Hot tea, a slow morning, no one asking anything of you. That doesn’t feel accidental to me at all.
Your grandmother gave you more than a religious practice. She gave you a felt sense of rest. Sundown to sundown taught your nervous system that the world will keep spinning even when you stop. And even though your beliefs have evolved, that wisdom stayed. That’s the kind of inheritance that doesn’t need rules to survive.
I also love that Saturdays became yours. Not borrowed. Not copied. Chosen. That feels like such an honest way to honor where you’ve been and who you are now.
And yes… the chili. I’m smiling because you saw exactly what I hoped someone would. It was never just about the food. It was my way of saying, “I’m glad you’re here. Stay a minute. Let this nourish you.”
Thank you for sharing this. Your story brought depth to the room, and I’m really grateful you spoke up 💛
"Inheritance that doesn't need rules to survive"...that hit. Thank you.
I love this Marie! Things that take a while tend to last longer. Your Grandmother wasn't just making food, she was making family! The memories, love, and wisdom that was created outside of the pot are the "stock" for what is still Becoming today! This is awesome, keep cooking Cuz!
Jon Jon, this undid me in the softest way.
I have never forgotten that moment, you talking about grandma, teaching you how to make biscuits at her funeral. Of all the things you could have named, you chose that. Not just a recipe, but the way she taught you. The patience. The tenderness. The way our matriarchs never rushed instruction, never shamed questions, and always made room for learning with love.
You’re right, she was not just making food. She was making family. And you naming the “stock” as what was built outside of the pot… that’s exactly it. That’s the inheritance. That’s what is still becoming in all of us.
I’m holding back tears reading your words because it feels like a full-circle moment. Her care and her way are still feeding us now, through memory, through language, through how we show up for one another.
Thank you for seeing it. Thank you for saying it. And thank you for always carrying our people with such reverence.
Love you, Cuz. Always 💛
Sunday is my PAUSE and DECOMPRESS. I love the memories you shared, takes me back to my childhood years. I really miss those Sundays at granny house. Thank you Marie!! That Chili looks AMAZING by the way😊
This really touched me. Sundays at your granny’s house carry so much tenderness you and the kind of memories that live in the body long after the details fade. I love that Sunday still feels like a pause and a decompress for you now, almost like you’re honoring that younger version of yourself who learned what rest felt like there.
Thank you for sharing that with me. It means more than you know. And I’m smiling about the chili too — food has a way of holding memory just like places do 💛
As someone who needs to master presence over urgency and resting over being efficient... This spoke to my soul. ❤️
Oh, I feel this with you. Truly.
Learning to choose presence over urgency — and rest over efficiency — is such tender, countercultural work. It asks us to unlearn so much of what we’ve been praised for. The fact that this landed in your body and not just your mind tells me you’re already listening to yourself in a deeper way.
I’m really glad you’re here, and I’m grateful you shared this. Your words matter in this space 💛
My Sunday is to rest and recharge as well. My mother would always prepare Sunday dinners from scratch when I was younger, not as much once I got older though, Lord rest her soul. Those were some great memories we shared. This was a great read. Thank you.✨️💜
Thank you for taking the time to read and to share this with me. I’m really glad Sundays became a place of rest for you too. Your mother’s Sunday dinners sound like a kind of love that didn’t need explaining — just time, care, and presence. Those memories don’t fade; they settle into us. I’m grateful you felt seen in this, and I’m holding her memory with you 💛
This brought back so many memories of Sunday dinners at my Grandmothers house. When she left this world I vowed to keep her spirit alive by picking up the torch. Sundays mean family time, soul food and loving on family.
This is so beautiful. What a powerful promise to make — to pick up the torch and let her love keep moving through you. That’s how legacy really works, not as something we remember once in a while, but something we practice.
I love that your Sundays are filled with family, soul food, and affection. Those are the moments that teach the next generation what belonging feels like before they ever have words for it. When they look back one day, they won’t just remember the meals, they’ll remember how it felt to be gathered, welcomed, and loved.
You’re not just keeping her spirit alive… you’re passing it forward. And that is such sacred, meaningful work 💛