Sunday Without A God Novels & Stories

It seemed that the older he got, the more he looked forward to the peace and quiet of Sunday mornings. Did he miss going to church? Not really. He still believed in God, or at least in the existence of a supernatural being, but he had grown disenchanted with organized religion. He disliked the newer services and found it embarrassing to watch people crying and confessing their so-called sins in public. He viewed the speaking in tongues with great suspicion and did not care much for St. George's congregation. It seemed church members worried more about displaying the latest fashions and newest German cars than in humbly worshiping God. His family had taken issue with him: he hardly attended s

Sunday, let me just say is a very religious and spiritual day in our house. Mum although she does not have time for any other thing,she does have time for God. living in her roof means you go to church every sunday. But when I stay over at my grandma's place, I don't really go to church because Grandma believes that going to church doesn't mean you have faith in Christ. you might go to church a thousand times and still not know what to do in that church so she says our faith in God and our believe in God and that he exists lies in our hearts and that God can easily see them even if you don't go to a church like every other person. So I didn't go to church every Sunday when I over at Grandma'

Enyinnaya insisted. "Where are you thinking of taking me to this time around? Iris asked, seeming reluctant to leave the bed and go out with Enyinnaya. "Perhaps, you have forgotten, so let me remind you. Mami, today is Sunday and usually, on Sundays, Christians go to church to Worship their God. So, up you go, get up, you lazy ass." Enyinnaya answered light-heartedly. As if Enyinnaya's explanation was like a snake bite, Iris raised herself from the bed immediately, the shock and surprise on her face was priceless and Enyinnaya knew almost immediately, that he had gotten her full attention.

Sunday passed without contact. Daniel had expected this — had sent the quiet day message and received the quiet day response and understood that Adrian would honour it in the full sense, which meant not checking in, not sending a casual text to fill the silence, not requiring anything. He had been right. The Sunday was entirely his, which was what he had asked for and what he needed and which sat with him, as the hours moved, with a specific and clarifying weight.

His sins had been visited upon each generation of the McCavendish family for over two centuries and now they were being visited on David. It all seemed so unfair. Was this really God’s plan for her and David? Where was God in all of this? Was God a part of this in any way? Sally had always wondered what it would be like to live in a world without God, if such a thing were even possible. Matthew had written of some strange heretical beliefs in his journal, of God being a prisoner in His own creation. If He really were experiencing Himself individually as every man woman and beast in creation, unaware of His divine totality, then it really wouldn’t be possible to live in a world without God. B

Not Your Typical Love It was not a sudden incident That bridged his cold heart To the warmth of her presence He had often felt a lonesome need to fulfill His imaginative greed With the belief of something better Than the freezing reality of his existence He took to his realization Of her pretty presence and the fearlessness Maybe this was what the God’s were after all this while Caging him in his own consciousness And tying him to this burdensome emotion Not many days he could swear by But he felt his life Fill with unnecessary means And shocking acts, He couldn’t quite get his head around All that had happened The Sun seemed bright And he didn’t quite feel the need To leave his T.V. running

Ben woke up to the brightness of the sun, it hardly rained there and that was a major problem in the northern region of the country. The lands were arid and she wondered how their crops were able to germinate without enough rainfall to sustain it. It was Sunday already, a Sabbath day to keep holy. She jolted out of bed and quickly rushed into the bathroom, she took a quick bath and brushed her teeth. She ran back to the room after she was done, she took a quick glance at the wall clock and realized she was already late for mass.

He went on a Sunday, because Sunday was the day he was most honest with himself. This was not a principle Eli had articulated before. It arrived as an observation about his own behavior: Sundays in Seattle he had always been more likely to call his mother, to look at the work on his desk and see it accurately rather than through the lens of its urgency, to notice the view from the fifteenth-floor windows instead of passing it. Some quality of the day's structure — the absence of professional occasion — produced a version of himself that was less mediated.

“I don’t accept it, but I acknowledge it’s reasonable.” I look at him over the menu. He looks back. And the Sunday moves around us, unhurried and ordinary, and I think: this is what it is when it is just us. No contract language. No event agenda. Just Sunday lunch and a two-minute argument about punctuality and the particular ease of someone who has found their way into the specific rhythm of your days. -----

I knocked on his bedroom door and retreated to the living room to go over his schedule and security details for the day again since he would be taking an hour to get ready for work since he had to exercise too. He came to the living room an hour later and went straight to get his coffee before turning his attention to me. I had wondered why he didn't have servants waiting on him and he had explained that he liked being on his own and that the workers came once a week. Splendid. "Good morning, Miss Davis."I nodded and brought out my iPad. " You would be having a meeting with Mr. Oxford from the Sterling company at eight-thirty at the diners cafe and I already took care of the extra security d