Living

Trading Hustle For Hearth: How Slow Sunday Began

When people ask me to define “slow living,” I don’t have to look far for an answer. Most mornings, it starts at 7:30 a.m. in a house bustling with four kids.

By Nicola Nelson3 min read
Slow Sunday

If I can, I rise before them and slip onto the back porch with a cup of tea and my devotional (I love the Alabaster books), reading aloud as the sun lifts over the Tennessee hills. Usually one of my little ones is curled up next to me. By the time my husband returns from the gym, the rest of the house is stirring, and we gather for a full breakfast of fresh bread and eggs from our local farm. Then, like clockwork, he makes our coffee, and we sip it outside while the kids run barefoot through the yard. That’s where Slow Sunday began; not as a brand, but as a rhythm of life.