It can happen at any time, but it’s a frequent occurrence on Sundays, when so many stores appear to be particularly busy. Standing there, studying droves of shoppers going about their business, my mind can start racing. Even more so in Lent.

How did it get this way? How did Sunday morph into another busy day of the week? How did Sunday change from being a holy day into a day to shop, run errands, work on home projects, do household chores? That used to be Saturday.

That’s when guilt strikes. Did I really have to make this purchase today, on Sunday? Is going to Mass enough to fulfill the obligation to make Sunday holy? What am I teaching my children by the way I spend the day?

Growing up, I was blessed because Sunday shopping was unheard of. It was illegal, of course, but that’s not the only reason malls were abandoned, parking lots were empty and highways were usually quiet. There was no rushing, no sense of urgency to do anything or buy anything. It was the Lord’s day.

As a young girl, this stillness had a profound effect on me. It made me realize that humans had another level of being, a life beyond their busy workaday existence that often revolved around commerce. Sunday was to be spent in prayer at Mass and in communion with family.

Now I wonder: where did it go?

It would be hard to dispute that North American culture could use a day, one stress-free day, where together all of society slowed down. It would be a day to be available for each other, a day to celebrate our humanity and worship our Creator. A day of stillness.

A couple months ago, I would have doubted such a day was possible any more. Then I stumbled across an article in the New York Post that read: “Pingpong prodigy Estee Ackerman, an 11-year-old from Long Island, was disqualified from her final event at the 2012 U.S. National Table Tennis Championships in Las Vegas last Dec. 21 when her match fell on the Jewish holy day of rest and she chose not to play.”

I was inspired by this young woman, but even more inspired by her parents and what they had taught their daughter. Seldom, if ever, would you hear a Catholic athlete say, “I can’t play if the game falls on the Lord’s day.” Or parents insisting their child miss a Sunday game.

This child caused me to reflect more deeply about Sunday, which led to a resolution for Lent. I decided to reclaim Sunday, to make it the Lord’s day and celebrate it in the manner taught to me by my parents.

But when I asked our daughter to adjust her part-time work schedule to exclude Sunday shifts we faced several challenges. Busy Sundays are ingrained in society and I learned that declaring a day of rest was easier said than done.

I fretted that it might be hopeless to try to reclaim the day. Then I stumbled on articles in which Pope Benedict advocated Sunday observance. “Sunday is the day of the Lord and of man, a day which everyone must be able to be free — free for the family and free for God,” he said.

His heartening words led to more research about Sunday shopping and how it became popular in many countries. I stumbled upon the inspiring story of Eric Liddell, an Olympian who withdrew from the 100-metre race at the 1924 Paris Olympics even though he was the gold medal favourite. A Christian, he refused to compete on a Sunday. As the competitors lined up for the 100-metre final he was preaching in a Scottish Presbyterian church in Paris.

The more I thought about my Lenten pledge to reclaim Sunday, the more I realized it was going to involve not just one resolution but many. To claim Sunday as a day of rest meant re-ordering my schedule through the rest of the week. That took planning, resolve and sacrifice.

Now I no longer have to worry about Sunday lineups and guilt trips. On the seventh day He rested and so do I.

(Pilarski’s Motherhood Matters: Inspirational Stories, Letters, Quotes & Prayers for Catholic Moms, is published by Catholic Register Books and available at 416-934-3410, ext. 401.)