For me Sundays used to feel slower. Quieter. Like the whole world paused long enough for us to breathe, sit around the table, and eat something warm that smelled like love. There was time to breathe and visit friends. My grandma didn’t need fancy ingredients or Pinterest boards. She cooked with what she had, LOVE seasoned with her heart, and a pinch of that a smidgen of this and she would feed whoever walked through the door. After handing them a glass of Sweet Tea or Buttermilk if she didn’t tell them to help themselves. And today — in the middle of our chaos, our Dollar Tree snack runs, our…