Sundays

"…and God rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had"

Finally, after the crush and rush of the first full week back to school, a Sunday dawned with ‘normalcy’ written all over it. Thank God for Sundays, that blessed provision from the foundation of the world for the sake of tired humanity. Some folk chafe at its proscription against labor. I revel in it. Maybe its because I am just such a shirker. Anyhow, when God says rest from your labor, who am I to argue?

Sunday can be such a day of refreshment. Rising early from force of habit, I find the house is quiet, time to reflect on the Word with no blast of hurry. Then there is the sweet music afforded on a radio station that prepares one for worship. Old favorites are mixed with a casual breakfast and the Sunday funnies. After church finds us gathered around a family dinner table for a home cooked meal and enjoying lively conversation ranging from the funny to the feisty. A soft couch brings a nourishing nap after which there is still time to write an overdue note, clear some clutter off the desk, make a long distance phone call, or just get some time to reboot one’s mind and spirit. And to think that it is a totally guilt-free experience. Sweet! The lawn can be as tall as ever, but it is Sunday! The garage still needs painting, but it is Sunday! I relish the change of pace, and can feel myself drinking up the refreshment to my body, spirit, and soul.

As idyllic as that all may sound, it was not always so. Sunday is the one day of the week our enemy loves to destroy. And it is not that hard to do, especially for young families. I well remember the sourness that would suddenly come out of nowhere on a Sunday morning and some resultant very quiet rides to church. Once, we never even made it. Expectations would clash, kids would lose a shoe, keys would turn up missing, or impermeable stains suddenly appear on clothing in between the house and the car: any one of which could drain a morning of all spirituality in a moment. The absolute match-to-dynamite in this morning scenario would be if one spouse or another was putting together a last minute Sunday school lesson. The odds for conflict would rise exponentially. And Sunday morning conflict can begin a conflagration that consumes the whole day and singes the whole week.

We learned we had to fight to preserve the sanity and sanctity of Sunday. The learning curve for dads is especially rough. I had to get lessons done ahead of time. I had to learn about expectations for shared responsibilities of prepping children for public display. Why don’t they teach you this stuff in manhood 101? But it seemed that no matter how much I made myself helpful, we were always finding ourselves in that last minute Sunday school charge. ‘I would NOT be late AGAIN,’ and, yes, I occasionally committed Sunday suicide by honking the horn from the driveway (men – do not try this at home, ever!). It took awhile, but I finally figured out why we were always running late: we were sleeping in until the last possible moment. My patriarchal instincts kicked in, and I wanted to proclaim a new time for rising and shining, but wisdom said this would be just another horn-in-the-driveway approach. I then discovered a secret weapon: bacon. The smell was irresistible. It was accompanied by eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes, etc. etc. Armed with these formidable weapons, I drove my family from their beds another whole hour earlier than what was usual. And, get this, they all thought I was great! We were up, fed, and then had an extra hour to get it right, strolling out the door, actually early. Tension was replaced by unexpected joy.

May you find and keep joy in your Sundays. At times you will have to fight for it, but it is there.