Sunday Mornings Are the Worst

I love Sunday mornings.  Or at least I did when, as a child, they seemed simple and clean.  They’ve always been about family and church…inseparably.   There was never a Sunday that didn’t mean church, Sunday school, and all the accompanying traditions… dressing up, memorizing verses, finding my Bible (Sword Drill, of course) and Sunday School book, attendance envelope containing a quarter and hurrying out the door to church.  Why we hurried I’m not sure…we were always among the first to arrive.  Never late, unlike now!  Hmmm, what happened?   Familiar hymns and preaching that touched the truth deep inside my 8 year old soul seem more beautiful and dear to me now more than ever.   Sunday dinner at home or at Grandma’s house brought aromas and flavors that no restaurant has ever come close to. Then came the mandatory and despised nap, followed by Sunday night church and an invitation to somebody’s house afterwards for cake, ice cream, or coffee.  We kids would run and play in the backyards of those dusky summer nights.  There would often be a warm, peaceful moment when, in the distance, inside the house, almost subconsciously, you could hear the grownups, talk, laugh, and bond.  It made me feel safe and glad I belonged to my parents.  (More on that in future blogs!)

Then Sundays changed.  They got tougher and not so simple.  I was the grownup.  I was the husband.  The beautiful example of spiritual leadership set by Lloyd and Myra was now mine to uphold…or ignore.  Gone were the familiar, comfortable ways of childhood.  Here now was my and Linda’s new life, our new marriage, our own new path.  Now came the sobering realization that it was up to me and Linda to build that solid foundation of faith into our new life.  Pretty scary.  But one of the first lessons I learned as a grownup about the Lord’s church and Sundays…He’s the same, yesterday, today, and forever!  We found that very same loving warmth, fellowship, joy, encouragement and precious new, life-long friends in our church families in Monroe and Chalmette.  (At least 4 or 5 blogs to come on those topics)

Then the “fun” really started!  God said, “Liza! Stephanie!…Go be the greatest blessings of Linda and Steve’s life! “   You guessed it…the following twenty years or so of Sunday mornings were unbelievable.  A thousand Sunday mornings of excitement: finding Bibles, new dresses, curling irons – plugged?  unplugged?  curlers - plugged, unplugged?  iron - plugged, unplugged?  pictures taken of sprayed curls and freshly brushed smiles…then the tears over fallen curls…”we’re gonna be late!”  Easter Sundays, Mothers’ Day cards and gifts, Christmas pageants, children’s choir programs, “Is the video camera charged?  Where’s the tripod?”   Their mother was unbelievable through it all... Linda taught them everything…how Christian girls dress, act, pray, walk, talk, laugh, cry, love.  By her example she taught them how Christian ladies respect their grandparents, grow to understand Christian heritage, family tradition, how to handle boys, men, and mean people.  She taught them how to love a husband.  She taught them about Jesus.  She taught them her love of life, music, humor, self-confidence, mischief (no, wait… they knew that on their own) the basic tenets every “Church Lady” has memorized, and how to throw a birthday party, slumber party, engagement party, bridal, wedding, or baby shower without  breaking a sweat.  I love her! She’s awesome and now her daughters are awesome.  I’m the most blessed husband and father on the planet.  I think my favorite time on Sunday mornings was that early moment of calm and peace when Linda would be the first one up and get us started by putting some music on the intercom.  Something selected with thoughtful care to wake everyone up and set a sweet, reverent or playful mood for the day.  She always seemed to know what we needed to hear.  She still does that.  It still makes Sundays special. 

Now, Liza and Stephanie have lives, husbands, careers and Sunday mornings of their own.  Now, here at home, it’s back to just us.  Sunday mornings are back to being simple and clean.  But there is a painful difference; although painful is not the right word, really.  It’s more like a deep, tender emotion.  Now, I swear the Sunday morning music I hear on the intercom and in my heart echoes with the sound of girlish laughter from upstairs.  The praise songs during worship service make me think of our daughters, their lives then and now, and God’s blessings poured out so richly.  From my vantage point in the choir loft I notice the seats that were once occupied by them, their friends, and my Daddy.  I start to miss them all and then my heart breaks for Linda and what she must be feeling.  Then I think of Papa and Granny and how much we miss them.  But, then in that moment just before despair can take hold, I’m overwhelmed once again by God’s grace and goodness and His tender care and love for us.  My pain is swallowed up in praise as all those memories and blessings come flooding into my heart and mind.  God is so good!  Quick, get that tear off your cheek before anybody notices and sing the second verse.  Yeah, like I always say, “Sunday mornings are the best!”