Sunday, January 21, 2007
As I write this it is 7:50 on Sunday morning, January 21. The Mr. has just left for church, he goes early to set up and band practice before worship. I’ve had some buttery toast and I’m on my second cup of coffee. As I look out my front window it’s a little snowy and gray. No movement to be seen on my street, most folks are probably sleeping in or hunkered down in their warm houses on this 24 degree morning.
I walk through my house and peek in at daboyz still sleeping soundly. I’ll get ready for church in little bit and then wake them up to do the same. For now, it’s a quiet and still refuge that belongs to our dog, Jazz and me.
I don’t know if you have a certain time of the day or the week that lacks glamour and busyness but for all of my life that time has been Sunday mornings. I was once the sleeping child who awakened to the smell of my dad’s cologne as he got dressed up for church. I was the teenager awakened by my mom, allowed to sleep in while she did her hair and make-up on Sunday mornings. My mom always got completely ready but remained in her housecoat, putting on her dress last of all to stay pressed and pretty for church.
Now I’m the one awake early and watching the sun touch the rooftops as I sip coffee in the quiet. There’s nothing special about these early Sabbath mornings. That’s what is so special. It’s a holy quiet of the world and of my home and heart. I wonder about it because it was there in my house all those years ago too. Does this holy quiet come to your house too?
In a few minutes I’ll put on my jeans, my cream colored turtle neck and my beige sweater. Certainly different than my mom’s high heels and dressy suits. The Mr. is in jeans and daboyz will stretch the same stretches of their toddler years and yawning they’ll get in the shower. In hoodies with long messy hair they’ll head to the car for church.
We are a different family then mine was. My dad wore suits and ties and taught Sunday School. My husband wears Skechers and plays bass.
My sister and I slept on rollers and had dress coats for Sundays only. Daboyz wear the same clothes they might on any other day.
And we are the same family. There was no struggle to convince Amy and me to get ready for church. We waited all week to go. My boys have never argued about church either. My dad led worship too, but he led his family from the pew instead of the congregation from the stage.
The day will unfold completely different on the surface but unchanged just the same. We are generationally blessed.
But right now, as I write this, it is 8:00 on Sunday morning, January 21. Daboyz are still asleep and I am headed for the shower. And it is quiet.
The quiet was made for me.
And as sure as I have always loved church I love this time too. In this holy quiet I am still that child who sings with assurance, Jesus love me; this I know.
The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.