Sunday Mornings in the Pastor's Home

Sunday mornings had a distinct rhythm to them when I was growing up. Dad woke up early. I could hear him getting ready. The shower running, somewhere in the periphery of my consciousness. While we enjoyed the final hours of sleep, Dad was eating breakfast, getting his comb-over just right, putting on his suit and picking out a tie. In a few hours, we would come home together and he would slip his tie over the side of a lampshade while mom, my sister and I finished getting the Sunday meal on the table. Mom hated the ties on the lampshade. As a kid, I didn’t get that. As a wife, I get it completely.

Those Sunday mornings were special. While we were busy with breakfast and showering and dressing, we knew Dad was already there. He was preparing for everyone’s arrival. He was going through the message he needed to deliver and trying to get the method of delivery perfected. And, he was praying.

In 2003, Dad passed away. It felt more like being ripped open and having pieces of me torn out bit by bit. As the weeks passed, there were moments of grief that came out of nowhere. It was as though someone were peeling off the bandages when I least expected it. The sudden return of grief left me weak and trembling, wanting to reach for the morphine . . . or God.

I still feel a wave of sadness every now and then, a sense of longing, a need to be hugged or hear a word of encouragement.

But the overwhelming sense now is different than it was back then.

Now it feels like Sunday morning. This is the dream world. Dad’s in a more real world. I can hear him moving around. It brings me peace, the kind of peace that comes with sweet dreams on early Sunday mornings.

Then I wake up and begin getting ready. And there is something comforting . . . and even a little pleasurable . . . about knowing that Dad is already there. He’s going over the message and figuring out how to deliver it to those he loves. How to reach us in ways that will stay with us as we muddle through life. And above all, I know he’s praying. As he always did, he’s praying for us.

And waiting for our arrival.