The steam rises from my coffee cup as I sit on my patio in the crisp October air. At one time I would have considered a Sunday morning vacation from church a big “no-no,” but not so much any more. Growing older has brought me to a deeper acceptance of my introverted, eremitical self, and sometimes, at least for me, that means community worship will take a back-burner. I reflect on the beauty of my surroundings: maple leaves turning yellow-gold, the browning lawn, and blue skies infused with wisps of pink and gold left over from the sun rise. This morning, I cannot help but think of stories from the past.
Just yesterday, I drove through what is left of the little town that I first called home. Several members of my extended family lived in Miley when I was young, and both my grandfather and my father worked for the Lightsey Brothers Saw Mill. My grandmother’s name was Queen Esther Cook Roberts. She was born of Irish stock, worked alongside my grandfather in the field, and raised ten children to adulthood. She was a devout churchwoman, but sometimes she, too, took a Sunday off from worship. She used the excuse that she had to cook, and then she would tell my granddaddy to make sure he brought the preacher home for dinner.
This morning, I stayed home from church for no good reason. Sure, I wanted to make soup, but like my grandmother I can cook circles around many people, and what I really wanted was to be alone. Perhaps it was an epiphany, but I realized that’s why my grandmother also took a Sunday “off” from church now and again. With ten children running around, and all the chores she faced day in and day out, no wonder she sent the entire family off to the church while she stayed home and perhaps breathed a sigh of relief.
I believe God meets us in any number of ways. I’m not advocating staying home from Sunday worship on any kind of regular basis—and for some that is simply not an option. Being fed by being with other Christians worshipping God together is a vital part of life. On other occasions, doing something for no good reason—like sitting on the patio and sipping coffee—and enjoying God’s presence in the quiet of an early morning feeds the soul and refreshes one’s spirit for what lies ahead. May God give us many moments of quiet joy and the wisdom to recognize those moments as a gift.
Just yesterday, I drove through what is left of the little town that I first called home. Several members of my extended family lived in Miley when I was young, and both my grandfather and my father worked for the Lightsey Brothers Saw Mill. My grandmother’s name was Queen Esther Cook Roberts. She was born of Irish stock, worked alongside my grandfather in the field, and raised ten children to adulthood. She was a devout churchwoman, but sometimes she, too, took a Sunday off from worship. She used the excuse that she had to cook, and then she would tell my granddaddy to make sure he brought the preacher home for dinner.
This morning, I stayed home from church for no good reason. Sure, I wanted to make soup, but like my grandmother I can cook circles around many people, and what I really wanted was to be alone. Perhaps it was an epiphany, but I realized that’s why my grandmother also took a Sunday “off” from church now and again. With ten children running around, and all the chores she faced day in and day out, no wonder she sent the entire family off to the church while she stayed home and perhaps breathed a sigh of relief.
I believe God meets us in any number of ways. I’m not advocating staying home from Sunday worship on any kind of regular basis—and for some that is simply not an option. Being fed by being with other Christians worshipping God together is a vital part of life. On other occasions, doing something for no good reason—like sitting on the patio and sipping coffee—and enjoying God’s presence in the quiet of an early morning feeds the soul and refreshes one’s spirit for what lies ahead. May God give us many moments of quiet joy and the wisdom to recognize those moments as a gift.
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