On Sundays, we look for our particular kind of holiness.
Mornings are different on Sundays. The day develops differently. When I was an impressionable child, I thought Sundays felt different because God was watching. He was watching me in my church pew in our small town Lutheran church, the church that never grew out of its ’70s-era remodel, brown carpets and all. If I was good during church and listened attentively in Sunday school – which I always was, because it came with a pretty dress – we would do something fun, like go golfing or visit at Grandma’s house.
I left behind that childish view and steadfast faith in any god, but Sundays are different. Sundays are special.
Sundays are for waking up bit by bit, sleeping in late, no rush. For some people, Sundays are for brunch, and isn’t brunch just as special as church? There’s something holy…
View original post 624 more words