Sundays

Sundays can be rough for me.

See, I grew up as a PK (Pastor's Kid, for those not in the know).  I went to church, and heard my dad preach every week.  Of course, as a kid, I didn't know to appreciate those days.  I didn't pay as much attention as I should have.  I just went to church because I "had" to.  I didn't listen to the messages my dad was giving so much as I was looking for typos in the bulletins or writing messages to my friends or daydreaming about what I was going to do after I got out of the family obligated activities of the day.

I went to a small Christian college, where it was (once again) expected of me to attend a church every week.  I'll be the first to admit I didn't.  Not every week.  But I did go - I tried to find a church where I fit in, where I would be able to grow and learn and be a good person.  I never really found the "perfect fit" but I did end up going to the Free Methodist Church more often than not, because that's what I knew.  Once Randy and I started dating, we attended a non-denominational church together, and while I did enjoy the services there, I still felt like a stranger each and every week.  But Sundays always made me a little homesick for my dad's church.

During the semester I spent in Costa Rica, Sundays were even tougher.  During my whole time at college, Sundays were the day I called home (this was back before cell phones & free long distance were part of every day life).  When I was in a foreign country, it wasn't easy to just pick up the phone and call.  I sat through church services (of which I could understand about 50%), I was away from my family and my church and it just made me miss it all that much more.

After getting married, we lived in Michigan near Randy's family - we all went to the same church and eventually we were fully immersed in the ministry of the church.  We helped out with different kids' programs, we participated in services, and Randy helped make over the Audio/Visual stuff and bring the church into modern times.

When we moved back to NY after our older twins were born, we started attending my dad's church again.  It's a small town church, everyone is like family.  I'm not going to lie, some weeks I went more out of a sense of obligation than the NEED to go.  But it was my home church, it was where I wanted to be.

My dad got sick this past spring.  He collapsed on a Sunday morning and was hospitalized with pneumonia.  Within the week, we learned he may have a form of Leukemia.  That next week it was confirmed that he, in fact, has Acute Myelogenous Leukemia.  The prognosis was great, and it is not only treatable but it can actually be cured.  He began treatments at a Cancer Center a couple of hours away.  I drove out there to visit with him on the weekends.  The very first weekend he was away, however, I couldn't go and we went to church.  It was not easy for me - being in my dad's church, listening to someone else give the message.  Add to that, we had the tradition of eating lunch with my parents after church each week.  We would either go to Ponderosa or my mom would make something and we'd eat right there at the church.  Now there was a void.  

When this job opportunity in Wisconsin came up, I was not for it.  Not even a little.  But after much discussion, and much prayer, we felt this is really where God wanted us at this time.  So we broke the news and we prepared to leave.  One of the daunting things ahead of us was finding a new church.  I kind of just wanted to hide away from the world and forget about church for a while.  I didn't want to feel the void each Sunday of not seeing my parents, not being at my dad's church, not hearing my mom play the piano.  

We didn't go anywhere the first Sunday we were here.  It didn't make me feel any better, of course not.  The next week, someone invited us to their church and a picnic following the service.  We agreed it sounded like something we'd like to do, so we accepted.  The welcome we received at this church was amazing, the songs we sang were familiar, the people were friendly, and best of all (in my opinion) was that my kids LOVED the kids' programs.  They immediately wanted to know when we could go back.  And we have gone back every week since; we've joined the Wednesday night classes, we've joined their Alpha groups on Thursdays, and we were invited to a Life Group with other couples our age who also have small children.  We've been welcomed right into the fold and it feels like this is where we belong.

I still miss my parents each and every Sunday, and I miss hearing my dad give the message (I'm sure the congregations at his two churches miss it too!).  And there are still moments that almost break my heart because I feel so far away from "home" -- today, it was when we sang "How Great Thou Art" in church service.  I could hear my dad singing it with the gusto he always gives it.  It made me long for home, but at the same time, it made me feel at home.  Not sure if that will make sense to all of you, but that was how I felt.  I know in my heart, that this is where we are supposed to be.  God has great things in store for us, and if I just listen I'm sure I'll be able to hear what He is trying to say to me.