Sundays

My pastor called me on Wednesday morning.

He said, "Put down your pencil."

I was supposed to deliver a sermon tomorrow for Pentecost. Our pastor is away for his son's wedding festivities this weekend. Leading worship and delivering a sermon was my job for the week. But issues with the paving of the parking lot arose. The service has been canceled.

It seems strange to be free of stress this weekend. The good little church nerd that I am, I cannot help but feel a little guilt that I won't be attending any church at all this weekend. I was raised by parents who stressed church attendance on Sunday. When I was growing up, we even found a church to attend when we were on vacation and traveling on Sundays. So I do feel very strange about missing church and not planning on attending any church.

Of course, I am in the ministry, so I really should be allowed not to attend from time to time. My pastor has asked me to give him my vacation days for the next year. Can I really look at the calendar and say, "I think I'll not attend this day, and this day, and this day..."? So strange.

Missing Sunday service does not mean I am missing the Sabbath. Even though my husband and I have elected to help his sister move tomorrow, I will still take time to rest and remember and pray and think about God. Then again, maybe it is good to make everyday like a Sunday.

Have a blessed Sunday throughout your week.

Thank Goodness for...

...children's church.

My boys made me Mother's Day cards during children's church on Sunday. If it wasn't for children's church, I would get nothing for Mother's Day--the boys are just too small to buy presents yet.

Of course, this year I got two cards (one from each of my sons). Last year, I only got one card because ds #2 was too little to make one. This year, he loves crayons and had no problem scrawling on the card.

It does not matter about presents or cards really. What matters is the love that we share day-to-day.

Grandma

My Grandma would have been 98 years old today. She died on Christmas Eve 2005.

During this time of year, I often think of my Grandma. It was on warm, spring days that I would go to her house and pick strawberries. My family lived next door, so it was often a strawberry-picking day right after I got home from school. I would get my pan, walk the path to her house through the woods, and pick strawberries for a couple of hours. Then I would take them home and wash them. Those strawberries can't compare with the ones you buy from the store.

My Grandma was always there to talk to me. We would sit on the porch and discuss nothing really important. It was the presence that was more important. And there was always an offer of piece of pie or cake.

Grandma's house was old, but it was full of memories. I used to help her quilt. Her quilt frame hung from the ceiling in her sitting room. Grandma gave me a thimble that had been hers when she was a girl.

I can remember the smell of the wood stove. I can feel the rocking chair rock back and forth, back and forth. I remember teaching myself to cross stitch at her house on a snowy day when my brother and I didn't have school, but my mom had to work. My brother used to break off the icicles from Grandma's tin roof and melt them on the wood stove.

I miss you, Grandma. I miss you being around, praying for me, taking an interest in my life.

But I will see you again.