The title of this tale comes from a song by Craig Morgan. The lyrics remind me of many things I love about Sundays. For me, it’s a day to slow down and rest a little. God knew what he was doing when he prescribed a day of rest.
As a child, we had to get dressed in our Sunday best and be ready to go in time to be at County Line Church before Sunday School started. If we were prepared, that included polishing our Sunday shoes, which were only worn to church. If they weren’t polished, Daddy would most likely tell us, “it looks like you’ve been plowing in those shoes.” In my mind, I was thinking that didn’t bother me much, but I didn’t dare say it.
Church was worship, but it was also a community gathering in those days as almost everyone in Dutchtown would be there. After church, the women and men gathered in their respective circles for a short time as the kids ran around playing hide and seek, tag, or something that required burning off some of that youthful energy.
Then there was Sunday dinner. I remember we went to the Bonanza in Griffin many times after church. I would ride in the back seat, but I was on the edge of the seat with my arms on the front seat where I could get a better view, I suppose. There may have been seat belts in the cars back then, but nobody used them. I can’t tell you anything I ate at that Bonanza except the chocolate eclairs. I ate whatever else I ordered so I could get to that chocolate éclair.
After dinner, we would get out of our Sunday clothes, and the rest of the day was our own. You knew nobody would ask you to do anything because of that “day of rest” thing. We did various things depending on the time of year, but it was something outside unless it was raining.
Once I had kids of my own, Sunday afternoons became a time for visiting with the grandparents. My inlaws had a pool which made it especially nice in the summer. When my youngest came along, we got him in the water before he was six months old. He could swim before he could walk. But mostly, Sunday was still a time for rest and time together.
As we’ve aged, Sundays have become a little less active and a lot more restful. For me and my stepfather-in-law, Mr. James “Red” Brown, it was a time to kick back and watch whatever sports we could find on TV. Maybe “watching” isn’t entirely accurate as we both would catch a nap sometime through the course of the afternoon. I thought it was odd that as soon as I came in the door, Red would hand me the remote. Then I tried to return the courtesy by figuring out what he wanted to watch. I know that every relationship between a man and his wife’s father is strained at first, but he was always kind to me, and I miss him.
What Sundays mean to me has changed a few times over my 60+ years, but it has always been good. Of course, we will experience change, which includes loss. But, we have faith that the loss is only temporary, and we will be together again…in a place where every day is Sunday.
Havin’ a Hallelujah good time
A smile on everybody’s face
That’s what I love about Sunday
– from ‘That’s What I Love About Sunday’