I don’t think Lionel Ritchie goes to church. At least I don’t think he did back in 1977 when the Commodores wrote “Easy like Sunday morning…”! Sunday mornings are NOT easy when you go to church, or have kids and go to church, or have grand-dogs!
When your kids are little, you wrestle over getting dressed, getting fed and getting in the car on Sunday mornings. If there is ever going to be an argument or fight, it’ll sure be when you’re getting ready for church! Many times when my kids were young, I was NOT filled with the Holy Spirit when my family arrived at the church-house! I remember one time after pulling into the parking lot, yelling, “…and NOW, I’m going to go and tell my Sunday School class about the LOVE of JESUS!”
Sometimes parents, or even non-parents, get so frustrated over the ruckus of the prep for Sunday morning, they give up and stay home or turn around before they get there. I say ‘pull over, pray and then get back on the road!’
My kids are grown now and get themselves ready when they are home-plus we have breakfast at the church-praise the Lord!
But this morning…one of my grand-dogs got out when my daughter opened the door. He leapt like a deer running all over the yard. I chased him as fast as possible in the very wet grass. We live by the road, so I was especially worried about his safety. I waved as cars passed, then returned to calling his name through clenched teeth. I couldn’t let anything happen to my grand-dog!
My son-the dog’s owner-was already at the early service at church and was unable to assist.
I don’t have much experience with dogs but I feel like they should listen. I varied my voice from super sweet to getting madder, ending with my “I am NOT kidding!” voice. He ignored me.
Finally, after a frantic search, I caught sight of him. HE WAS POOPING IN MY NEIGHBOR’S YARD! His perfectly manicured yard!
When I got close to him, he was off. The dog, I mean. (My neighbor was also at the early service.)
My daughter and I tried to lure my formerly-precious grand-dog with all manner of calls, treats and even another dog. Finally, with feet and ankles soaked with dew, I grabbed him! I marched through the wet grass back to the house. (He is a Brittany spaniel so my arms were quite full.) I was as mad as a wet hen!
As I got ready for Sunday School and church (I go to the 11 o’clock service), I remembered the poop in the grass. I would just wait and get it after church. But I WOULD get it, I promised.
Drying my hair, I remembered that my neighbor-with the perfectly manicured yard-sometimes mowed his grass on Sunday’s after he got home. Holy smokes! If he hit it with his riding mower, poop would be slung to kingdom come!
With wet hair, but dressed and carrying a Food City bag, I tiptoed through the grass looking for the pile of poop. After a bit, I stumbled upon it, but thankfully not IN IT!
Stuff like that ALWAYS happens on Sunday mornings! It’s just the way the devil works and he probably does it at your house, too. If I were going to a shower or the library, I wouldn’t have any opposition at all. He doesn’t want anyone, especially families to be in church!
The next time you are wrestling on Sunday morning, or any other church time, take a breath. Recognize your real enemy-and it’s NOT your kids, spouse or your dog. Count to 10 or 200; shake your fist and yell, “Lionel Ritchie!”
I’m kidding. I can’t blame Lionel Ritchie. I’m pretty sure he must have had a nanny!
Dawn Reed is a columnist for The Floyd County Times.