Sundays are like that movie, Groundhog Day. They come around every week and slap me in the head and say,”We’re doing this again...and it’s not going to be quite right.”
I hate Sundays.
Just being completely honest. Sitting here, in my car, an escape from my house, staring at my favorite view and feeling pretty miserable.
Sundays start off with so much hope, my heart is focused on a sermon and a community, and then I turn and face my family and they remind me of the brokenness of a lopsided spiritual household—a marriage that’s got one foot beneath the cross and the other completely turned the other way.
I hate Sundays because of the expectations, the disappointments, and the ugly rotten weed in my heart for hating Sundays.
My newest series is on pause. I just lost focus with some family stuff rising up, so we’ll give it another go later on.