Sundays are Hard

Sundays, for as long as I can remember, have been hard long days.

With a Dad in the ministry, then attending a church 45 minutes away, Sundays were a long day. Dating a Pastor’s son didn’t shorten them. Sunday school, church, family lunch, then church again that night.

As a youth pastor’s wife, the same schedule exists. If there’s no Sunday night commitment, there’s usually a meeting, a lunch, or an event to prepare for. No wonder Mondays are for face plants on the couch.

Sundays got just a little bit harder this year.

Two things happen every Sunday.

I’m reminded of just how big God is.

I see hundreds of people who love my children.

Both of them are wonderful gifts I am given. I embrace them with all of my being. That means I usually just stand at my chair, coffee in hand, and cry through the worship.

I’ve become a complete mush over the past few years. I refuse to be ashamed of my tears.  I often think that if we truly understood the love God has for us we would be crying more often. In my case, everything relates to my kids.

This week wasted no time. Father to the fatherless, defender of the weak …

“Well, I’m done. I’m not even go to attempt to sing. There goes that.” I stood there and listened.

Our God is a STRONG GOD. There is NO ONE HIGHER. He is FAITHFUL to provide.

A thousand people surrounded me singing the lyrics,

Sing out                                                                                                                                                                         Lift your hands and shout out                                                                                                                      Awesome is our strong God                                                                                                                                          Mighty is our God.

I couldn’t sing, and there was no way I was going to be able to lift my hands. Not because I was sad, although I was, but because I was desperate. Desperate to cling to these promises. Desperate to have faith in this truth. Desperate to see God move again, here, in our lives, in our family, soon.

When I’m in this place of desperation and hope I often notice my little one’s friends. I see acquaintances who have written incredibly generous checks to help pay these enormous fees. Friends who have given so much time, love and support to us, I wonder how much more we can consume. Or how we will ever be able to repay them. I’m surrounded by people who love our kids. Who love us.

I am just so thankful, for all of it; the grief, the joy, the difficulty, the help, the opportunity to share; the ability to write this blog. This is so worth it. Any amount of hardship, amount of ache, any amount of long days. It’s all worth it.

I say that without any mental hesitation.

Not only because it’s allowed us to love our girls, but it’s broken us and grown us. We are wiser, kinder, gentler people. We are more dependent on The Father. We are more trusting. We are more content. We are more intentional. We are closer to Jesus because we have no other choice.

He IS a Strong God. There IS no one higher. He IS faithful to provide.

Living in these promises is a blessing beyond words.

Harder Sundays are better Sundays.

 

 

 

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1 thought on “Sundays are Hard”

  1. Thank you for this post, Liz! It’s so true: Once God has broken your heart, you are a changed person. I too have become a complete sap since He changed my heart. I’m never able to make it through worship songs that talk about the fatherless being welcomed by God without a big lump in my throat. Like you said, everything relates to your kids. Thank you for describing the beauty in the pain, the joy in the suffering, so profoundly.

    I’m praying for you and your girls!

    Like

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