Photo by Arnold Straub (@arnoldstraub)
Sundays. They used to mean a rush, right? Get everyone fed, dressed, out the door, maybe a gentle nudge (or two, or three) to convince our always-busy daughter that yes, "church starts at 10, not 10:15." Now, with her off in her own world and my own schedule a constant juggle, Sundays look a little different.
The sun is already high these days, streaming through the living room window, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the calm air. The scent of coffee is always a good start. And often, instead of getting into my "Sunday best" (which, let's be honest, usually means "nice sweater, comfy jeans"), I'm settling onto the couch in my favorite worn sweatshirt, tablet in hand.
It might not be the grand sanctuary, the quiet murmur of voices around me, or the rustle of hymnals. But as the familiar opening music of our online service fills the room, as the pastor's voice comes through my headphones, it still feels sacred. It’s a quiet holiness, an intimate connection that sometimes feels even deeper because there are no distractions, no worries about what I *should* be doing or who I *should* be talking to. It’s just me, my thoughts, and the message. My daughter even pops in sometimes with her own earbuds, a silent understanding passing between us.
It took me a while to get here. To truly believe that holiness isn't confined to four walls, or even a specific time slot on a Sunday morning. It’s a posture of the heart, a willingness to open up. These online mornings, while different, have taught me that God meets us exactly where we are – even if that’s on a worn sofa with a lukewarm mug of coffee. And honestly, for an introvert like me, sometimes it’s just perfect.
How have you found ways to keep your Sunday mornings feeling holy, even when they look a little unexpected? I’d love to hear about your experience.
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