Sunday Morning Coming Down
A foul mood settled on top of me Sunday morning about the time my husband entered the kitchen for breakfast.
I don’t know why.
Seriously, I don’t.
I mean, I could blame our empty nest, the slight headache that built during the day, health issues with my parents—all valid reasons, but the truth is I’m a moody person. Sometimes that’s all the reason it takes.
The mood hung on as I dressed for church. It accompanied us to our parking place, holding tight while I prayed for the right spirit to worship God. The prayer helped in the sense that I knew I should pray, but basically I wanted to turn around and go home.
I didn’t want to smile and answer questions from interested, loving people. I didn’t feel like expending effort. I didn’t want to be nice. I wanted to be left alone.
Watching a kindergartner in a pink bow tie greet people with his dad and seeing his little sister grin over the back of the front pew brought a genuine smile to my face. The music was upbeat, and the preacher shared valid sermon points.
Did I suddenly have an epiphany about God or myself? No.
Was I struck with lightning because of nursing a black mood in His house? No.
Do I have a lesson from Sunday? No.
Yet, I suppose I have a reason for writing it. When I reflected on the morning, I thought about how grateful I am that God understands my human failings. Jesus felt every emotion we do—happiness, gratefulness, contentment as well as fatigue, hunger, and frustration.
Remember in Matthew when Jesus heard about the beheading of John the Baptist? The text says He withdrew “by boat privately to a solitary place.” Sounds like He wanted to grieve for His cousin, but that’s not what happened.
When He landed, the crowds had followed Him. He healed the sick and then fed the more-than-five-thousand with five loaves of bread and two fish. Jesus obeyed what God had called Him to do—minister to people and point them to the Father.
Sunday morning, I wanted to wallow in my mood, but that’s not what happened. Paul reminds us in Romans “not [to] give up meeting together,” and so I went to church—thanks to my husband who ignored my mood.
Today, I’m writing with a grateful heart that I my husband takes me to church and my God sees me, knows me, and loves me still.