Another Sunday

 

Another Sunday

     8:30 a.m. and our house comes alive.  Gradually the main floor lights illuminate casting the gray gloom outside.  Grandpa takes his seat in the comfy chair.  Laptop upon his knees, a blogging he goes trusting someone will benefit with words he types.  Grandma, in her bathrobe, reaches for her Bible study and rests under the couch lamp.  Shadow the kind dog lies contently on the living room futon.

     What we wait for is what this white house is known for.  At a time when seven children buzzed these walls and yelled around the pool in the backyard, our neighbor could testify of the true action our family knew.  A flood of excitement enacted the morn.  Homeschooling focused three meals a day when not on a field trip.  Night time’s sleep was sweet when all knew their own bed.  That was then.  We wait now.

     I listen to country music in my headphones knowing the time is short.  Puppy still at rest unaware of energy awaking upstairs.  A certain perking of her ears clues a detecting of a bustle.  Grandma busy here and there tends little things before shower time.  Aunt descends the stairs in a salute and approaches my side in reverential admiration.  The mighty preacher dons his jacket and heads out the side door to ministry.  But still the house waits.

     Two little ones will follow Mama.  Both under five seek to stir.  Taking us back a generation, they follow the same steps down the stairs a younger family once knew.  And here they come.

    

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