Growing up, going to church was a lot like working a fast food job, in that we were only allowed to skip if we were violently ill. We even went to church on vacation.
So as an adult, I feel equal parts guilty and joyously rebellious anytime I don’t go to church.
October has been nothing but crazy. Well, busy and wonderful and just very very full, which all adds up to pure crazy.
I’m hopelessly addicted to busy-ness. I love it as much as I hate it. Love it because there’s always something exciting to look forward to when one exciting thing ends, hate it because there’s always something distracting me from the exciting thing that I’m sitting in.
And every time I take on way too much and find myself drowned in commitments for three weeks straight, I promise it’s the last time. But it never is, because I love people and I love going places and doing things…and then all of the people and the going and the doing pile up again. They’re all good things, but there are just so many of them.
So I stayed home with Jesus this morning. I slept in and listened to a sermon in my pajamas while eating a toaster strudel, and then I watched a Love It or List It marathon and cleaned my room and it was a glorious Sunday.
Because sometimes, not often but sometimes, a day of rest means not going to church. I LOVE my church and I love my friends, but I love Jesus more, and now and then I’m just too tired to see him anywhere outside of my house. And me and Jesus have an unconventional Sunday together and it’s exactly what I need.
It’s also a nice reminder that I need to take better care of myself during the week, so I never have to miss another Sunday again.
God is good and so is life.