The Shadow-gloom and Weight of the Sacred

Growing up, I hated Sunday mornings. It was always a stressed filled time. It started out like every other morning: (1) mom or dad waking me up; (2) me laying in bed for ten minutes; (3) mom or dad offering some kind of vague threat to get me out of bed (I don't remember any of the threats specifically); (4) eating a bowl of cereal. But, after that is when things always became complicated.

I had to wear slacks and a dress shirt to church. I wasn't comfortable in these clothes so I avoided putting them on for as long as possible. My parents, usually my mom, would periodically stop by my room every so often to make sure I was getting ready for church and each time would become incrementally more angry when they saw I was wearing jeans or, God forbid, shorts and a T-shirt.

"I didn't think God cared about what I wear to church." I would say. After all, that is what we always said at--every. single. Sunday. Apparently my parent's opinion about Sunday morning garb trumped God's opinion because I was a teenager before I was able to wear jeans to church.

I wasn't allowed to watch TV on Sunday mornings. The television stayed off. I hated that silence. Not really because I wanted to watch TV. The only thing on Sunday morning was religious programing, if there's anything more boring than sitting in church, it's watching other people sit in church. I just hated the silence because it seemed to accentuate and reiterate the stress of the morning. Arguments. People angry. Waiting for the bathroom. Spending too much time in the bathroom.

When I woke up on Monday mornings, it was always such a relief to walk through the living room and see my dad watching the Today show. It was so much more relaxed. I hated Sunday mornings though. I always, even at a young age, felt stressed. I hated the whole process of Sunday morning. The time actually spent at church only served to exeracerbate my feelings of discomfort and stress. After all, we were joing a group of people who had just spent the previous couple of hours going through a similar process. Yet, there we were. All together thinking that our presence made us better than those vial families who slept in and were kind to each other.

As an adult, I rarely wear a suit or even slacks. I normally wear jeans and a T-shirt to church. I actually enjoy wearing a suit, but it's too much work to try and put on before getting out the door on a Sunday morning. Plus, now that I have a daughter, it's a lot more work getting everything together whenever we want to leave the house. I've only ever had one really stressful Sunday morning since we brought the Queen Bee home, but it was enough to remind me how much I hated Sunday when I was a kid and how I want to cultivate an atmosphere that's fun and, dare I say, enjoyable.