The Sunday morning rush starts early at our house. Breakfast and giggles and whining and running away while I chase them with tights and hair bows. Iron the dresses. Why? They get wrinkled in the car seats. Ugh. Do it anyway. Nurse the baby, brush all their teeth. Where is the hair brush? Did everyone potty? Did I brush my hair? Is the curling iron unplugged? We have to leave in two minutes. Leave my coffee untouched on the kitchen table. Clamor into the car with the diaper bag and sippy cup and baby shoes. Sing and chatter and squabble in the car. “Keep your hands to yourself.” “What is Bonnie holding?” “No you can’t go to the playground when we get there.” Get to church. Did anyone keep their shoes on in the car. Who took their bow out? What seat is it between? Please be donuts inside so we don’t have meltdowns. The donuts were my bribe all morning. Grab donuts. Get juice. And water. Juggle the baby. Put baby shoes on. Say hello. Corral the girls. Collect trash. Where did I put my bag down? Wipe sticky hands and faces. Herd everyone to the nursery. They can go up the stairs all by themselves. Drop off. Sneak into church. Always late. Flash Jordan - sitting at the piano - the “we made it” smile and sigh. Try to quiet my frazzled brain to focus on the message.
After church is the same kind of rush. Corralling and coaxing and moving along three very cranky little girls through the undoing of church. Getting into comfortable clothes. Feeding hungry tummies. Quieting them down for hopefully just a tiny rest. Please. Just a few minutes. Then collapse. For a short time. Because the week is waiting, and the house is a wreck, and food should be prepped, and laundry is backed up. And that project I meant to do this weekend? That friend I meant to call? That nap I swore I’d take? It will have to wait.
Sundays are brutal. A mix of sweetness and stress and community and chaos. And truthfully? I struggle with Sundays. They are just hard. I’m tired. And it’s easy to let the Sunday scaries take over and launch me into a new week feeling behind and stressed. I know I’m not alone in this struggle, and I’m grateful for the people who cheer me on and encourage me to keep moving. Who tell me that I really am teaching my girls something important just by showing up at church. The ones who tell me they get it. They went through it too. The morning drama, the afternoon meltdown, the rushed prep to start the new week. But I’m not going to lie to you. I still kind of dread Sundays. I mean. The struggle is really really real.
So? I made a new practice for myself. Sunday Selah. A small habit that is kind of saving Sunday for me. That makes me stop and see the sweetness over the stress and the community amid the chaos. And it’s so so simple.
On Sunday? Just for a few minutes. No matter how wild the day gets. Sometime before bed. I stop. I just stop everything. And I remember the week behind me. I think through the whole week. I remember the triumphs and the struggles. The breakthroughs and the meltdowns. The joys and the disappointments. I just remember all the life I lived in the past week. And as I remember, I look for reasons to praise. The moments that mattered. The ones that maybe I overlooked in real time, but that are really life’s good stuff. And every time, every Sunday Selah, I find so many reasons to praise. I see great joy in the faces of my children. Giggles and hugs and bonus kisses and big accomplishments. I see the hard lessons shaping us. The tears of frustration, the consequences, the discipline - driving us to be better. To grow. To challenge each other. And I see the tiny precious moments with the people I love. The baby asleep in my arms. Talking with Raines as I braid hair. Watching my dance on the coffee table - her stage. A note from Jordan in my car. I see all those little in between moments that make up so much of life. That are life, really. And I just soak it all in. Remembering. And I praise. I give thanks for all that God did for me in that week. I see Him at work. And I acknowledge it. I just Selah. I just pause and praise.
It’s so simple. But for me? It’s a game changer. Sometimes I write my Sunday Selah in a journal or online. Or I might just do it silently while I put Bonnie to bed. Rocking and nursing in her dark, quiet nursery. Thinking back, seeing the gifts. And giving thanks. Selah.
How does it affect me? It brings peace for the new week. Because whatever it holds, I can trust a faithful God. I have looked back and remembered how He has worked for me week after week. Even when I didn’t understand in the moment. It also brings appreciation for my family and friends and community. And I feel reinvigorated in my service to them. Because I have stopped to remember how precious they are. And also? Sunday Selah is rest. It is a quiet place of reflection and praise. Where I can look back and renew my faith in God and in myself. It’s where I can hear God’s voice and see His hand at work in my life. And really? Its training me. It’s how I learn to be better in the midst of the hustle. Every week that I do my Sunday Selah, I get better at living Selah in every moment all through the week.
So today, as I wrap up another Sunday? Full of toddlers in tights, and meal prep. Laundry and playtime and wrestling into car seats. I pause and praise for my Sunday Selah practice. For saving Sunday. For preparing my heart for a new week by looking back and seeing God at work. Every. Week.
Love + Light,