I woke up on Sunday morning one minute before my alarm went off, shivering. Even though it was April 8, Louisiana had decided it was winter once again, and our heater hadn't caught on to that idea. Almost immediately, an old song went through my head:
It's another "Good to see you" Sunday morning.
My attitude stunk and I wasn't even out of bed. I began praying almost immediately for a heart change. Once I was up, my body ached and my head hurt and my anxiety had already kicked in. The enemy was trying to get me down, but I fought back as best I could and kept going. I made coffee. I read my Bible and prayed for the day. I prayed for my own state of mind. And I prayed for my husband. I believe that is my most important job on a Sunday morning, and I spend most of my time in prayer on him.
But then I went to get Evan up. He was snoring loudly, and I could tell the congestion that had lingered in him for a week was still going on. I couldn't get him to wake up right that moment. It's never a good idea to wake Evan up out of a dead sleep. Usually if you do, he will have a seizure, and your morning is pretty much wrecked after that. We had plenty of time this particular Sunday because I wasn't on praise team, so I just let him sleep. I wondered then if we were even going to make it to church at all.
I went ahead and jumped in the shower. The song that I had woke up singing kept rattling around in my spirit:
It's another "Good to see you" Sunday morning
Though I hardly hear the words roll off my tongue
Looking in myself for signs of something that's long gone
Though I stumble through the verse that says You love me
As the voices echo my thoughts drift away
And I close my eyes ashamed I'm feeling nothing
And I pray, I pray
Heal me, heal these eyes, heal this heart, heal my mind
Breathe your breath of life
Heal me, wake my soul from this sleep
Give me back the joy of when I first believed
Heal me ("Heal Me," Aaron Jeoffrey)
I continued to pray for my stinky frame of mind. And I wondered yet again if I would even get to go to church today.
Finally, I got Evan up and fed him breakfast and gave him his battery of medicines. He had trouble breathing while he was eating, but he was in a good mood. "Well, that counts for something," I thought. I texted Stewart just to let him know that we were iffy, at best. I continued to get dressed. I went to try and dress Evan, but as I was doing it, I knew he needed to go to the doctor. He had already been through one round of steroids, and he was no better. What if he was contagious? He didn't need to be around other children in that case. And what if...and my mind went back to that horrible day last March. The decision was made. We were going.
I ferried Zach to church, and we were off to the pediatrician's office across the river. We were in and out quickly with a prescription in hand. I decided on my own that a rule needed to be made that if the preacher's wife had to miss church to take her kid to the doctor, she got an iced coffee from McDonald's. It is now a law, I think.
We headed back to Pineville, only to find our usual Sunday pharmacy was closed. So we had to pick another one. We got home, and I felt that rotten outlook creeping back up when I saw our living room looked like Lego Land. Zach had left three bins of Legos right in the big middle of the way of anyone trying to get through the house. There were dishes in the sink. There was junk piled everywhere. And Zach had left crumbs from his Sunday morning Pop Tart on the side table, just as he does every Sunday morning. I put Evan in his room to play, and plopped down on the couch to hopefully find a "Golden Girls" marathon playing so I could finish my iced coffee.
It's another "Good to see you" Sunday morning.
But there hadn't been much good about this Sunday. And I hadn't gotten to see anyone really.
So I pray the refrain from that song that had been with me all day:
Heal me, heal these eyes, heal this heart, heal my mind
Breathe your breath of life
Heal me, wake my soul from this sleep
Give me back the joy of when I first believed
Heal me
This may seem like a pointless post, and it probably is. But here's the point: attitude really is everything. Really. If we don't change our attitudes, we cause ourselves unnecessary stress that we don't even need to have. If our attitude is bad, then our outlook will be bad. We will lose our joy. We will merely exist without really living. God keeps emphasizing to me that gratitude really is the best attitude to have. Even when things looks bleak, there is always something for which we can be thankful. For me, on this kind of day when nothing seemed to be right, I was thankful for iced coffee and "Golden Girls" reruns. Not every day can be a good day. But we can have a good attitude even on a bad day.
Oh Lord, heal my attitude. Breathe your breath of life in me. Bring me back to joy. Heal me.
It's another "Good to see you" Sunday morning.
My attitude stunk and I wasn't even out of bed. I began praying almost immediately for a heart change. Once I was up, my body ached and my head hurt and my anxiety had already kicked in. The enemy was trying to get me down, but I fought back as best I could and kept going. I made coffee. I read my Bible and prayed for the day. I prayed for my own state of mind. And I prayed for my husband. I believe that is my most important job on a Sunday morning, and I spend most of my time in prayer on him.
But then I went to get Evan up. He was snoring loudly, and I could tell the congestion that had lingered in him for a week was still going on. I couldn't get him to wake up right that moment. It's never a good idea to wake Evan up out of a dead sleep. Usually if you do, he will have a seizure, and your morning is pretty much wrecked after that. We had plenty of time this particular Sunday because I wasn't on praise team, so I just let him sleep. I wondered then if we were even going to make it to church at all.
I went ahead and jumped in the shower. The song that I had woke up singing kept rattling around in my spirit:
It's another "Good to see you" Sunday morning
Though I hardly hear the words roll off my tongue
Looking in myself for signs of something that's long gone
Though I stumble through the verse that says You love me
As the voices echo my thoughts drift away
And I close my eyes ashamed I'm feeling nothing
And I pray, I pray
Heal me, heal these eyes, heal this heart, heal my mind
Breathe your breath of life
Heal me, wake my soul from this sleep
Give me back the joy of when I first believed
Heal me ("Heal Me," Aaron Jeoffrey)
I continued to pray for my stinky frame of mind. And I wondered yet again if I would even get to go to church today.
Finally, I got Evan up and fed him breakfast and gave him his battery of medicines. He had trouble breathing while he was eating, but he was in a good mood. "Well, that counts for something," I thought. I texted Stewart just to let him know that we were iffy, at best. I continued to get dressed. I went to try and dress Evan, but as I was doing it, I knew he needed to go to the doctor. He had already been through one round of steroids, and he was no better. What if he was contagious? He didn't need to be around other children in that case. And what if...and my mind went back to that horrible day last March. The decision was made. We were going.
I ferried Zach to church, and we were off to the pediatrician's office across the river. We were in and out quickly with a prescription in hand. I decided on my own that a rule needed to be made that if the preacher's wife had to miss church to take her kid to the doctor, she got an iced coffee from McDonald's. It is now a law, I think.
 |
| Notice the crumbs... |
We headed back to Pineville, only to find our usual Sunday pharmacy was closed. So we had to pick another one. We got home, and I felt that rotten outlook creeping back up when I saw our living room looked like Lego Land. Zach had left three bins of Legos right in the big middle of the way of anyone trying to get through the house. There were dishes in the sink. There was junk piled everywhere. And Zach had left crumbs from his Sunday morning Pop Tart on the side table, just as he does every Sunday morning. I put Evan in his room to play, and plopped down on the couch to hopefully find a "Golden Girls" marathon playing so I could finish my iced coffee.
It's another "Good to see you" Sunday morning.
But there hadn't been much good about this Sunday. And I hadn't gotten to see anyone really.
So I pray the refrain from that song that had been with me all day:
Heal me, heal these eyes, heal this heart, heal my mind
Breathe your breath of life
Heal me, wake my soul from this sleep
Give me back the joy of when I first believed
Heal me
This may seem like a pointless post, and it probably is. But here's the point: attitude really is everything. Really. If we don't change our attitudes, we cause ourselves unnecessary stress that we don't even need to have. If our attitude is bad, then our outlook will be bad. We will lose our joy. We will merely exist without really living. God keeps emphasizing to me that gratitude really is the best attitude to have. Even when things looks bleak, there is always something for which we can be thankful. For me, on this kind of day when nothing seemed to be right, I was thankful for iced coffee and "Golden Girls" reruns. Not every day can be a good day. But we can have a good attitude even on a bad day.
Oh Lord, heal my attitude. Breathe your breath of life in me. Bring me back to joy. Heal me.
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