Sunday's Joy

May your memories be happy shadows dancing you into the future!

Myriam Maytorena 2005

I have always loved Sunday mornings. Not because it is a day of rest but because it is a day of memories. I grew up with Sunday being the focus of life in my home. It was always dress up and socialize day.


We would get up early and scurry around getting ready for church and to spend a time celebrating our friendships. When I was a little girl Mom would get me ready and try to do something with hair that would never follow instruction. I would cooperate by putting on a smile. Dad was a preacher man and much older than Mom so I was the apple of his eye. I remember he would never hush me from the pulpit as Mom and I sat in the front pew. The ladies of the church would be filled with the holy spirit and they would stand up and wave their hands and shout "Praise the Lord, Brother Hail" whenever he would touch a cord in their hearts. Following their lead, I would break away from Mom's restraining hands and start running up and down that front pew, raising my hand, and gleefully join in "Praise the Lord, Brother Hail". Sunday mornings were filled with fun, and action, and joy in the spiritual connection with others. And then Sunday afternoons would be the best meal of the week and if it were at home there would be pot roast with potatoes and carrots and GRAVY, and green beans and hot rolls Mom had made. If we were invited out by some church members there would be Fried Chicken and Mashed Potatoes and Dumplings and playing with other kids or me just being the entertainment of the day. On Sunday mornings I was precious.



When I was old enough to start to school Sunday mornings were still great. I would put things together in some unique way that God never intended and we would go off to church and my hair still did not obey the laws of nature. However, it was fun time and Sunday School. My friends and I would giggle and try to act serious when our Sunday School Teacher tried to teach us simple little versus like: God is Love! And, we would sing. How I loved to sing. This little light of mine I'm gonna make it shine. And I would shout: Make it Shine. Make it Shine. All the Time. Then the same wonderful dinners which were always the same roast beef at home or fried chicken if we went to the house of a church member.



When I was about 12, Monday through Sunday became sad because Dad died. I was caught up in my self and lost. I wandered through life for awhile lost and confused. Not knowing really what had happened. We still went to church on Sunday mornings and still had dinner usually with a family member when it would be roast beef but we were not invited to the homes of church members much any more and maybe that is why I learned to hate chicken.



Something amazing happened when I was about 15. I started to notice boys. And Sundays became fun again. I would get up extra early and carefully coordinate my clothes and fuss and fix that hair that I tamed even though it still wanted to defy the laws of God and nature. Now instead of sitting in the front pew, my friends and I would sit in the back. We would stifle giggles and use our hymnals and the titles of songs to send back private messages. Sunday dinners were fun again but sometimes it would be meatloaf or macaroni and cheese. You see Mom had a new husband who loved her macaroni and cheese and he loved her. Things were fun again on Sundays. My mother became easier to get along with now that she was happy. I sometimes could talk her into letting me stay home from church on Sunday night and I would drink a cold coke in a little bottle and talk for hours with BOYS on the phone and watch the Big Bopper on Ed Sullivan.



And then it was time to leave home. I swore I would never go to church again. Of course, I broke that promise to self many times over the years but Sundays continued to bring me joy.



First, when I would be hung over after a night of serious partying with my friends at college. Then, when I would have Sundays free from work and responsibility. Then, the happiest Sundays would come and my children were in my mornings. I would drink coffee, read the paper and share donuts with them as they played around me. Oh the routine changed over time and I never quite got back that joy when I was 2 and 3 and would shout Praise the Lord Brother Hail, but I get it back through music.


I have started to have joyful mornings every day. I get up and make my coffee. My kids are gone but the cat bugs me for food and the dog insists on going out and my computer calls and I create my morning muse. I used to think when I was young (er) that when I am able I will sleep everyday till I wake up thinking I would wake up like I did at 16 at eleven am on a Saturday morning or summer's day and say to Mom, I don't know how it happens that this house is always so neat and clean. Now I know how it happened and it doesn't happen here. And, time tricked me while I can sleep as late as I want my muse and aching body seem to wake me at sunrise and I face the day with joy. Knowing after I write my morning muse, drink a couple of cups of coffee it will be 8:30 and my sister Glenna will call and across the miles she and I will smile and share memories of yesterday and memories of years gone by.



Today is Sunday. It is a day of joy but I leisurely create my day and anticipate my conversation with Glenna.