Sunday

Huddled together under the sparse shade of the surprisingly less than adequate umbrella (certainly Starbucks could spring for larger patio furniture), we laughed and lamented the impending start of the new school year. Grateful to be immune to the fall's back to school anxiety, my happy go lucky attitude turned into a bit of amazement, both in a good and somewhat regretful way. I was a bit awe struck thinking about what would motivate adolescents to want to hang out with not-as-hip adults. Could it be the free algebra tutoring? Or how about the free pass to hide behind the sound board during service? Oh I know. It's the free rides around town when the parents can't play chauffeur. Well, whatever the reason, I guess the Lord makes us relational in ways we don't always deem "expected".

But what struck me more was an unexpected sadness that the grande Frappachinos and Chai teas (which Kamala's mom mistakenly orders as "tai chi") we were clutching were the primary drivers for my challenge to spend a daily five minutes with God for a week. The Type A-er in me wanted to see change - that those five minutes of fellowship would spur them onto a desire to give that time to God without any external motivation. I wanted to hear that their times were so good that five extended into ten, and the value of being in the Lord's company was well worth the investment. But I suppose I should leave the growth part to God. In the meantime, I'll keep watering, even if it is with hot white chocolate.

Nothing’s sacred, the days are cheap
Truth is thin on the ground
Still our prophets are crucified
Nobody believes we’re stumbling
It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming

Someone’s saying a prayer tonight
For hungry mouths to be filled
Someone kneels in the dark somewhere
And darkness is already crumbling
It’s Friday, but Sunday comes

(Chorus) Sunday – Hallelujah – it’s not so far, it’s not so far away
Sunday – Hallelujah – it’s not so far, it’s not so far away

Broken promises, weary hearts
But one promise remains: Crucified, he will come again
It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming
It’s Friday, but Sunday comes (Chorus)

Darkness is already crumbling
It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming

Just for the record, I don't think teenagers should be allowed to drink coffee. There, I said it.