watering up the garden. It's a nice, quiet Sunday morning out there. That drunken pilot isn't flying Figure Eights over my house. Thank You!
The morning reminds me of a story my father used to tell about working on Sundays. He was Baptist minister that was raised over in the Holly Springs Community of Pickens County. His parents were not church-going people, but my father and his sister tried to be. He used to tell that his father would often make him split wood on Sundays before church started. Dad seemed to think his father did that just to get under his skin because there could be 2-3 cords of wood ready to burn and he would still send him out to split more. My father said for some reason every time the axe hit the chopping block on Sundays the sound seemed to echo across the mountains for everyone to hear. He said he felt like everyone in the community knew it was him...and that he was working on the Lord's Day.
My father died in 1992. To this day, I still try to honor his memory by keeping quiet on Sunday mornings. Not just for him, but for those neighbors who believe like him. I don't mow, run a chainsaw, weedeater, or till the garden. Those things can wait just a little while.
Habakkuk 2:20, 'But the Lord is in his holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before him'.