The house is clean. Mostly. You know, pretty clean. Soccer gear is stowed away so Sunday visitors don’t impale themselves on cleats.
Homemade pizza with whole wheat crust, kids eating at the kitchen table, mom and dad across the counter from them. Dad’s still on a diet, so there’s more pizza for those who are supposed to still be growing.
Little boys playing hide and seek, mostly hiding from taking showers.
Mom’s getting the Sabbath feast ready, listening to music loud enough to drown out the circus, a little.
The assembly line of showers. More wrestling in between. Dad’s temper will probably flare somewhere in here.
It’s almost time for family worship. We’ll take a break from our reading in Genesis to get our hearts set for worship, maybe by looking at the sermon passage for tomorrow.
After they’re sprawled in bed (no tucking in this house), we’ll read a couple chapters from The Monster in the Hollows by Andrew Peterson.
Good night prayers plus some vague warnings about what will happen to children abandoning their beds. Then dad goes back to pastor, propping open the computer and Bible, getting back to a sermon (they’re not done till you preach them!).
It will be pretty quiet at this pastor’s home on most Saturday evenings. It’s part of how we keep the Sabbath and our sanity (kind of the same thing).
But this pastor-dad doesn’t work well at night, so he’ll probably give up the fight and just get up early in the morning, preparing to preach an imperfect, unfinished sermon. Having to trust God instead of himself, once again.