The Sunday I Didn’t Want.

This morning, at this very moment, isn’t the Sunday I pictured. Some Sundays arrive with joy. Others arrive with unanswered prayers, strained hearts, and a need for God’s grace that feels especially deep. While Sundays are normally a joyful start to a new week for me, today it feels like a painful period at the end of the difficult sentence this past week has been. I usually look forward on a Sunday. Today I am looking back. To a week where I have felt like I am not worthy of taking up space in the world. And that is heavy. And today, on a Sunday, it’s worse than it has been all week.

There are Sundays when faith feels effortless. And then there are Sundays like this one. The ones where you wonder if you should even open your Bible because your head is spinning. The ones where guilt creeps in because you’re not where you planned to be. The ones where discouragement seems determined to steal the joy the Lord intended for His day.

Which is exactly why I need to remember this:
God isn’t only present in the sanctuary. He’s present in my living room too. He isn’t waiting for me to have everything sorted out before He draws near. He already knows the words I’ve said, the tears I’ve cried and the prayers I haven’t been able to pray.

Today my worship may not look like singing with a congreation. Maybe it looks like not letting bitterness take root. Maybe it looks like whispersing, “Lord, help me,” even if that’s all I have. Maybe it looks like believing that peace is still possible, even when my circumstances don’t feel peaceful.

If your Sunday doesn’t look the way you hoped, you’re not alone. God has a way of meeting people in unexpected places. He met Elijah in a cave, Hagar in the wilderness, and wear disciples behind locked doors.

He can meet us here too.

So today, I’m holding on to this simple prayer:

“Lord, don’t let this morning steal what You want to do in my heart today. Help me see You, even here.”

Grace and peace are still available. Even on Sundays that don’t go according to plan.

Sometimes “hallelujah” isn’t shouted from the front row of a church. Sometimes it’s whispered from a couch with red eyes, a quiet house, and a heart that still chooses to believe God is near.

Hang in there, friend. Hold God’s hand. Talk to Him about it. He doesn’t leave us.

I will do the same.

Listen to the song that goes with this post.