Joyless or Joyful

There was a time in the South when Sunday meant something.

Not brunch reservations.
Not soccer practice.
Not “we’ll just grab something on the way.”

Sunday meant church shoes by the door.
Roast in the oven before sunrise.
And no stores open — because we meant business about the Sabbath.

My Nanny surely did.

If anyone so much as whispered about scheduling a baby shower or birthday party on Sunday, she’d hit us with:

“The ox is in the ditch.”

Translation?
It better be an emergency.

It took me years to understand that phrase until I stumbled on Gospel of Luke 14:5:

“Which of you shall have an ox or an ass fall into a pit, and will not straightway pull him out on the Sabbath day?”

In other words — necessity is one thing.
Convenience is another.

The only Sunday I remember food coming from a restaurant was Mother’s Day. One brave soul would leave church early and head to Kentucky Fried Chicken to secure the good pieces before they were gone.

And that was a production.

Most restaurants weren’t open long. Most stores weren’t open at all.

But Nanny’s kitchen?
Wide open.

Her corn?
Holy ground.

We worked those gardens so we could eat. And we ate like royalty — long tables, folding chairs, kids at the picnic table, grown folks debating everything from scripture to who forgot to shut the chicken coop.

It wasn’t just food.
It was presence.

And I crave it.

I crave the slow.
I crave the waiting for cars to pull in the driveway.
I crave knowing someone was coming.

Now Sundays feel like a 4-alarm fire.

Rush to church.
Rush through church.
Rush to lunch.
Rush home.

By 3 p.m., everybody’s cranky.
And somehow Jesus was in the building… but we barely noticed.

But let’s think about it.

Jesus taught.
Jesus ate.
Jesus rested.

He wasn’t sprinting through the Sabbath.

So maybe next Sunday, when it feels like chaos is driving —

Stop.
Drop.
Pray.

Hand God the steering wheel.

Enjoy the sermon.
Enjoy the food.
Enjoy the nap.

And if the ox isn’t in the ditch?

Let it wait.