"Do not let sunday be taken from you. if your soul has no sunday, it becomes an orphan." Albert SchweitzerSunday, bringing in a new sunrise, a new home. Awaking to the warmth of the sun through the tall windows. Awaking to the sounds of chirping from the coop under the tree. Awaking to the softness of the skin next to her.
With a checkered collar and soft blonde peaks for him and a flowing dress and wispy black bangs for her, they rode down the long narrow road to the steeple they loved most often. Through words, through songs, through hugs and fellowship, they loved and were loved.
The next road, they ate and drank the overflowing cup of the deepest fellowship and family they knew. Through more songs, through more words, they cherished it as the next generation loving the ones before.
The next road, they were baptized in love, in fellowship, in Him, in babes, in newness, in life.
The next road, they slept, they dreamed, they heard the silence. They were met with babes, and drools, and smiles, and laughs, and cries and love.
The next road, they met home. A home. Their home and their home. They met the soft white sheets, the soft white fur, the soft sesame fur, the gentle love and perfect sleep.
