What I Love About Sunday

We had wanted to go to church this morning .. but the Cowboy needed to get on the road before we would have been able to return from town. He was leaving to get to a rally for a man he’s grown rather fond of, a man quite honestly we now consider a friend, who is entering officially today the race for U.S Senate.

We stayed home instead, sat down to coffee and breakfast together and logged onto last week’s service from my home church in Madison, Wisconsin. It was a poignant message for us ..

While I still feel incredibly connected to my home church of Blackhawk, a church where upwards of five thousand people attend each Sunday, where it could feel easy to get lost but I’m not sure anyone does, where there is this incredible team of pastors that I miss terribly because their message each week is somehow spot on and where the music just moves you .. finding a new home church here in South Dakota has been heartwarming. Our Sundays, when we are home, have become a mix of attending a nearby contemporary Christian church .. and this wonderful small church in Flandreau that reminds me so much of the church I grew up in back home.

I miss Blackhawk.

But there is just something about a small town church .. and Sundays here on our little acreage, that I love having dearly again in my life.

What I Love About Sunday

What I Love About Sunday

What I Love About Sunday – Craig Morgan

Raymond’s in his Sunday best,

He’s usually up to his chest in oil an’ grease.
There’s the Martin’s walkin’ in,
With that mean little freckle-faced kid,
Who broke a window last week.
Sweet Miss Betty likes to sing off key in the pew behind me.

That’s what I love about Sunday:
Sing along as the choir sways;
Every verse of Amazin’ Grace,
An’ then we shake the Preacher’s hand.
Go home, into your blue jeans;
Have some chicken an’ some baked beans.
Pick a back yard football team,
Not do much of anything:
That’s what I love about Sunday.

I stroll to the end of the drive,
Pick up the Sunday Times, grab my coffee cup.
It looks like Sally an’ Ron, finally tied the knot,
Well, it’s about time.
It’s 35 cents off a ground round,
Baby, cut that coupon out!

That’s what I love about Sunday:
Cat-napping on the porch swing;
You curled up next to me,
The smell of jasmine wakes us up.
Take a walk down a back road,
Tackle box and a cane pole;
Carve our names in that white oak,
steal a kiss as the sun fades,
That’s what I love about Sunday,
Oh, yeah.

Ooh, new believers gettin’ baptized,
Momma’s hands raised up high,
Havin’ a Hallelujah good time
A smile on everybody’s face.
That’s what I love about Sunday,
Oh, yeah.

That’s what I love about Sunday,
Oh, yeah.

Cactus Jack …

Manawa, WI.

Roping clinic of the season #2.

Often, when people with horses .. or cowboys travel to any sort of competition or rodeo .. they sleep in their horse trailer.  Or a hotel nearby.

We awoke this morning at a B&B.

The Cowboy had no idea this is where we would be staying nor has he ever stayed at a B&B.  He pulled into town yesterday and one of the other guys in town for the clinic, a good friend of his, had booked it for us.

Think though, that he enjoyed it, for what little time we spent there.  Very nice couple.  Beautiful home.  Cozy accommodations.  Great breakfast.  Couple cats and a dog roaming the house.  Makes us feel right at home.  (Although their dog and cats appear much better behaved than mine, so not quite the same, but close.)

Anyway, we woke this morning, grabbed a cup of coffee and flipped on the Today Show for a few minutes before breakfast.

And on comes …

Sweet little, Cactus Jack.

(Following link isn’t the Today Show’s interview, but couldn’t find their official version online yet, so here’s just a link to the story.)

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/technology/2012/04/cactus-patch-puppy-up-for-adoption/

…………….

“I got caught up in a cactus when I was a kid,” says the Cowboy.  “And no one ever felt bad for me and put me on tv.”

We both bust out laughing.

“Are you serious?” I asked him.

“I am.  Instead of Cactus Jack, I could have been known as Cactus (his name),” he says chuckling.

“How the heck did that happen,” I pried for details.  “And, where is my computer?  This, I need to write about.”

Apparently he was rolling down a hillside at his grandfather’s ranch in western South Dakota, in the Black Hills.  Something he and his brothers had done on occasion.  And this particular day, he happened unfortunately .. upon a patch of cactus.

“No one was there to help pick them out of my face,” he said.  Kind of pouty.

We are both now laughing somewhat hysterically.  Trying to keep some level of quiet given we are at the B&B which doesn’t seem to be all that soundproof and it’s early.   “I had to pick them out one by one all by myself.”

While a painful memory, time has healed all cactus wounds.  And this morning’s story on so many levels, while very sweet, (you really should go watch it) gave us a good laugh.

Off to the clinic.