The Sentinel, Sunday June 28, 2020

      Sundays when I was a young boy always meant going to church. I have never liked church of any denomination. I believe in Jesus, just not many of His followers who profess their love for Him, but sadly do not follow His teaching. I always thought sitting out on a lake in a boat or walking through the woods made me think and realize the the greatness and goodness of God far more than sitting in a church listening to some droll character telling me something I had already read in the good book. In nature I thought about God as I experienced His creation. In church I thought about anything and everything else.
      On stifling, hot Sunday morning when I was a child, I passed out and hit the deck so loudly I was told that services stopped until some men hauled me outside. That was unintentional, but I used that ploy several times afterward and it still worked.
      During my working years I had some terrible jobs that I despised, but I had a family to support so I did what a man has to do to provide for his family. I dreaded Sunday because that meant I had to go back to work on Monday. That was what consumed my thoughts all day long. Sadly I wasted a lot of Sundays in my lifetime. There was always one sundae that I did like, hot fudge chocolate sundae with a cherry on top. Now that was something I could believe in and really get with that program.
      And now it is once again another Sunday. The beauty of Sunday now is that unless I look at a calendar I don't know it is Sunday and if I realize it is Sunday it matters not to me one wit because my only job now is writing, which I do every day. I feel no compunction to be in a church, no dreadful job on Monday, Joyce and I are doing well enough to survive and we have no one else to worry about supporting these days.