Winter Sunday

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices? 
–  Robert HaydenThose Winter Sundays

We cannot know nor comprehend the sacrifices made for us, so much hidden away and inscrutable.

We who feel so entitled to comfort and pleasure and attention will find that none of it is deserved yet still freely given. May we ourselves someday feel such love for another – if we are so blessed to give of ourselves so deeply.

Our shoes shined, our hearts brimming with gratitude on a cold Sunday morning – we go to thank God for His ultimate sacrifice and His grace in loving us as we are: deserving nothing, filled with everything from Him.

4 thoughts on “Winter Sunday

  1. Hit me in my heart, this icy-cold snowy Sunday morning.
    Taking someone for granted — not just a loved one — but anyone — has to be one of the most hurtful, painful things that we can do to another.
    Not a ‘sin,’ in the way that sin is usually defined, but most certainly a wound to the soul of those who care and provide for us day in, day out — and those who remember
    us in so many little ways and for whom we often forget to acknowledge with a simple ‘thank you.’

    THANK YOU, Emily, for an important reminder.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. How timely this was to see your post and “Those Winter Sundays” just now as I am at long last home from church services and taking the long way home. I awoke at 6 as my husband left, having awakened at 4 am and single digit temperatures to plow the drive and then get ready to help at church this morning. I read you post, then paused, a reminder that I should not have needed, to thank him – and now, you. I keep a commonplace book and will copy this poem to it (and probably use it myself someday soon). Much thanks.

    Liked by 1 person

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