Seated on the thrones of front porch history, I often reminisce of when Sunday afternoons were lived in black and white. Amazing Grace was a sweet sound in my ear. A bottle of pop and peanuts were sufficient to whet the appetite while Grandmama’s mashed potatoes warmed on the stove.
Anyone, short of a fortune teller, could predict cat naps were looming around the dinner table corner. A cool, shady breeze, porch swing, and the harmony of bluegrass on Grandaddy’s transistor radio were all the ingredients needed to commence to slow talkin’, and head noddin’.
A day of rest is not my idea, it’s God’s idea. I suppose, if He rested on the seventh day, so should I. Enjoy it! It’s a gift. He knows we need it. Protect it! Wherever you find the ”let your hair down” and eat popsicles kinda rest in your life, do it! Live it! Own it!
I’m hopping off my high porch rocker now. It’s about time for a lemonade and sugar cookie tea party and then, maybe a nap.
Facing Southward 