As a child, Sundays were a special and reverent day. There were many reasons for this but I will only mention a couple. My father worked 6 days a week. He still works six days a week but Sunday mornings were special because this was the Sabbath or as my mom described as “The Lord’s Day.” I would wake up to my father whipping up waffles in the kitchen. I can remember stirring in my bed listening for the clanking of glasses or the cabinet opening and the waffle iron being removed. He would develop his batter and cooking equipment with chef like authority. I would steal some chocolate chips while he tasked me with jobs such as chopping the nuts or stirring the batter. We would talk politics, school, work or whatever we needed to catch up. My mother would lumber down when he was finished and he would serve the whole family. All of his care and attention seemed normal as a child until I realized that many fathers who worked as hard as he did for six days would have approached Sundays with selfish arrogance. My father loves us too much to be selfish. Sundays were weekly examples of Christian fatherhood - a bear of a man cooking cleaning and caring for his family. As I got older, I respectively called him Hazel because of his devotion to the domestic duties in the house. After breakfast, he would announce that it was time to “get ready for church”. The rest of the family would scurry upstairs to ready ourselves for worship all being followed by my father’s rich baritone singing and whistling praises to God. I never actually saw him get ready but he was always  first leading us to a committed day of worship. Sundays with my own family are very similar. I cook waffles for my family on Sunday morning and announce for them to get ready for church. I don’t sing them upstairs but my IPOD plays praise music wrapping them hopefully in anticipated preparation of their hearts to hear something life changing from God’s word. Some Sunday mornings when I get up early, I will change clothes and drive to my parents for a nostalgic waffle prepared by my father. We talk about movies, work, politics, grandchildren and God. 35 years of waffles. There is not a Sunday morning where I think that those waffles will not be there if I drive to my parents. If you are in need of a good breakfast and some loud baritone stop by one Sunday morning.AH