Sunday Heartache

I love Macon. I don't miss very much about Montgomery, but the one thing I do miss is Sundays. For as long as I can remember, Sunday was the day that my parents and I would go out to lunch after church. When my brother lived with us, it was a family affair. Even when I was in college, I would still meet my parents for lunch, Even when I went to a different church that got out at a different time than theirs, I would still meet them for lunch.

It's not the places that we would eat that made it special, although, I did love the places we went; we usually ate at Dreamland BBQ or Panera Bread. It was simply enjoying a meal with my parents that we didn't have to make or wash the dishes from. I miss my parents, of course, but I really miss talking with both of them at the same time (without being on speaker phone). I miss being able to count on that meal.

There's something I want even more than that Sunday meal with my parents, something that I've lost for a really long time. I want to feel like they are proud of me. People have told me "Oh your parents must be so proud of you" or "I'm sure your parents love you so much." I'm sure that those things are true, because that's what family is for, but I the wost part about growing up in a family that doesn't do a whole lot of communicating with each other is that you don't hear it very much. That's not to say that I have never been told that my parents are proud of me or that they love me. I can't think of a specific time, but I feel like in one of those moments when my mom was aware that I didn't want to do something but I did it anyway, that she would have told me that she was proud of me for it. She texted me that she loved me the other day, although I'm pretty sure that it was a response to my "I love you" first. My dad told me that he loved me as he hugged me goodbye before I moved to Macon.

I've written this blog several times, but I've never posted it for fear that it would hurt my parents or seem like an attack. Please don't take it like that. I love my parents very much, and no parents are perfect. I am blessed to have my mother and father and I am aware of that blessing every day that I wake up and know that I am a child of God.

My confession is that I have sin in my heart for not letting this out and not getting over the jealousy I have for my brother and the jealousy I have for other families like Walker's who tell each other that they love each other multiple times a day. When Walker's mom told me that she loved us both, as in me included, the first time, I froze. I didn't know what to say. I hate that. I felt weird telling her that I loved her when I hadn't told my own parents that, but I felt bad not telling her that I loved her because I do. She is the mother of the man that I love and I love her for the way that she raised her children to love and to show love.

I love my family and I miss them very much. I am incredibly proud of my brother for getting a great job, surrounding himself with amazing Christian people who love him and hold him accountable, and for intentionally seeking to live a faithful life every day. I am proud of my father for starting a ministry on his own, for seeking help in new employees, and for doing what he loves to glorify God and to further His Kingdom. I am proud of my mother for juggling multiple jobs my entire life, for making dinner every night (or almost every night) with a joyful heart, for her passion for crisis pregnancies, and her devotion to loving women who sought love in the wrong places. I am incredibly blessed to have such an amazing family, and although sometimes I feel like the black sheep, I know that they love me and ultimately, my Father in Heaven loves me enough to let His son die for me.