I was talking to my sister Gina today.

She was asking me about some of the stories I shared in my book concerning my dad, “Boys Will Be Men.” She was wondering how I remembered so many stories from our past. 

I don’t quite know. My mind collects memories, strange memories, pictures, queer smells, a smile, and hundreds of music lyrics.

One of those stories she mentioned was when I spent a summer Saturday afternoon sweating and laughing with my dad up in the garage attic just for fun. It was our own homemade sauna. My answer to her question was very basic, “I was the youngest kid in our family and I had nothing better to do than to spend time with my dad hanging out on Saturday in the summer.” Everyone else was older and they had busy schedules, they had important dating relationships to work on, and jobs to keep. I was a young and relatively boring kid, so I had time to spend with my dad.

     I always thought that Saturdays were meant to be lazy. My dad would model the pace of ease by piddling around in the garage while I cut the lawn. After I was done my dad would usually take me and our dog Grizzly Bear on a walk in the park. There we would talk a lot, sometimes talk about nothing,  throw sticks, and pick up some meat and hot dogs from the store to cook on the grill in the afternoon. That was when everyone seemed to gather around for lunch to hang out and have fun.

    The sun hung high in the sky so friendly and warm during Saturdays in the summer, especially in the Seventies. The style was made to match the mellow summer mood: Bell bottom pants, a “keep on truckin’ “patch over the knees, tank tops, classic rock music on the radio, and watermelon. We even had lawn jarts. There wasn’t anything else to do because people were not busy like they are now. We even planted a garden with cucumbers, fat red tomatoes, and string beans.

But now it seems like everyone is trying to prove something, the busier we are the more important we must be. But when I was growing up we knew we were not that important so we had nothing to prove. It gave me boatloads of time to talk with my dad. 

    I was reading the bible today. I am getting ready to preach on Matthew 6:5-18 and the topic is about prayer. A mysterious subject for most, and a lost art for many. I wondered why it is so difficult? And I began to realize that prayer is meant to be like Saturday in the summer, the time we set aside to talk with our Father in heaven. But I’m so busy, so are you. Too busy for God. I am always trying to prove something. People expect me to be doing important things, so much to accomplish, so little time to pray. So as a result, another Saturday with my Dad slips by.

     Do you remember when it rained on a Saturday in the summer? What would you do? I watched the rain, I loved seeing the silver streaks left on the window pane. I also ate peanuts at the kitchen table, and talked to my dad. LIfe seemed to last long. I wasn’t in a hurry. You could smell the fresh air as the rain cleaned it from pollen and dust. Remember?

    Prayer is meant to be like a rainy Saturday afternoon, or the moments after the lawn is cut on a sunny day. A time to stop, rest, and realize the Father has everything under control. Life lasts eternal in his presence, it is the one place where you are not asked to be in a hurry. It is where the world stops. So grab some peanuts, go walk in the woods, and talk to dad.

Or watch the rain fall slow. 

Oh Saturday, Where art thou?