Homeless Sunday Mornings

These are conversations from The Front Porch – stories shared and words remembered over a mug of something warm, (Tweet This) from my perch on the porch of our not so little blue house in the city of Baltimore. These are my Homeless Sundays. Join me? #becauseweneedeachother

the front porch finding sundays at home small

I would wake up early when the stars were still thick across the sky. Taking my supplies* I would head out into the wee morning to find a perch for watching Sunday arrive.

She always came glorious and divine, whispering words of praise and wonder over me. I found Sundays on the path.

I found God on those homeless Sunday mornings.

During an entire year of silence after church had left me fractured and disjointed I had to find my voice again. I had to find ME – the real me, NOT the Christian Good Girl Scripted person I had become. I was tired of playing the part that all those wise grownups needed me to play.

In the walking and the listening and the seeing I found Homeless Sunday mornings, things that make my heart leap, God, and me.

Sunday morning jkmcguire

Trespassing on a Frozen Golf Course

I remember getting up before dawn on a homeless Sunday during the winter, going through the McDonald’s drive-thru for a cup of coffee, and sitting on the bridge over the golf course waiting for the day to arrive. I opened the sunroof on our van, looking up at the stars in the sky above, watching the clouds begin to roll in thick. I sat in the freezing temperatures my back nestled into the seat with music filling the space around me.

As the light began to peek over the horizon I trespassed down through the snow and onto the edge of the golf course Рwaiting.  Huddled beneath a barren tree, the cold of winter biting my nose РI watched and listened and found things I did not know I needed.

homeless Sunday mornings golfcourse winter jkmcguire

Suddenly a shadow appeared trotting across the snow looking left and right unaware of my presence across the open field. He stopped near the edge of the icy water hazard bending low to sniff the ground.

And then he pounced with a joyful celebration onto the frozen water.

As he took a leap into the air I tried not to laugh at his antics.

His glorious early morning Sabbath dance on ice covered earth in the middle of suburbia had me in awe. He danced and my heart went leaping and bounding in my chest. I could hear my blood racing in my ears. I could see my breath in the air.

I felt connected to holiness.

Tweet This: This is celebrating Sundays in the purest form.

celebrating sundays purest form jkmcguire

  • When all creation bows low, humbled before a mighty God.
  • We dance in celebration of who He is and who we are before Him.
  • We rejoice in His gifts of new mornings and risen sun.
  • Our hearts go leaping, bounding, and delighting in His presence and the glorious joy of living life with Him.

I remember the words spoken over me that morning:

“Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him and He will do this. He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, make your justice shine like the noonday sun.” (Psalm 37:4-6)

And I remember that red ball of fur reminding me who made me and knows me and watches my dance not from afar off, but God draws near…up close and He stands in the frozen ditches right beside me.

I haven’t forgotten your ways, God. I have not forgotten the ways that you meet me. Those long years in the frozen bareness – even when I floundered in my patience and faithfulness… even then I knew you take delight in me and you see me. I knew even then that a churchless Sunday morning could not keep you from me or me from you.

I remember the red fox and homeless Sunday mornings.

From The Front Porch,


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