As a little girl, one of my most comforting memories was reading the Sunday comics when getting home from church. After my brother, Jim, and I finished fighting over who would get the best section—the little or the bigs, as we called it— I would nestle down after a delicious lunch of Sunday sandwiches, to live in the world of Peanuts, Prince Valiant, or BC. For on that day and for that short period of time, my parents would take a hiatus from the busyness of the week with the troubles that were descending on our family and the world seeming to melt away. There was calm. There was peace and in those moments, I felt safe. It’s not too far a stretch to say, I relished that time on Sunday.
As a young mom, I still enjoyed those times after church when getting the kiddos down for a nap, with a cup of coffee and those Sunday funnies in hand, I cozied into what became my safe spot. That was until, the Lord nudged me one day with, “That’s not your comfort.” With an “Okay, Lord,” I substituted the Parade Magazine. When He pricked my heart again, along came the Target ads. Each time, He spoke, “That’s not your comfort,” I would give to Him specifically what He was pointing out, but always, I put something else in its place.
