Every Sunday Morning

Every Sunday morning, we would wake up to the sound of "The Broadcast" brought to you by the local Baptist church on the radio. The broadcast was the early service at the church and a quartet would always start the service with, "Have You Heard About My Jesus?". With that, you would also have the aroma of bacon/sausage frying and the sweet smell of pancakes and syrup. If you wanted eggs, you could have that, too. All of this was lovingly cooked by my dad. This was a Sunday morning tradition that took place for as long as I could remember. It was one of the many things that I missed when I moved out on my own.

I am so fortunate that Ryan was able to partake in that Sunday morning tradition. This picture is one that my mom took when Ryan spent a Saturday night with them. Things aren't that much different in that picture from what I remember growing up in that little house. The Sunday paper spread out on the table. A bottle of pancake syrup ready to be poured. A cup of hot coffee. A glass of chocolate milk. The early morning sun pouring through the window. I can almost taste those pancakes, eggs and sausage now. These are some of the pleasant memories I experienced every Sunday morning.

Supplies used for this page: October afternoon, Echo Park papers/stickers;cardstock; font-Cursive Standard