When I was growing up, I was a big fan of the ABC Friday night line-up known as TGIF—Thank God It’s Friday, but I never really understood how deep my gratitude for Friday evening could grow until I found myself grown and married.
Friday nights are a sacred in-gathering of all my most cherished blessings. My husband walks in the door, and there is this exhalation of all that has separated us throughout the week. All obligations are hung up to rest, and we can relax in the embrace of home and family.
Every night, I try to greet my husband with a smile, a kiss, the aromas of a home-cooked meal, but on Friday nights, I up the ante.
Dinner simmers in the Crockpot, so that nothing, no obligations need distract me from the joy of togetherness. And, in return, he sets aside his cell phone, his lifeline to all things work-and-world-related.
I light candles to welcome him, to mark the end of the work-week, usher in the gift of weekend. When it’s colder, the hearth crackles and the warmth of home becomes a tangible reality.
After dinner, he pulls out his guitar, strums praises, and we harmonize. Our evening devotion draws us upward, inward, settling us down together in this home. I tell stories on the couch, a child curled up under each arm and my mature, intellectual soulmate listening with rapt attention, too. This is family, this give and take and praise, this singing and this listening. This is sacred.
Pajamas donned and prayers said and children nestled down for sleep, we tiptoe back to the comforting arms of the sofa. We snuggle up with mugs of tea, a weekly movie date night that costs nothing and is worth everything. For forty-eight hours, he is mine, and we are home.
Yes, thank you God! It’s Friday.
Photo credit: Old Window and Wall by Petr Kratochvil