Monday Meditation......

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I hope y'all had a good weekend.

Ours was rather quiet, attending church, puttering around in the yard, and taking the dogs to the park.

Every Sunday morning, as John and I are and heading out to the car in our church clothes, I have to smile as I remember one of my dad's frequent admonishments to me and my brothers and sisters.

Dad is, well, Dad. He tries really hard to be curmudgeonly, but he's really not very good at it. I think the best way to describe my father's personality is to compare it to a toasted marshmallow. He may have a rather crusty and rough surface, but actually is all sweet and gooey on the inside.

Yup, that's my dad.

So Mom and Dad encouraged all six of us children to attend church regularly, and we did. Dad thought it was great that our family took up almost an entire pew. Especially when all of us kids actually sat down and behaved ourselves in that pew. But that's another story...

As we all became older and headed out to school and apartments and big-person lives, Dad continued to encourage us to go to church. Ever since I was about, um, sixteen or so, my dad would send us out the door with this not-so-gentle reminder:

"Travel safe. Call me when you get there, and get your ass to Mass!"

My mom would be horrified, but we kids thought it was hilarious. And, in some really strange way, it worked. My ass actually is in Mass on most Sundays.

I waited to introduce my kids to this particular phrase until I was reasonably sure that they wouldn't share it with their Sunday school teacher. Or our parish priest. The kids thought the advice was as rib tickling - and motivating - as I did. My girls live near a large church, and they have laughingly dubbed the church bells as the "get your ass to Mass" bells.

Ahh. I guess there's all kinds of spiritual encouragement out there. I like Dad's version.