Memo to future self: Do not ask household members Sunday morning at 8 o'clock, "Who wants to come to church with me?" Instead, say, "I'm leaving for church at 8:50. Be ready by then."
I'm happy, though, that my errand buddy, as expected, happily accompanies me. A recovering Catholic by trade, I have managed to convert only Youngest to the joys of the rituals. He enjoys the same hymns and such as I do. He is as resistant to some of the trappings -- like the seeming-to-never-end giving of peace -- as I am.
We pass the time reading and singing along, and I have him bring a book to read and a notebook to draw in for those times when he'd rather tune out. [Hello, Fr. Phil? That would be at sermon time. Could we pick up the pace? Please?]
I do believe I have a religious man in the making. How many other kids draw God and Jesus and outfit them in T-shirts praising the Lord and, quite frankly, the Marines? Here is Youngest's original depiction of Them shouting Hallelujah Boo-Yah or "Halle-Boo-Yah" for short:
May God look after all his soldiers. We remember those who have served and continue to serve so that we might be safe, particularly Pete's many uncles who served in World War II and my own Dad, an Air Force career man.