It was an early call time last Sunday. 0 Dark 30ish. I was somewhere in the Midwest making my way back to the Left Coast. Two flights, middle seats, several bad cups of coffee, and airport parking. It would’ve been easier to take a later flight, but I knew what I was going to miss if I didn’t get home.

Home. Church-Home. I would have missed being with the Family.

I would have missed seeing my work colleague in the row behind me, knowing that he too had taken an early morning flight to be there. I would have missed seeing the ushering math teacher, singing out “His Mercy is more” as he passed the plate from row to row. I would have missed hearing my friend, guide dog by his side, talk about his woodworking shop and Christmas inventory. I would have missed watching Mabel sketch in her notebook.

I would have missed the sorrow of the families who laid a loved one to rest this week and others who received hard news of cancer. I would’ve missed the joy of the new babies bundled in their swaddling packs. I’d have missed looking across the room to see desperate people reaching out in worship.

The service might have been similar in a church in the Midwest. But the people, these people, my people are family. When I see their joy on a Sunday morning, I also know the struggles. I have seen them walk with faithfulness. When I see their tears, I know the path where the grace of God has taken them.

I see Jesus at work in this Family. And that makes early morning airport runs worth it! Sunday morning is a gift, wrapping us together as we stand to sing: “Stronger than darkness, new every morn, my sins they are many, His mercy is more.”