The worst day of the week for me is Monday. That means that I’m starting a new week and usually I have to start from scratch. All the things around me that annoy me, make me itchy and I have to scratch.

I cannot wait until the weekend gets here. It is the weekend where I can enjoy myself the most.

I know on Sunday, the best day of the week for me, I enjoy fellowshipping with other believers and preaching the word of God. I do not claim to be the best preacher in the world, I just love preaching. When Sunday comes around, I have an opportunity to preach.

The rest of the week, however, is really a drag.

It was Tuesday morning and I was a little down, drinking my coffee rather slowly and the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage looked at me and said quite sternly, “What’s wrong with you?”

It is a simple question and deserves a simple answer. From my point of view, it’s not really that simple.

Tuesday is not really Monday, which is a little better. However, Tuesday is not Wednesday either. Tuesday is a very slow day in my week and, do not quote me here, but I think there are at least 30 hours on Tuesday. At least 30. Probably more.

No matter what I do on Tuesday, it has nothing whatsoever to do with getting me to the weekend. Not only is this the slowest day of the week, but it is the least productive.

If I do not do very much on Monday, I can always blame the fact that it’s Monday and I am just getting started. Tuesday I can’t say that. Monday should prepare me for Tuesday and Tuesday should be the most productive day of my week. Either, I’m not using Monday as I should or, Tuesday is just a bad day for me.

I still did not know how to answer my wife. I was so gloomy that I really did not have any way to explain why I was so gloomy.

“Why,” my wife said, “Tuesday is my favorite day of the week.”

I just looked at her in my gloomy attire, grunted and couldn’t say anything to her.

“I can get more done on Tuesday than any day of the week,” she boasted.

I do admit she gets a lot done on Tuesday, but that has nothing whatsoever to do with me. She is the most talented multitasker I have ever known. She can handle up to a dozen projects simultaneously. Get her going, and she does not know how to stop.

If I had her talent, I could conquer the world. However, after all, it’s only Tuesday and I was a little gloomy.

On Monday, I can say I worked hard over the weekend and deserve to take a little bit of a rest. Nobody would worry about that not even my wife.

But Tuesday? There is no excuse I have ever made that justifies not doing something on a Tuesday, I know because I have tried everyone on my wife.

Tuesday is the dead point in my week. On Monday, for example, I can relax and just think about what I did over the weekend and how my sermon went.

I cannot do that on a Tuesday. The weekend is already over and the next weekend is far down the road. I can sit in my chair, sigh deeply and think about how soon the weekend will get here.

It could be that as you get older your brain does not function as much as it did when you were younger. I wonder if that is a good excuse?

“Oh,” I could say to my wife, “I’m getting older now and my brain doesn’t function as it once did. I got to slow down a little bit.”

She could look at me and say, “Your brain never functioned as long as I’ve known you. It has nothing whatsoever to do with how old you are. It has everything to do with a nonfunctioning brain.”

So, I’m not going to give her an opportunity to opinionize on the functionality of my brain. My brain works enough to know that I better let that one alone.

I have a lot of guilt on a Tuesday. I should be doing things, but I just cannot get the focus on what I should be doing. I’m looking down the week and I vaguely see Saturday approaching. It is so far down the road I am not sure I am going to get it in time. In time for what? I don’t know.

At least on Wednesday the week is half over. Monday means a new week has started, but Tuesday does not mean anything.

I was sitting in my chair drinking some coffee when my wife comes up and saw me and asked me, “Do you have anything to do?”

Since my brain functioning was limited because of my age, I quickly responded, “No.”

Before I realized what I had said, I was in deep trouble. My wife said, “Good, you can help me with some chores today.”

As she led me to the garage, I thought of the Scripture, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest”  (Ecclesiastes 9:10).

The weekend cannot come soon enough for me!