When our girls were growing up, I spent father-daughter time with each one by taking them individually on a trip with me. They were allowed to pick the destination.

One year, Breanne chose Orlando — home of Disney World, of course. The girls also picked the restaurants. Breanne and I stayed in a hotel right by McDonald’s. Needless to say, we had 14 meals at McDonald’s that week. By the end of the week, I had changed my name to McCharles. Having only one child with me, I was able to watch the interaction between parents and their children. It was amazing that most of the kids weren’t having any fun at a place built for kids. I saw a man dragging his kid while telling him, “You’re going to see Mickey Mouse.” The kid said, “But I don’t like Mickey Mouse.” The father countered, “I’ve driven 677 miles, and you’re going to see Mickey Mouse.” Other children were hurried from ride to ride. The adults seemed to be trying to get the best dollar-per-ride ratio. In their mind, they figured they had paid $30 and they needed to ride at least 30 rides. Of course, that logic made the kids miserable. There we were at the place made for fun, and many children were not having any.

Let me ask you something: Have you had any fun lately? I live in a state where people flock to casinos. Why? Do they go to make money? I don’t think all of them flunked math. They are looking for fun. I guess the biggest compliment we received as a family was from our niece. She stayed with us for a weekend. She said, “I like to stay at Uncle Charles and Aunt Penny’s house. It’s the laughing house.” She meant that it was a place where people liked to have fun.

It wasn’t always that way. I realized at one point in my life I was against just about everything. My kids would ask, “Can we do that?” I’d say, “No, it’s too expensive.” “Can we do this?” “No, we’re Christians.” “Well, how about that?” “No, it’s Sunday.” My kids would finally ask, “Well, what can we do?” “Nothing.” I would say, “You can’t do anything that’s fun. You have to be miserable the rest of your life, just like me.”

Sadly, the worst day of the week was Sunday. It is incredible what happens. People scream at each other. They holler and say, “You have 28 seconds to eat those Fruit Loops, boy — we have to go to church. Praise Jesus.” You know how it is when you’re trying to get the family ready for church. You have to get everyone dressed; everyone has to brush his or her teeth. You have to make sure they eat, because when they don’t they cry from hunger right in the middle of the sermon. Why is it that shoes never need to be shined except on Sunday? Or why on Sunday is the only good pair of socks in the drawer missing its mate? Why do all the children have to match on Sunday? Why is it OK to have a milk mustache for school but not for church? Why is it when the older kids are asked to dress the younger kids, the first thing Mom says is, “Why did you dress them in that? They look like a bunch of heathens.” At least they were dressed and not still in their pajamas.

Dads are what I call “heavenly honkers.” Men go out to the car and “honk, honk, honk, we have to go, we’re late!” We never think about going in and helping. We just want to honk and holler.

It was the same way as I grew up. By the time we got in the car, everyone slammed a door, everyone was in a hurry and everyone was in a bad mood. “Hurry, hurry, we’re late for church.” Then my mother would turn around and say, “Charles, are your ears clean?” “Yes ma’am.” “Let me look.” “No, Mom, I wouldn’t lie on Sunday. My ears are clean.” She’d say, “Fred,” and my dad would hand her his handkerchief. Then she would spit on it and start to drill in my ear. I thought, “Mom, it’s coming out on the other side. Be careful.” I hated that.

Then we would drive by the heathens’ house. You know the heathens out there. The father is in his undershirt drinking a Miller Lite and playing softball with the kids. Everyone is laughing and having fun.

And in the car it’s miserable. Just about that time, my dad sees the heathens. “Look at those heathens out there. They don’t know the joy of Jesus.” My brothers and I made a commitment in the backseat of our car that we would be heathens when we grew up because they had all the fun.

One time our family decided to get up 30 minutes early to get ready for church just to see if we could lighten the stress. We were ready for church early, and no one knew what to do. It had never happened before in our family and probably never happened in the history of Christendom.

This Sunday, why don’t you try it? Start things a little earlier and on the way home from church you be the one to suggest having some fun. Say something like, “Why don’t we stop and get a pizza and play some video games?” Your family will think you’re on drugs, or snorting Sweet ’N Low. They may think they should put Dad into some treatment program. Or maybe they will think people who go to church have fun. Or better yet, they might go to church someday and take their family.