Graham Greene said somewhere that “hatred was a failure of imagination.” A sticker on a bottle my wife saw recently said that “worry is a misuse of imagination.” I think the novelist and the marketing copy are both correct. Monday is going to land with a thud whether I’m wearing a helmet or not. Thank God that he gave us Sundays to prepare us for Mondays. But Monday morning seeps into my Sunday night like cold water sneaks into a sock. It’s not great.

Call them the Sunday scaries or the heebie jeebies. It’s a special layer of anxiety that settles in my stomach. For those of us who have raged against, succumbed to, and triumphed over depression (sometimes repeatedly), there is often a spiritual side to it. I’m not saying all that darkness in the head is from the devil, but I’m willing to be a lot of my worry about the future is. But here’s the thing.

If my Father brought me through Sunday, he can bring me through Monday. If my Father brought me to the river, he can make a dry path through. If he is good, then he is good. I didn’t pray this morning for tomorrow’s daily bread. And on Monday, I’ll pray for Monday’s daily bread. Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and every Monday.