When I was a kid, it never entered my mind to ask on a church night whether or not we’d be going. I was half-grown before I knew that staying home was an option. We sure couldn’t at my place. In fact, there were times I was permitted to miss school, but still had to go to church.
I recall a few times when my carpenter dad worked late. Mom would have us all ready and fed, and we had strict orders to make sure the bathroom (we only had one) was free the instant dad’s boots hit the front steps. He’d bathe and put on his suit and eat a Spam sandwich as he drove us to church. It didn’t matter if it was revival, work night, or regular Bible study. If there was church, we were there.