14 Hour Thought Spawn

Spawn is a rather disgusting word. And the cruel mind at Google Maps who thought that it would be a good idea to say that it's actually possible to make this trip in 13 hours ought to be fired and banished to the farthest reaches of the universe.

Today's Calculations...

• Departure from IMPACT: 4:05AM. 
• Arrival in Pennsylvania/home: 6:15PM. 
• Time It Takes For Christy To Go Insane: 14 hours, 10 minutes (and a smattering of seconds, but that's the estimated digit because I don't have a seconds measurement)
• Amount Of Coffee Required To Remain Wakeful: 2 full travel mugs of Brazilian coffee (french-press style) + 1 disgusting Starbucks frappuccino
• Days Until Christy Can Choose Dr. Pepper Over Nasty Starbucks Frappuccino: 3

This blog is not supposed to be entirely about my self-absorption, but I'm having difficulty remembering any of the ten thousand things that went through my head at various points throughout this day. Pardon me while I concentrate in an intense display of mental effort.

Thought Solo// After arriving home late, harried, and haggard, I hopped back into my car and went to Zion Church of Millersville for the Maundy Thursday Tenebrae service. They have a traditional service in which black robe-clad individuals read the shadows over Jesus's last hours (Judas's betrayal, Peter's denial, etc.). After each reading, more light is removed from the sanctuary until, at his death, even the last flickering candle is removed. But it is not blown out, only taken away for a time. Into the darkness, a fine voice rises and falls with the emotion-laden notes of "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" The candle is returned and the participants slowly, solemnly recess from the sanctuary.

On April 9th of last year, I heard of Maundy Thursday for the first time in my life. There is a reason I remember that date: on the day before, April 8th, my friend Micah died from injuries sustained in a car accident. Easter took on a whole new meaning in light of that event. And Mr. Cote invited my class to visit his church for their observance of Maundy Thursday because so few of our churches had that. I was the only one who took him up on the offer, hoping perhaps that in touching the death of Christ I might better understand the death of a friend.

This year, I returned early specifically for that evening. In some ways, it was a whimsical thought generated last autumn that I didn't really question, merely followed through on. But I am glad that I did so, because I saw the proceedings with eyes not so quickly blinded by tears, with a mind that has reached out to grasp more of the texture of life than it knew at this time last year.

And then I got distracted by a thought about how Spring Break makes me better understand the already and not yet nature of the kingdom of heaven because I am already a part of IMPACT and have been there for a while, but I am not yet able to return. But this break is not given to me to waste in endless pining over what cannot be: it is meant as a time of preparation, of activity, of rest. In the same way, Jesus's resurrection has already ushered in the kingdom, but he has not brought that initiation to completion. In the meantime, we are not to while away our days in longing for the delights of eternity. Rather, we are preparing ourselves, we are active in our communities and our cultures, and we are resting in God's peace.

I also had a really long daydream (during my drive, not during the service) about hiking the Appalachian Trail. When I got home and thought about it with some measure of reason, I had to laugh at myself. But the irrational part of me is probably still plotting in a secret nook in my brain. I'll "accidentally" come up with a brilliant way to make it happen and then marvel at my own spontaneous genius while it chuckles to itself with devilish satisfaction.

(Basie, if you actually do read my blog, please don't hold it against me. I am obviously yet another human being seeking self-importance and significance through the airing of my thoughts via the too convenient venue of the internet. But I write better than I talk, so while nobody actually reads any of this, I go back and read it and gloat because I think I sound smart. This is necessary for the survival of my psyche!)