The Cure drifts through my headphones - yes, I'm still overdosing on nostalgia - as I sit on an old picnic table behind the Monmouth Theater. Our run through has begun and I'm out here whiling away the time until intermission, when I'll finally put on eye liner and get into costume. No need before then. Plus, I'll be in the way otherwise.
The worst of the power outage is over, though I still know people without. I'd like to think I could go days without power, but in truth I'd go stir crazy. I'm too dependent on my electronic luxuries now. Maybe if I weaned myself off them I could do it, but cold turkey would be too painful. OK, not painful. Uncomfortable. Inconvenient.
Look, I'm out here on a balmy September night, listening to "When Love Comes to Town" and waiting for my nightly cell phone alarm to remind me it's time to go to Compline. I can't even allow myself to sit and listen to the sounds of this almost autumn night. Of course, the smells wafting across are another matter entirely. They sure do smoke a lot of weed down here in Newport. Only way to survive such a hell-hole.
Sorry. Guess I'm still a bit bitter.
Cowboy Junkies are singing "I'm So Lonesome I Could Die." Fits the feeling of the evening better than the revving engines and slamming doors around me. Not because of the lyrics - can't say I'm feeling lonesome at this particular moment. But the soft melancholy feels like autumn. The morning air the past couple days caused a rush of memories, those inextricably tied to the season. Marching bands and harvest moons, fall plays and rustling leaves, love letters and inverted sunsets, whispered rendezvous and river trails. I love the change of the air - crisper, cooler, the last drops of humidity wrung out. The calendar won't know autumn for another five days, but for the atmosphere and my heart, it's already here.
Expectations. It's what I'm speaking on this Sunday. The brilliance of the lectionary shines this week - every passage tells the tale of thwarted expectations. Israelites wishing they'd stayed in Egypt, Jonah watching God forgive the Ninevites, the workers in the vineyard all getting paid the same. How dangerous our expectations can be, blinding us to the love and grace of God because it doesn't fit into our picture of what should be. What we want to be. What we wish. Hope. Expect. Æ
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1 comment:
How dangerous our expectations can be when they reflect old habits, old stories we've told ourselves instead of expecting anything, all that's possible... or even just one new possibility.
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