Juxtapose

On the mornings I have work, I have my ritual. I get up at the leisurely hour of seven AM, check my email quickly, smile when I see something of substance in my inbox from one or two of the many people I love, and take a shower. I love my shower - if I ever do end up in the middle of nowhere doing missionary work at a clinic, I'm sure that a nice warm and relaxing shower will be one of the few things of excess that I would really miss. Most of the time, I try to adhere to my fifteen minute shower plan, meaning that it takes me fifteen minutes from when I first step into the bathroom until I leave it, but on work days I relax, for some reason. So I finish my shower, forget to brush my hair, and put on my makeup, which only takes me a couple of minutes. By the time this is all done, it's usually eight AM. I don't have work until ten, but I leave the house right away, even though the drive is only twenty-five minutes, tops. My car is warm, and the mornings are cool and muggy. The seats are made of leather (it once was a luxury car, but it's fifteen years old, so I call it my "residual luxury" car), and they're sticky and uncomfortable for the first five minutes until the wind cools them. I roll down my windows so the air rushes in while I drive, and my radio plays the local college radio station, WERS, where it's all indie coffeehouse music until ten in the morning, just in time for me to shut it off to go into the office. I love to drive on those mornings, listening to whiny girls with guitars, singing about smoky diners and yellow-striped cats on dusty Western verandas. I wish my drive were longer, sometimes, with the wind blowing dry my wet hair that I never brushed, and sometimes, I stop off at Wal*Mart my way to buy a few bottles of fifty-cent Wally World imitation Fruit2O. It's tasty and it's my paycheck indulgence. Every morning I drive by MCDonalds, craving a BigMac that I don't have the money for, knowing that I wouldn't feel so lustful is I had just taken the time to eat breakfast like every other normal human being. Every morning, I pass the same kid on Littleton Road, riding his bike with his messenger bag on his back, and I always have the same desire to stop (even though he's always going in the opposite direction) and tell him that I recognize him from my morning commute. I don't have any really good reason to tell him that, other than that I feel badly about knowing him when he likely doesn't know me. Does that make me a voyeur?

Every morning I end up in the same parking lot, and every morning I'm hungry enough to be tempted to dip into my lunch that I have brought. These past two weeks, I have had peanut butter sandwiches. I bought a loaf of bread and a big old jar of peanut butter, and I ate it for two weeks' worth of lunches. At first I convinced myself that it was because I was cheap that I was eating PB for so long, but then I realized that it was just fortunate for me that it's a cheap eat, because I love peanut butter. For three dollars, I ate for two weeks. Not too bad. Makes me feel, well, almost pretty darn thrifty, if I may say so myself. So I make myself a breakfast sandwich, leave the car running for a minute, to savor the last few wails of coffeehouse guitars, and then shut it off in the silence of the morning. Then I push the seat back, adjust the steering wheel so that it is out of my way, and open my Bible in the quiet. Sometimes I'm frustrated, and I feel like I can't concentrate with the day looming over me. I see the papers to file, the bills to pay, the people to deal with. But most of the time, it's so quiet and lovely, I can't help but absorb the words in front of me. It's at those times that I feel like I'm not worthy of reading the Word. It's too much for me. And then, suddenly, I'm off to work with a woman who I love very dearly. I know I haven't told her that, but she is my friend, and yet there is a huge gap between us. I want her to know Christ so badly that it deflates me sometimes. Instead, she's floating in a limbo of Eastern religion and karmic slop. She waffles between the Unknowing and the Religious Disputing expert, and she often brings up questions veiled in supposed criticisms of Christianity. And yet, she talks to me, her young, fundamentalist, pro-life, pro-family, coworker who she knows does not agree with her. I talk to her, and hope it all sinks in. I love her so.

It's no wonder that I need to be in the Word before I step into the office. I love those times in the morning, and I know they aren't wasted, even when they tire me out. I am so thankful for the cool morningtime when I can think of the Creator walking in the Garden, talking to Eve before she made the mistake we all make, the disobedience. I know at those times, that the mornings with Him were what should have been, and what will be. They are precious. But sometimes, even then, I think I don't pray enough for the right words to say. If only those I love knew about my mornings, if I could only convey to them every thought, conviction, and peace. Sometimes I wonder when people will stop wandering and attempt to find something solid to stand on.