Weekend. The week ends, as it always does. On occasion though, it can sometimes seem as though the week is just beginning. I must say, for myself it has been a crazy one. But I think there are lessons to be learned from it.
The story begins on Thursday night, as I sat in the basement with all the lights off listening to Jars of Clay and wondering where sanity went. My schedule is a mess. My room is a mess. Deadlines loom ever taller like some sort of annoying breed of giants. And I wasn’t sure when I would get a moment to journal or collect my thoughts. It’s not like I’m a victim of anyone but me; I manage my time for better or for worse after all. Still, it gets quite easy to feel down, and unclear how to feel otherwise.
That is why I feel quite undeserving about the weekend that resulted. Friday evening I guest accompanied two songs for a fundraiser/concert at my church with our choir director as soloist. It went very well, and was a very enjoyable concert in general. And I had fun, despite the fact that said choir director sort of drafted me into singing “Panis Angelicus” as a duet just that morning. And everyone was very kind and supportive of the whole affair, though I was still worried about the fact that Saturday was to be completely consumed with events quite unconstructive to studying history.
Saturday I took the SAT, which was long, but intensive thinking is good exercise I think. Then we drove 50 minutes to the City of One Way Streets where my sister was singing in a concert there for another choir. And it really was a nice afternoon, with myself, Dad, and Sis (Mom was out of town), shoving off from the College of the Magnificent Auditorium around 3:30, and wondering what to do for four hours before the concert. The logical choice was to hit Book-A-Million for the next hour and a half, though we didn’t end up buying anything.
We just wasted an hour and a half.
Calm down, Luke, you didn’t waste it if you were with your father and sister.
After dinner, the majority vote was to visit Starbucks. I’ve only ever been to Starbucks twice, but it has proven itself a neat place both times. And I was overjoyed that the guy at the counter made a Star Wars reference using my name that wasn’t the same somewhat annoying one every one else has ever made. (Random strangers seem to think I will believe that they are my father if they tell me so, including women. I never thought I looked that gullible.) So him saying “may the Force be with you” was probably the highlight of my day.
So then was the concert. It was with an orchestra, and it was wonderful. The pinnacle was that they were performing Holst’s The Planets, which I have never heard live. And the choir came in on the last movement and was very ethereal and mysterious and floaty. And I quite lost myself in the piece. It was harder than usual, with my English paper popping into my head frequently at the beginning, but by the end, it was all music.
Saturday night I don’t think the coffee had quite worn off by the time I got to bed. It was hard to get to sleep, and the worry was at least as bad as on Thursday, though momentary. Why? I’d just been to two awesome concerts in the same number of days.
It was listening to stupid, depressing old Death Cab for Cutie on the way home.
No it wasn’t. Death Cab is melancholy. Not depressing. *sigh* And for heaven’s sake, internet, THEY’RE NOT EMO. Not really. If at all rarely.
It’s because you wasted all of Saturday.
Sunday was the Day of the Lord in more ways than just going to Mass. In the afternoon we drove nearly two hours to the city of Christiansburg (how appositely named) where Mom had been helping to lead a spritual retreat over the weekend. At the end of these retreats, there’s always a small celebration for the retreatants, and it was so amazing to see how on fire they were, how much the weekend had inspired them. It was inspiring to see here, proof of God’s love, earlier that day in the sacrament of the Eucharist, later that afternoon in fellowship and joy in the fact that God loves us. Like, the one who created the universe and has granted us life also loves us and will save us from death no matter how many times we may fail Him. HOW COOL IS THAT?
And in the evening as well, just the four of us, a family, together again at Cracker Barrel. I rode with Dad to the restaurant, and then abandoned him to ride home with Mom. Because it’s nice to talk to one’s mother again after 72 long hours. We rode onwards, and I managed to only occasionally upset Sis with my choice of music. (Hey, I was riding shotgun. And I didn’t play any Switchfoot. Give me some credit here.)
So, did I get much work done on my 1500 word history paper with 8 sources, my much shorter English paper, or review for midterms in three different classes? No. But was there much I could do about it? Was I a prisoner?
No. I was only as much a prisoner as I let myself be. This weekend was a gift from God. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, but sulking through it and losing sleep (beyond that lost via coffee) would have been pointless. It wouldn’t have granted me any more time. So, I did what I could. I accepted the fact, and tried to let it be a blessing. And it was. It was.
That’s the lesson I think. Sometimes you can’t stop bad things happening. And sometimes you can’t stop good things happening either. But no matter what happens, trust God and let His will be done. Whatever happens happens for a reason, and He is looking out for you. Everything will turn out in the end.
Now, back to that history paper…