This is the state in which I found myself after about six straight hours of sitting in front of the computer screen in the youth ministry office, writing Bible studies, creating camping brochures and searching for jobs on craigslist (I succeeded in only one of these endeavors - I'll let you guess which). After a brief debrief with my "over-shepherd" (the ministry pastor with whom I've spoken three times in my entire internship: once during the preliminary phone interview, once just after my arrival, and finally just before my departure), I decided to step outside of my office and (gasp) outside of the building to breathe in the "fresh" (albeit rather thick) Kansas air.
Ten minutes later I got a call telling me that the my '96 Pontiac Grand Am had been repaired, at least to the point where I could drive it to Lincoln to rest in peace with my parents without fearing for my life in the process. Clad in a sleeveless top and summer skirt I began the 15 minute treck to Goodyear at about 3:15 pm. As I walked along the residential street of Lamar an interesting thing happened - I became notably aware of where I was and what was happening around me. I took in varying shades of green that colored the trees, the grass, and the plants lining the fronts of houses. I felt the sun warming my bare arms, neck and shoulders and wondered if the temperature had reached the predicted 94 degrees. I noticed the cracks in the sidewalk, the tree roots burrowing beneath and the sound of my heals clicking on the concrete.
Not long into my walk three upper-grade school kids passed by, and I noticed them too. I'd guess the girl with the attitude holding the hand of the boy with his hat on backwards were something like twelve years old. The boy that trailed about five feet behind them was probably around 10. I passed the disgruntled couple and smiled at the younger boy in the camp shirt, hoping he would make eye contact with me through my sunglasses. I think he noticed.
I got to the auto shop and waited to have my oil changed. The air conditioned waiting space smelled strongly of rubber and I was happy to see the television was off. Twenty minutes and ten reflections from Henri Nouwen later my car was ready to go. I swiped the plastic fantastic. I think it may be in pain.
When I reached the church I pulled my bags out of the car and headed to the back stairwell, the one that requires unlocking three doors and using both of my church keys. I could have gone through the main entrance, but I like the back stairwell, It's hidden and out of the way and leads directly to my office. No one knows when I come in late or when I leave in the middle of the afternoon (not that they'd really have much to say about it anyway), and it's conveniently located right next to the kitchen.
The heat of the August day lingered on my skin as I unlocked the door and breathed in the cooled air. I walked halfway up the stairs when I remembered the fudgecicles I'd seen in the kitchen freezer. They were probably left over from a children's event or had been forgotten by last week's VBS parents. I walked back down, snuck into the kitchen and grabbed one of the frozen, chocolately treats. I returned to the stairwell and there I savored every icy, sloppy, delicious lick. The warmth of my tongue melted the bar, which slid down my throat, appeasing my longing. Every once in a while I bit off a chunk of chocolate, sending a shock through the sensitive nerves in my teeth. Slowly and happily, I consumed every bit of it, right down to the last few drips of chocolate running along the small, wooden stick. I crumpled the wrapper into my hand and unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.
As I walked down the hallway that leads to my office I felt strangely sheepish about my indulgence, as if I were a high school student who had just come back from making out with my boyfriend under the bleachers. Eating a fudgecicle isn't nearly so scandalous, but it is an experience I believe that I fully enjoyed.
Not long into my walk three upper-grade school kids passed by, and I noticed them too. I'd guess the girl with the attitude holding the hand of the boy with his hat on backwards were something like twelve years old. The boy that trailed about five feet behind them was probably around 10. I passed the disgruntled couple and smiled at the younger boy in the camp shirt, hoping he would make eye contact with me through my sunglasses. I think he noticed.
I got to the auto shop and waited to have my oil changed. The air conditioned waiting space smelled strongly of rubber and I was happy to see the television was off. Twenty minutes and ten reflections from Henri Nouwen later my car was ready to go. I swiped the plastic fantastic. I think it may be in pain.
When I reached the church I pulled my bags out of the car and headed to the back stairwell, the one that requires unlocking three doors and using both of my church keys. I could have gone through the main entrance, but I like the back stairwell, It's hidden and out of the way and leads directly to my office. No one knows when I come in late or when I leave in the middle of the afternoon (not that they'd really have much to say about it anyway), and it's conveniently located right next to the kitchen.
The heat of the August day lingered on my skin as I unlocked the door and breathed in the cooled air. I walked halfway up the stairs when I remembered the fudgecicles I'd seen in the kitchen freezer. They were probably left over from a children's event or had been forgotten by last week's VBS parents. I walked back down, snuck into the kitchen and grabbed one of the frozen, chocolately treats. I returned to the stairwell and there I savored every icy, sloppy, delicious lick. The warmth of my tongue melted the bar, which slid down my throat, appeasing my longing. Every once in a while I bit off a chunk of chocolate, sending a shock through the sensitive nerves in my teeth. Slowly and happily, I consumed every bit of it, right down to the last few drips of chocolate running along the small, wooden stick. I crumpled the wrapper into my hand and unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.
As I walked down the hallway that leads to my office I felt strangely sheepish about my indulgence, as if I were a high school student who had just come back from making out with my boyfriend under the bleachers. Eating a fudgecicle isn't nearly so scandalous, but it is an experience I believe that I fully enjoyed.
hehe. That's excellent Amanda.
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