Awake, my soul

Not particularly sure what to write about today, so I’ll let my pen wander and see what happens.  

First of all, it’s 630 in the morning.

I hate that.

Since I've moved to Sheboygan Falls, I've opened my eyes naturally between 5 and 630 am almost every single morning.  Most of the time, I’m able to roll over and sleep for another two hours, but, oh no, not today.  I still prefer waking up this way to being ripped from REM by a 6’10” screaming Irishman, which is what my alarm used to sound like.  Now it sounds like this.  See what I did there?  

I detest mornings.  Back when I was in college, I worked at the YMCA through the school age childcare program.  I was in charge at Riverview elementary, a campus wholly dedicated to kindergarten.  It was there that I learned that it takes me roughly two hours, after waking in the morning, to be completely coherent.  I woke up every week day for five years at 530am.  SICK.  It was always relatively calm and quiet in the morning and I’d usually have a Chopin CD playing in the background. 

During my second tour of CYE summer staff, I remember Fr. Telling us that we needed to focus on being more silent in the morning (we tried to take “grand silence” pretty seriously back then).  I loved this.  I loved the fact that the first words out of my mouth in the morning would be prayer.  Adoration was at 730 and Mass was at 8, which wasn't too early.  But, after full days of work that lasted until 11pm (or later for the media team), 7am comes quick.  During this particular talk, Fr. said that it was perfectly fine to not speak to other staff members in the morning; we could just wave or nod our head.  Then, his eyes sparkled, and he said that the guys could even grunt a reply if they felt so inclined.

Bahahah!  GENIUS. 

Now, a certain kid was on staff with me that second year.  I’d met Trevor about 3-4 years previous on an expedition while I was “adjunct” staff.  Sweetest, nicest kid ever.  Well, during that second summer, every morning, without fail, as I’d make my way to the biffies, he’d be out there, waving and yelling, “Morning, Jenny!”  Of course, I’d reply with a very melancholic grunt of “neh” or “mah” or some such guttural noise.

Funny how things like that can just stick with you.  At that time, I didn't do it to be funny.  I did it because I hated mornings and wasn't ready to face people yet.  All I wanted was to see and talk to Jesus first thing at adoration and Mass.  However, the next summer, when I happened to be up at the formation center for an expedition, Trev showed up in the middle of the day.  From across Frassati Field, he waved and yelled, “Hi, Jenny!”, and I just grunted at him.  “It’s like I never left," he replied.  Bahahah.

So what does this have to do with me now?  Clearly, my natural internal alarm clock is training me for my vocation.  My body is getting used to waking naturally at a godawful time for whatever reason.  I suspect it’s because when, Godwilling, I have 20 kids and stay at home to raise them, these few precious hours are the only ones I’ll have for peace and quiet.  Hah!  I really need to learn to savor these things now and enjoy my alone time before marriage and a myriad of mini-Jennys consumes my life. 

I CAN’T wait.  But I will.  It’d help if my future husband found me, heh.  But, it’s all good.  St. Joseph’s got my back. 

Out