You have reached your destination

A few weeks ago, one of my apartment-mates from college asked me if I would like to come to the Palm Sunday service at his church. ( This guy is an extremely talented musician and is director of music at the church. He has a heart for God and a sense of purpose in his life. He is a great friend.) He explained that soloists and the choir would be performing the Passion in chant form as written by Fr. Heiman. I fondly recalled singing bass in this same Passion at our college and immediately made note of this in my infallible (yeah right, sorry about Friday night) mental calendar.

So this morning, the alarm goes off at 7:30 AM. Hearing the alarm go off is always a painful event, but it was particularly painful this morning because it would have been wonderful to sleep for a few more hours after an intense week. I pulled out my wonderful GPS and entered the address for the Parish of St. Joseph. The GPS is great; I enter the address and trust that somehow it will get me from home to the destination and back. I picked up my pocket Bible, cell phone, camera, and headed out the door.

As I backed out of the drive way, this electronic female voice says, " Turn left in 600 ft."

Of course, I obediently turned left and eagerly anticipated the next direction.

"Continue straight."

Somehow, the car turns left.

Obedience just took a back-seat to my supreme skills with directions.

The remaining journey was a constant battle between the electronic female voice (now with volume turned down) and those aforementioned directional skills.

Are you kidding me, I'm not taking the toll-road.

Oh, I'm sure I can continue on this road into Illinois.

Hmm, this looks familiar, I'll keep going this way...

my way.

Two hours, 48 oz of coffee, and an orange juice later, I pulled up to the Parish of St Joseph.

"You have reached your destination."

(A side-bar: I arrived in the the city a little early and stopped at Caribou Coffee for some orange juice and to eliminate the 48 oz of coffee. As I was taking care of business at the urination station, I was startled to see some artwork hanging right in front of me. It was a painting of an outhouse with the name, Camp Todd. Funny and weird.)

Back to the church:

I looked up and saw...

the cross.

Wow, it is pretty amazing that despite the twisted route, my journey ended up at the foot of the cross. Despite my stubborn "I-know-the-way" mentality, the wrong turns, U-turns, pot-holes, stoplights, detours, exits, and speed changes, somehow, my journey ended at the foot of the cross.

______________________

Coming this week: some link love - this dude can incorporate boogers and phalanges into prayers - and a trip to the cemetery goes deep.