conjectural navel gazing; jesus in lint form

insomniac in virginia

It’s only a little after four in the morning as I type this. I have already awoken my sister-in-law, a vigilant mother of two small boys who gets up whenever someone is walking around her house at night. It was, of course, unintentional on my part and she’s likely going to fall fast asleep when she returns to bed. I, on the other hand, am totally insomniac. I thought about recording a video like I have for the last three days of the trip to Virginia, but it seems somehow invasive to do so at such an early hour. I’ll give you thirty seconds of something to go with this text. I know. I’m an ass, but I can’t sleep.

My sister-in-law is a breast cancer survivor. I call her The Amazon. In the evenings she won’t try to hide her mastectomy as she sports her pajamas. Single-breasted she settles in and tucks her boys in bed. She’s the kind of woman you would no be surprised to see charging down the hill flinging arrows about. She is truly fierce, and I love her. She will eventually have reconstructive surgery, but I think I am going to miss the image of her Amazonian self.

Arising just before sunrise is wonderful. I like to watch the new day emerge from the night. Yet, there is no time as cold or oppressive in some strange way as the moments just before dawn. There’s no other time when my mind races so violently. I think (Are these only thoughts?) about church and family and whether or not that one hundred year old Martin mandolin is really worth the twelve hundred dollars that Oppelman’s wants for it. I am tempted by the demon Anxiety.

I wonder if I should give such anxiety the honor of getting me out of bed. But such demons would not let me rest tonight. That’s for certain. So, I fool around on the computer. There’s no internet signal out here in Huddleston, no organic free-range wireless moment to pirate. Instead the stars stand in stark relief in the night sky. Frost collects on the roof of my car, and my brother-in-law’s two hunting dogs bark at the deer ranging through the woods that surround the house. This place is one little slice of paradise as far as I am concerned and I share that with no tone of irony.

Mentow Baptist Church is just up the road. Trish and I were married there. It has become a pastor’s worst nightmare lately. It saddens me. There’s been a split in the church…and the group that splintered off has grown to a congregation of four hundred attendees on a Sunday morning within one year. The original congregation is left with thirty or forty on a Sunday morning. The interim has promised them one year. Incredible. What could have caused such a thing? I can only imagine.

I don’t know what they are going to do. The minister who was there four years ago when Trish and I were married is long gone. Some say ousted. Some say burned out. I’ve never known there to be a real difference between the two. I knew him, too. He is my age, bright and creative. It is amazing and sad, but there you have it. Is being church ever clean? I hope he landed on his feet somewhere. No one seems to know.

I shouldn’t waste too much more of your time. Thanks for staying up with me. I’ll post this when we get back to Chicago, but somehow, though time and distance separates us, I am glad that you are here. I’m going to read a little of my book and try to go back to sleep. It is Thanksgiving. The men’s golf outing begins in just a few hours. I should try to rest a little more.

The deep sleep of peace to you all…Happy Thanksgiving.

Posted by tripp at November 27, 2008 10:29 AM