Waste Me on You

I skittered along the side of the wall in the dark, neon-spotted room as the techno music boomed and eager feet shook the old floor. The fast beat echoed the frantic train wreck my heart was experiencing, crashing against the walls of my chest. James was exhausted and gone and no one knew who was in charge and suddenly it felt like 7000 decisions were shoved in my hands as i desperately groped for a pen with no answers. schedule. schedule? schedulescheduleschedule.....It'll have to be done while I'm frantically importing music. How did this happen? No time, no time, no time to worry about it now. I scratched the last act on the plain white-ish paper and handed it to the extremely patient sound guy.

Ok. we could open the doors now. The Rave could begin.

Later that night when the dances were over and the lights returned I slumped in the empty, echoey room and raked my fingers through my hair. I slowly sighed and squinted at the leftover silly string and paint. It was done, and it seemed like everyone had a good time. It was ok now. It was ok now. ...right?

I looked around expectantly for the rest of the week as sponsors and students meandered by. But what I wanted never came, and the heaviness became too much. Not a "thank you"? Not anywhere? I never did any of this by myself and there are a lot of awesome people involved, but...really?

Today I frowned out the bus window and traced my crinkly eyebrows with my forefinger. I knew my attitude sucked. I knew I loved this ministry and these students with all my heart, and love means serving without expectation of reward or expectation at all. I wasn't reflecting the heart I wear on my foot. But I didn't know how to fix it, either.

I still don't. But I know it doesn't come in the form of a thank you card. Love doesn't give a gift with attached strings hanging from the wrapping paper. Pacification can't be the lollipop, but then again, neither can throwing stones.