MAB Weekend - Osage County (Laws Hall)

April 15, 2016
Our trusty vehicle rolls into First Baptist Church of Linn. The evening sky is a Monet painting of burnt orange and grey, as if the embers of our past lives have drifted heavenward to mix with the celestial bodies to watch as we emerge from the car like phoenixes entering a new world of service, hope and all-around Gumbyness. After introductions and setup, we head to Wal-Mart where we roam the aisles in mobile chairs, moving like a herd of robotic bison who are intent on their next meal... namely bagels and Scooby Snacks. Checkout proceeds with a minor wrinkle (a six pack of cream soda was confused with a six pack of inebriating liquid) and then it is back to the church so we can gather around a bonfire for s'mores and bonding. Our conversations last deep into the night, wandering from anecdotes of clogged toilets and farts in faces to confessions of roads less traveled. And then, as if to mark the sentence of the day with glistening, optimistic period, a lone comet streaks across the sky. Shrieks of "Make a wish!" rend the contemplative silence and we close our eyes. In the still darkness, the only sounds are the crackling of firewood and the whisper of twelve pairs of hands grasping one another. Unspoken lest superstition steal it from it's course to the listening ears of God, one unanimous desire rises from the depths of our hearts: I wish this never had to end.

April 16, 2016
We awake and feast upon cream cheese bread halos. And coffee. Always coffee. We pile into the Millennium Falcvan and drive into a horizon of playful yellow and baby blue. Our bodies gradually uncoil from their sleeping positions as our minds also stretch to greet the possibilities of a new day... our first day! And then, tragedy strikes. The Good Shepherd Center, a notable food pantry and focus of our afternoon service, greets us with the warmth of a mother bear awoken from her hibernation. In other words, we are unable to get even one foot in the door. Everything is locked. In the words of Gandalf the Grey, "The way is shut." But we fear not, for our intentions are as flexible as our Gumbylicious spirits. Several phone calls are made and we divert our attention to the Food Bank of Northeast and Central Missouri. As if to acknowledge the promise heard in the changing winds, a black alley cat approaches and moves through the group, his tail brushing cheeks to dry tears and his reassuring purrs whisking away any worry. The remainder of the day is spent in sweaty, smiling glory and for every plastic sack we fill with granola, we feel our souls spill over a bit more with joy. We finally retreat to the church to wash several windows and, the glass as clear as our consciences, we drive to a local restaurant (BJ's) for a night of reflection and jubilee. Full and satisfied by our BJ's, we retire for one more night together and, as we drift into the content slumber only offered to those committed to the grind, murmur sweet nothings to each other until we are empty of loving words. There is not regret; We all know that this is it.