This week has been filled with anxiety and apprehension over impending deadlines and a scheduled upgrade during the Easter weekend.
I’m not sure who thought Easter would be a good week to do a large project but the powers that be said it would happen on Saturday.
I generally don’t complain at work. I do what I can and pray that things will be fine. I prepare for the worst and hope for the best. I get my job done and try to do things above and beyond the call of duty.
This week was a crazy week for me. I like to exude confidence but the testing performed on the new upgrade didn’t sit well with me. Add the need to test two interfaces simultaneously and the coordination of a go live scheduled for May 1st and I had a big ball of crazy going in my stomach. I felt like a duck in the water, calm and peaceful above but flapping like a mad woman under.
Still, I brought my apprehensions to my superiors but emphasized, we’ll do what we have to do to move one.
Through it all, I still tried to maintain my promise, to attend service Tuesday and Thursday evening. I made a promise last Sunday. Every week, we go to church and petition. This week, I told myself that petitioning Jesus for anything during the most important week of his life was rude. Instead, I would visit him and be there if he needed me. I know it sounds silly but bear with me.
So I worked my schedule around so I was able to attend mass on Tuesday and Thursday. It was going to be hard and I knew I’d be tired and exhausted but it was the least I could do.
Last night, just before I prepared to head out to the Last Supper mass, I received several calls from my job. The upgrade was postponed by a week. It was sigh of relief. Sure we had work to do and the anxiety would reappear but it was just what I needed.
I went to church smiling. It was a packed house. Everyone squished into the pews. Many stood on the sides. I was minding my business when it suddenly hit me. I don’t know what you would call it. I do not consider myself super religious. I don’t say the rosary every week. I question many of the beliefs of the church.
Last night, while watching the processing to the Altar of Repose, I realized during the biggest week of his life, moments before he would begin the longest night of his human life, Jesus looked out for me, little me.
Ok, you can say it was coincidence, but I disagree. Why moments before the last supper? Why didn’t I receive the call two weeks ago when I first expressed concerns? Why was the executive decision handed out exactly at the end of Lent and the beginning of the Triduum?
If you knew you were going to head into the worst night of your life, would you be able to stop and think about someone else? Think about it. Have you ever had a restless night that never seemed to end? You toss and turn. Whatever you do, you cannot get comfortable. You become so fixated on the fact you can’t sleep you anger yourself. The darkness seems to get darker and darker. The end seems like it will never come and just when day breaks, you realize you’re at the end of the night but you’re just at the beginning of what promises to be a rough day. Would you be able to get out of bed and think about helping others or would you prefer to call in a sick day?
I don’t think I can forget that feeling I had sitting in the church watching everyone sitting there with Jesus, trying to understand the agony, trying to keep him company. Just before the darkness fell, he reached out to me.
I’m sharing this not for anyone in particular but to remind myself of that night. It was the strangest feeling. I wasn’t embarrassed but the emotions were a bit strong. I had a hard lump in my throat. I could never imagine what was going on that night for him but he could empathize with me, little me.
