Guarding the Grave

I'm tired, really tired when I leave church after vespers. As long as I keep moving, I can usually take my mind off of the fact that I've been up for almost 40 hours. My Aunt Maria and I take my Grandpa home after Vespers and then go to Homecut donuts in Joliet. We have made it a tradition of sorts to always pick up a dozen donuts and leave them at church when we go to guard the grave. We still have a couple of hours to go once we get back to her house so we decided to watch The Passion of the Christ. After almost a half an hour of wrestling with remote controls and dvd players we finally get it started but don't manage to finish it. Whether or not you like Mel Gibson, you have to admit that this is a moving film. I've heard arguments that it is just a gruesome, bloody film. Guess what, that's being Christ was murdered in the most gruesome and bloody way. That is what happened, no sugarcoating. It's not an enjoying thing to watch, that's why I usually only watch it once a year. I remember the first time I saw the Passion. Our Teen group went and my friend Katie and I cried so hard at some points that one of my contact lenses fell out which made reading the subtitles difficult.

At about 11:30 we leave for church again and pick up a family friend of ours, Marilyn, along the way. When we get to church we meet up with my aunt's friend Jean and the four of us keep watch over the grave just like I'm sure the women who followed Christ did nearly 2,000 years ago. My eyes are desperately fighting to stay open in the dimly lit church. I try to pray an Acathist to Christ in order to keep myself awake. It seems like the older I get, the fast the hour passes on and before long, our replacements, my Uncle Bill and Marilyn's husband John, show up. They have some different plans of how they will spend their hour. They decided to try and fix the trojca, or 3 pronged candle, which has been falling apart with some gold braiding.

When we get back to my aunt's house it is nearly 2am. I have been awake for 43 hours but I know that whatever exhaustion I feel must still not even touch that of what the women who followed Christ felt. I change into my pj's and try to get some rest.