It’s been rough coming home from school.
My freshman year of college at Cairn University has been filled with crazy stories and beautiful memories. My faith has deepened, my perspective of the world widened, and life as a whole doesn’t seem as bleak as it once did. I owe a lot of that growth to the college community. Having a roommate who suffered my rants, professors who heard my questions, and the kind of R.A. from which legends are made was all just part of the beautiful mosaic.
I’d like to think we’re in our right minds-ish.
Now it’s gone.
I shouldn’t be so dramatic. Most of the people who made this year great will be back next year, but it won’t be the same dynamic. And in the meantime, I’m far from a reasonable visiting distance.
I find myself feeling as though a rug has been pulled suddenly from under my feet. I struggle to regain my stance, no sooner gaining it than to realize that I am standing alone. I am left with the task of processing what happened, apart from the people who made it so great.
It’s not just the people that have changed, either. It’s a whole different life. Before, I was sharing a suite with three other guys roughly my age. Now, I’m back with the family, sharing a house with six people ranging from twice to one tenth of twenty. My responsibilities have shifted from “don’t flunk out of school” to “jump on your bed with your two-year-old sister Allyson until you stop and she cries because you’re too tired to keep jumping”.
There’s some things I’ve decided I need to do to help me adjust.
1. Remember that God is the same. People change, but the God who was with me at Cairn is still here. His grace and love are infinite, and I need to continue to seek Him.
2. Share the stories. For two reasons: One, it’s part of any grieving process. Remember what was and be grateful. Two, it’s part of bringing the two worlds–college and home–together in my mind.
3. Allow myself to have my day brightened by little, unexpected things, like the following scene that played out at home:
SCENE: LIVING ROOM, NIGHT. SCOTTY lies on the sofa, mopey and morose.
Enter ALLYSON, running happily across the sofa toward SCOTTY, having since forgiven him for his lack of bed-jumping stamina.
ALLYSON
(throwing self on SCOTTY’S legs)
You king!
SCOTTY
I’m the king?
ALLYSON
Yeah!
SCOTTY
Oh. I’m the king. Huh. What does that make you?
ALLYSON
I Santa! “Ho, ho, ho!”
Well, you know what they say: A man’s home is his castle, a man’s baby sister his Santa Claus. Or something.
Close enough.
Here’s to one great year, guys.
