two years in the sunshine state

It’s nothing big, really. Just sitting here at the kitchen table compiling study guides for the herd of finals closing down around me, listening to Josh Garrels, watching my roommates at their computers—laughing, smiling, joking, munching on peanuts and chips—stacks of books, water bottles all cluttering the table, and the sun shines outside.

It’s all so everyday, but the thought presses in that this day won’t last forever, and “all things will change,” as Garrels just sang. Two years of classes came to an end this morning, I turned in my last papers, and all the reading is finished. Yes, there is a sense of victory, but also the passing of a wonderful thing.

Right now I find myself living in a blur of emotions—excitement about the coming opportunities around the corner, about seeing my family again, about sleeping more than five hours a night and getting out in the fresh air a bit more than the common mole. There are mountains, trails to hike, food to make, projects to create, gardens to tend, a bike to ride all summer long, movies to watch—siblings to enjoy and tease. We’ll stay up late, leave all the windows down, and swim under the moon and the shoplight. We’ll talk long, probably cry some cause we live in the real world, joke about growing up like we never will, eat homemade ice cream leaning over the deck rail and dripping sweet goodness into the grass down at Grandma’s place.

On the other side of things, there are these three girls—a redhead, a blonde, and one beautiful curly dark—with whom I’ve walked the trail of the past two years. We’ve done the girl things together, been ridiculous as one must to stay sane at college, and eaten far too much Virginia apple pudding (compliments of K, who’s gonna make one guy a prince someday). We’ve misunderstood, hurt, and then forgiven like those under a wide grace. We’ve learned far more than is proper about each other, said things that will never be repeated, and memorized more facts about heresy than even a church mouse would care to hear (is that a hobby of church mice anyway, researching church councils and Nestorianism and such??)

A mile away there’s a school that’s shaped and changed me in more ways than I could begin to express or may ever fully know. Its grounds have taken my breath away on the misty mornings, the afternoons of drenching sunlight, and the quiet nights of crickets and buildings lit all alluring and serene. There’s a pond that’s seen many a walk (and run) around, most often barefoot and occasionally in a most undignified rush to get the blood moving and the brain chugging. There is a wall of mailboxes, a kitchen that’s witnessed many a morning greeting and stupid joke, a courtyard occupied by lunchers and wanna-be studyers. There are classrooms that have heard enough theology to fill volumes, and in which men and women have come alive with the beautiful grandeur of the gospel and this magnificent Book given us by God Himself.

Really, that Book is the only reason we’re all here, and its pages have formed the backbone of our days and hours for these years. We’ve been broken as we came under its piercing truth; we’ve been healed by the mercy of a God who met the demands of His own justice by judging the One in whom His heart delighted; and we’ve been undone by the weight of this mercy and love. Side by side, we’ve sought to stay awake amid the dulling powers of the world, our flesh, and the devil who prowls.

It’s been real, as they say, but truly, we are the ones who have been brought more in line with reality itself. We’ve learned to open and divide the Word of God, and also to fear in the exercise of this responsibility and the risk of our own wayward hearts. We’ve seen men pour themselves out in joy at the reality of the gospel, open themselves to be changed by its invading power, and give of themselves for the sake of those striving to join in the harvest.

Together, we have lived life, we have mourned the effects of the fall, and we have grown in our desire for that eternal city which awaits. Life Coram Deo has begun, slowly and surely, to define our choices, our habits, our time, our loves. It’s all about returning to Eden—through the waters to the mountain for worship. God will dwell among men one day, and all things will be made right when we enjoy the undimmed presence of our King once again.

Indeed, this has been a full period of life, and to leave such a place will be a hard goodbye. Yet the sweetness will linger, the emails will be written, and addresses exchanged. Pilgrims can’t camp out together forever, I suppose, and the path winds on.

“Take heart my friend, we’ll go together

This uncertain road that lies ahead

Our faithful God has always gone before us

And He will lead the way once again. . .”