Once again, I come sheepishly to the blogsphere to admit that I was unable to write anything substantial this week. But a bit of inspiration did strike a few days ago at least enough for me to have something to offer. So, minuscule readership and inanimate publishing space, I offer you a short story from my life as a middle-schooler . . .
The summer before my seventh grade year, I went to West Virginia with my brother’s Boy Scout troop. And please don’t stop here to make fun of Boy Scouts. They get a bad reputation for a lot of really good things, and I respect the way they have shaped my brother into an independent, resourceful, and mature young man.
My parents had decided that this “high adventure” trip would be a great way to sneak in a family vacation, so me, my brother, and our mom and dad piled into a rental car and drove to West Virginia. We camped there for about a week total, in a tent with a leak during a very rainy month. My mom backed the rental car into a ditch, and the Boy Scouts provided the meals (Ramen noodles were in excess). But it was a very enjoyable time.
On one of the first days, we went duckying. Duckies are, essentially, blowup kayaks made of rafting material. It was so much fun to paddle down the humongous New River in a tiny little one-person ducky. I enjoyed my time immensely, and paid no attention to the plethora of somewhat obnoxious middle-school boys surrounding me.
Our guide that day was a large, grizzly man who called himself Squirrel. He was middle-aged and had obviously been a river guide for a very long time. He was rude and loud, but in a friendly and hilarious way. It was immediately obvious to me that he really cared about the people he brought here, but he showed it in a mocking and playful way. I really enjoyed listening to his stories and just laughing at his sarcastic wit. I spent a lot of time listening to him as he told us all that he knew about the river. We all felt very safe based on his knowledge of the rapids.
At the end of the day, we all loaded our duckies onto the trailer and piled into our bus for the drive back up to the camp. Before we left, Squirrel paced up and down the aisle to give the boys one final lecture of sorts. When he seemed to be wrapping up his speech about being a man (or just not being stupid, I can’t really remember which), he stopped, standing right next to my seat. “Finally,” he boomed, and then muttered “where is she?” When he saw me next to him, he turned so that he could look me straight in the face. He stood completely still in front of me, pointed his dirty, calloused finger at me, and said in his intense southern drawl, “BOHS LAH.” It took a second, but I quickly interpreted it to mean, “boys lie.”
And I will never, ever forget that moment.
At the time, I thought I understood what he meant. Especially because my dad seemed to be so entertained by this whole encounter. I thought he meant to caution me, to protect me from getting hurt. And he did. But every day I am learning that there is so much more to that phrase.
Squirrel was right in more ways than he knew. Boys do lie. Boys lie for a lot of reasons. Sometimes those reasons are good, and sometimes they are not so good. Sometimes they know they are lying, and sometimes they don’t. And I think that’s the part that I’ve most had to remember. Because it’s easy for a “good girl” to convince herself that because she spends her time around “good boys” then those boys will honor her and avoid lying to her. And maybe that can be true, maybe they really are good boys and they will try to avoid lying. But what Squirrel taught me, which I must never forget, is that boys lie. He didn’t say “boys lie when they are trying to deceive you,” although that can definitely be implied. He said “boys lie.” They lie to themselves and they lie to each other and they lie to girls. They might not be trying, but they might lie.
So I have learned to be cautious. And maybe sometimes I am a little too cautious, but personally, I think that’s better than the alternative. Lies are powerful, and they are dangerous. Especially when the liars don’t know they are lying. I have adopted, over time, a philosophy of suspicion. Yes, that means I don’t trust very easily. Yes, that might sometimes be a bad thing. But when I look at the pain that girls face when they experience heartbreak from the boy who lied to himself and her when he said he loved her, I hurt for her. And I am reminded that we, as humans, do not know ourselves perfectly. And that’s okay. We are, inherently, imperfect. But it’s still something to be aware of.
I wish I could say that boys are the only liars. I wish I could say that girls don’t lie. That boys grow up to be men, and real men don’t lie. That real women don’t lie either. But if I said any of those things, then I, too, would be lying to myself. Because the epidemic of untruth-telling is not age- or gender-specific. And the greatest danger that I have learned to find there is not the danger of the intentional lies, but of the unintentional lies. So I caution myself, and I caution others. We are complicated beings. Don’t make the mistake of believing your lie or someone else’s so deeply that you are blinded to reality.
Squirrel, you were more right than you knew.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Warm ashes; faintly-glowing coals
I have a confession to make.
I have no blog post lined up for today. I’ll admit that for at least a day or two, I completely forgot about publishing at all. But the other days that I did remember, I just didn’t bother to write anything. Which is entirely my fault. But in my defense, my grandmother died Monday night.
Jeez, that’s weird. We’ve only known about the cancer for a couple of months.
But I’m not going to talk about that. There may or may not be a memoir of sorts published at a later date, but there’s no way that writing one tonight would do her any justice. I’ll save that for when I can actually form coherent thoughts. The point in saying that at all is that I haven’t been doing a lot of “deep thinking” lately. That or I’ve been doing too much and I’m just sort of burnt out. Either way, I’ll write more about that later.
This post isn’t about her. It’s about . . . well, nothing in particular. Not yet, at least.
This post is about all that random logistical stuff that I didn’t bother address when I started this blog . . . over a month ago. So here’s what’s up.
I’ve been publishing, or attempting to publish, one post/article/rant every five days since the kickoff post. It worked fairly well when I wasn’t in school, and in the first few weeks of school, because I didn’t really have a large workload yet. Well, I am finally entering into a routine where I don’t think the every-five-days style is going to work. Because, A) There are seven days in a week, not five. Therefore the actual day of the week on which I would post is not consistent. It’s hard to build a routine around a moving target. And B) It’s just a little bit too often, considering my current workload. I have spare time, but I have to be careful about how I spend it. And frankly, making new friends, catching up with old friends, attending church, etc. all come before blogging. Sorry, inanimate publishing space. Oh, and C) I don’t always have ground-breaking ideas (or other . . . randomness) to share every five days!
So here’s the plan. I’m cutting my blogging schedule down to once a week (I know - such a big change). As of right now, my plan is to publish something every Saturday, although that may change if I decide another day works better. HOWEVER - and this is important - I will not limit my writing to a once-a-week pattern. If I have thoughts or other randomness to document, then I will write smaller posts or share random things throughout the week as well. Basically, I’m obligating myself to write independently from academics at least once a week, but I am not limiting myself to one post per week. I hope that makes sense. I think it does.
So, anyway, there’s that. That’s all I can think of at the moment.
Now, enjoy a few terribly-written newbie haikus I've written over the last several weeks (really though, I’m working on my poetry skills) . . .
Lake Michigan winds
I left my heart behind there
When can I go back?
We are so broken
Where is there a place to hide?
Waiting for the light
The newness of dorms
Is the greatest adventure
In the smallest space
There’s no place like home
If home is where the heart is
But my heart can grow
Not a fan of school
Education is much more
Than jumping through hoops
As you can see, I need to keep practicing on that front. But they’re still really fun to write. My friends got me hooked.
Now. I have homework to do.
[Insert clever less-abrupt blog post ending here]
I have no blog post lined up for today. I’ll admit that for at least a day or two, I completely forgot about publishing at all. But the other days that I did remember, I just didn’t bother to write anything. Which is entirely my fault. But in my defense, my grandmother died Monday night.
Jeez, that’s weird. We’ve only known about the cancer for a couple of months.
But I’m not going to talk about that. There may or may not be a memoir of sorts published at a later date, but there’s no way that writing one tonight would do her any justice. I’ll save that for when I can actually form coherent thoughts. The point in saying that at all is that I haven’t been doing a lot of “deep thinking” lately. That or I’ve been doing too much and I’m just sort of burnt out. Either way, I’ll write more about that later.
This post isn’t about her. It’s about . . . well, nothing in particular. Not yet, at least.
This post is about all that random logistical stuff that I didn’t bother address when I started this blog . . . over a month ago. So here’s what’s up.
I’ve been publishing, or attempting to publish, one post/article/rant every five days since the kickoff post. It worked fairly well when I wasn’t in school, and in the first few weeks of school, because I didn’t really have a large workload yet. Well, I am finally entering into a routine where I don’t think the every-five-days style is going to work. Because, A) There are seven days in a week, not five. Therefore the actual day of the week on which I would post is not consistent. It’s hard to build a routine around a moving target. And B) It’s just a little bit too often, considering my current workload. I have spare time, but I have to be careful about how I spend it. And frankly, making new friends, catching up with old friends, attending church, etc. all come before blogging. Sorry, inanimate publishing space. Oh, and C) I don’t always have ground-breaking ideas (or other . . . randomness) to share every five days!
So here’s the plan. I’m cutting my blogging schedule down to once a week (I know - such a big change). As of right now, my plan is to publish something every Saturday, although that may change if I decide another day works better. HOWEVER - and this is important - I will not limit my writing to a once-a-week pattern. If I have thoughts or other randomness to document, then I will write smaller posts or share random things throughout the week as well. Basically, I’m obligating myself to write independently from academics at least once a week, but I am not limiting myself to one post per week. I hope that makes sense. I think it does.
So, anyway, there’s that. That’s all I can think of at the moment.
Now, enjoy a few terribly-written newbie haikus I've written over the last several weeks (really though, I’m working on my poetry skills) . . .
Lake Michigan winds
I left my heart behind there
When can I go back?
We are so broken
Where is there a place to hide?
Waiting for the light
The newness of dorms
Is the greatest adventure
In the smallest space
There’s no place like home
If home is where the heart is
But my heart can grow
Not a fan of school
Education is much more
Than jumping through hoops
As you can see, I need to keep practicing on that front. But they’re still really fun to write. My friends got me hooked.
Now. I have homework to do.
[Insert clever less-abrupt blog post ending here]
Friday, September 6, 2013
Faith, Meaning, and Tough Answers
Another rambling about college life, with a partial plot-twist. Read at your own risk.
I’m two and a half hours into my first college reading assignment, and I’m already questioning the meaning of my own life.
What.
Wait a minute. Calm down. Let me explain. Even though there really isn’t a lot of explaining to do.
I’m going to college because that’s what people do. Because that’s what my parents wanted me to do and because I didn’t really have any other post-high school plans. I’m majoring in youth ministry because bringing Truth to students is one of my passions. So is serving. So it just made sense. I don’t like the idea of traditional education. As a wise friend of mine once put it, though much more eloquently than I can capture, “I don’t want to put my life on hold for four years just to be stuck in college.” And I would add to that, “for a degree I may or may not actually need.” Because, let’s face it, my life will not be a “traditional” life. If I get married and my husband is able to support our family, then I probably won’t want to get a job anyway. And if I do, it won’t be full time. If I don’t get married, I’ll probably spend my life writing books and doing mission work. Yes, some of these college classes might be helpful in either outcome, but not at a make-it-or-break-it capacity.
Anyway, so I’m sitting on my stereotypical-college-girl fuzzy purple blanket on my top-bunk more-like-a-rock bed, reading from my hundred-dollar textbook about nothing in particular, attempting to write a response to the vague prompt in my 8-page syllabus on the castrated Macbook Pro that the college bestowed upon me at orientation . . . AND I WANT TO THROW THE BOOK OUT THE WINDOW AND WALK OUT THE DOOR AND NEVER COME BACK. (I would have said I want to throw the Mac, but that would just be a bit too cold, even considering the mutilations this poor computer had to go through) Why? Because, well, this guy said it better than I can:
“Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”
(Ecclesiastes 1:2)
The work I am doing today, the work I will do on Monday, the work I did this week, the work I’ll do next week. It’s all meaningless. Because it’s not growing me. And maybe at some point it will be beneficial, maybe it will grow me and teach me in unexpected ways. But as of right now, all I want to do is get up and go somewhere that I can actually be useful, and use the gifts God has given me to actually make a difference in this world.
Yeah, I know that’s a cliche, but it’s still my desire. I want to do something that matters. And right now, I feel like nothing I’m doing matters.
Now I’ll take a step outside of that thinking. That was my thought process last night. And by the time I finished that assignment, I felt like I had wasted three hours of my life. But the story changes a bit. Because I had to take a break for a mandatory residence hall meeting.
And then . . . my floor went on a “sneak”.
Floor sneaks basically mean going out with all the people on your floor and staying out past curfew and not getting in trouble because you went with your RA. Simple enough, right? So we all piled into a few cars and drove down the road to Applebee's, and ate appetizers and talked until about midnight. And my faith in college life was restored. I got into a discussion with two girls in particular about God’s call. I’ll spare you the details, but what I walked away with was something like this:
1. Upon being asked why I chose this college, I realized that I don’t actually know. It just sort of happened. And I could look at that in two ways: That I’m making a huge mistake, or that God is working in my life in greater ways than I know. I am choosing to look at it in the second way, because of the people I have met and the growth that I have already experienced. I know He brought me here for a reason.
2. I may not like the classes or the busy work, or the way this school presents its theology, but in all of those things, there are opportunities for me to observe and to learn - to read between the lines. I might not learn what I was put in the class to learn, but I can choose to make the best of the place I’m at and teach myself through these experiences.
3. It’s okay for me to feel like I’m wasting my life. Because in some ways, I am. We got talking about a book called Kisses from Katie and the story of the girl who gave up college, marriage, and a normal life in America in order to move to Africa and care for the people who touched her heart there. She adopted children. She made a life. She followed God’s call. And for her, that didn’t mean college. Sometimes, I feel like that’s what I should be doing. BUT, this story and the responses of the girls I sat with give me confidence in another Truth. The Truth that God uses us all in different ways, at different times, and obviously right now He wants me here. Whatever reason He has, it must be good. When the girls told me to read Kisses from Katie, and I said I would, “but after I do I’m going to want to move to Africa,” they confidently told me that they would not let me leave. I don’t think they realized how powerful that was. Their innocent faith in God’s plan gave me hope that college, after all, is not meaningless. It isn’t what I expected, and it isn’t my first choice, but it’s where God wants me. And He will keep me here for as long as He knows it is necessary.
And that’s what it all comes down to. We all experience times in our lives that are rougher, harder, more monotonous than others. And we will all wonder at some point if this is where God really wants us. We’ll ask Him outright: “Why am I here?!” because we don’t see the sense in it. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t sense. God’s plan is good, all the time. I believe that to be true. But He is God, and I am only human. Of course I don’t know everything. It would be ridiculous for me to even think that I could know everything He has planned for me. His purpose for my life is much more intricate than I can fathom. What may seem dull and wasteful to me now will likely make perfect sense a few years down the road, when I’m in a different situation, experiencing a new set of challenges. Then I might be grateful for the time that I spent here.
My prayer now has become a prayer not of discontent and pleas, but of peace and obedience. I pray that God will use me, teach me, and grow me where I am. That He will give me the patience to accept this phase of life. And that He will keep me here for as long as I need to be here, and make it clear to me when He wants me somewhere else.
I believe with all my heart that if I am in a spirit of humble obedience, then there’s no way I can stray. God will put me where He wants me to be. It is when I take matters into my own hands, believing that I know better than Him, and go off on my own to “do something meaningful” that I truly stray. Because, as I’ve said before, it is not what I’m doing that matters, but why I am doing it. I am at college because God wants me to be, and I want to obey Him. And if that’s all He’s asking of me right now, then my goal is to do it as well as I possibly can. It’s the least I can do.
I’m two and a half hours into my first college reading assignment, and I’m already questioning the meaning of my own life.
What.
Wait a minute. Calm down. Let me explain. Even though there really isn’t a lot of explaining to do.
I’m going to college because that’s what people do. Because that’s what my parents wanted me to do and because I didn’t really have any other post-high school plans. I’m majoring in youth ministry because bringing Truth to students is one of my passions. So is serving. So it just made sense. I don’t like the idea of traditional education. As a wise friend of mine once put it, though much more eloquently than I can capture, “I don’t want to put my life on hold for four years just to be stuck in college.” And I would add to that, “for a degree I may or may not actually need.” Because, let’s face it, my life will not be a “traditional” life. If I get married and my husband is able to support our family, then I probably won’t want to get a job anyway. And if I do, it won’t be full time. If I don’t get married, I’ll probably spend my life writing books and doing mission work. Yes, some of these college classes might be helpful in either outcome, but not at a make-it-or-break-it capacity.
Anyway, so I’m sitting on my stereotypical-college-girl fuzzy purple blanket on my top-bunk more-like-a-rock bed, reading from my hundred-dollar textbook about nothing in particular, attempting to write a response to the vague prompt in my 8-page syllabus on the castrated Macbook Pro that the college bestowed upon me at orientation . . . AND I WANT TO THROW THE BOOK OUT THE WINDOW AND WALK OUT THE DOOR AND NEVER COME BACK. (I would have said I want to throw the Mac, but that would just be a bit too cold, even considering the mutilations this poor computer had to go through) Why? Because, well, this guy said it better than I can:
“Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”
(Ecclesiastes 1:2)
The work I am doing today, the work I will do on Monday, the work I did this week, the work I’ll do next week. It’s all meaningless. Because it’s not growing me. And maybe at some point it will be beneficial, maybe it will grow me and teach me in unexpected ways. But as of right now, all I want to do is get up and go somewhere that I can actually be useful, and use the gifts God has given me to actually make a difference in this world.
Yeah, I know that’s a cliche, but it’s still my desire. I want to do something that matters. And right now, I feel like nothing I’m doing matters.
Now I’ll take a step outside of that thinking. That was my thought process last night. And by the time I finished that assignment, I felt like I had wasted three hours of my life. But the story changes a bit. Because I had to take a break for a mandatory residence hall meeting.
And then . . . my floor went on a “sneak”.
Floor sneaks basically mean going out with all the people on your floor and staying out past curfew and not getting in trouble because you went with your RA. Simple enough, right? So we all piled into a few cars and drove down the road to Applebee's, and ate appetizers and talked until about midnight. And my faith in college life was restored. I got into a discussion with two girls in particular about God’s call. I’ll spare you the details, but what I walked away with was something like this:
1. Upon being asked why I chose this college, I realized that I don’t actually know. It just sort of happened. And I could look at that in two ways: That I’m making a huge mistake, or that God is working in my life in greater ways than I know. I am choosing to look at it in the second way, because of the people I have met and the growth that I have already experienced. I know He brought me here for a reason.
2. I may not like the classes or the busy work, or the way this school presents its theology, but in all of those things, there are opportunities for me to observe and to learn - to read between the lines. I might not learn what I was put in the class to learn, but I can choose to make the best of the place I’m at and teach myself through these experiences.
3. It’s okay for me to feel like I’m wasting my life. Because in some ways, I am. We got talking about a book called Kisses from Katie and the story of the girl who gave up college, marriage, and a normal life in America in order to move to Africa and care for the people who touched her heart there. She adopted children. She made a life. She followed God’s call. And for her, that didn’t mean college. Sometimes, I feel like that’s what I should be doing. BUT, this story and the responses of the girls I sat with give me confidence in another Truth. The Truth that God uses us all in different ways, at different times, and obviously right now He wants me here. Whatever reason He has, it must be good. When the girls told me to read Kisses from Katie, and I said I would, “but after I do I’m going to want to move to Africa,” they confidently told me that they would not let me leave. I don’t think they realized how powerful that was. Their innocent faith in God’s plan gave me hope that college, after all, is not meaningless. It isn’t what I expected, and it isn’t my first choice, but it’s where God wants me. And He will keep me here for as long as He knows it is necessary.
And that’s what it all comes down to. We all experience times in our lives that are rougher, harder, more monotonous than others. And we will all wonder at some point if this is where God really wants us. We’ll ask Him outright: “Why am I here?!” because we don’t see the sense in it. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t sense. God’s plan is good, all the time. I believe that to be true. But He is God, and I am only human. Of course I don’t know everything. It would be ridiculous for me to even think that I could know everything He has planned for me. His purpose for my life is much more intricate than I can fathom. What may seem dull and wasteful to me now will likely make perfect sense a few years down the road, when I’m in a different situation, experiencing a new set of challenges. Then I might be grateful for the time that I spent here.
My prayer now has become a prayer not of discontent and pleas, but of peace and obedience. I pray that God will use me, teach me, and grow me where I am. That He will give me the patience to accept this phase of life. And that He will keep me here for as long as I need to be here, and make it clear to me when He wants me somewhere else.
I believe with all my heart that if I am in a spirit of humble obedience, then there’s no way I can stray. God will put me where He wants me to be. It is when I take matters into my own hands, believing that I know better than Him, and go off on my own to “do something meaningful” that I truly stray. Because, as I’ve said before, it is not what I’m doing that matters, but why I am doing it. I am at college because God wants me to be, and I want to obey Him. And if that’s all He’s asking of me right now, then my goal is to do it as well as I possibly can. It’s the least I can do.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Dear Dorothy
I am officially a college freshman. This past week, I moved into a dorm room for the first time. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever even moved. I have lived in the same house for my entire life up until now. And it still feels so surreal, because the college that I’m attending is only about ten minutes’ drive from my house, so I can easily go home any time I want to. And yet, this week, I’ve felt like I’m thousands of miles away, living a completely different life.
Just to clarify, I haven’t actually started any classes yet. My school has a week of orientation before classes begin. All the freshmen moved in on Wednesday and have been kept extremely busy since then, attending lectures about how to be a good student, etc.; doing a service project; watching local and campus sports events; and spending time with the small groups we’ve been placed in. So I know I can’t actually say a lot about the “college experience,” because I know that what I’ve been experiencing these several days is very unlike what I will experience through the rest of this year. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t learn from it.
Dorm life is crazy different than home life, and in a lot of ways, that’s a hard thing. Like Dorothy says in The Wizard of Oz, “There’s no place like home.” I miss my family a lot. I’m used to seeing them every day, talking with them, laughing with them. I miss my mom’s hugs, and - if I’m honest with myself - her tendency to hover. At least then I knew she was there, loving me and desiring to help me. I also miss having my own bathroom, my soft, comfortable bed, and my bedroom. At home, I have my own space, and when I am tired and feeling introverted, I can use that space to relax and recharge in solitude. I miss having my own schedule. Even during the school year last year, I felt free to follow my own schedule and make my own choices, and I was able to be more independent with my life. This week has been nearly completely opposite. I think the hardest thing of all, though, is none of that. The hardest thing is that it’s nothing like I expected it to be. And I know that it’s my own problem, because I developed my own expectations, but that doesn’t mean I can just make that shock disappear. I had believed I would be, well, more free. Instead I am under more control than I was when I lived at home. And that’s a challenge to me.
There are also a lot of reasons that dorm life is very good. I miss my family, but I am learning how to live without them. I miss my mom, but I’m learning how to fend for myself. It feels weird to have to share space with two other people in my dorm room, to share a bathroom with the twenty other girls on my floor - but it helps me remember that life doesn’t revolve around me. Sharing space gives me a small taste of what married life will include, and it teaches me how to thrive even when I am not in my preferred environment. I am being challenged to grow outside of what I am used to and learn how to adapt to a new set of circumstances. Following the orientation schedule, waking and eating and going places at someone else’s command may feel frustrating and controlling, but it also humbles me. It lets me know that I am not the greatest, smartest, or most authoritative person on campus. It reminds me that there are people, rules, standards that I must respect, and they’re all in place for good reasons, even if I don’t see that right away. And yet at the same time it gives me an opportunity to think independently and analyze what I really do support versus what I really do disagree with - not selfishly, but out of practicality and in some cases principle.
What it comes down to, so far, is that I have been given a great opportunity. I may not like a lot of it right now, but I know that I need to step back and see the whole picture. Doing so, I am able to respect the position I have been placed in. I can see it as an opportunity to learn - how to be independent, how to be a leader, how to think critically, how to respect authority, and how to honor God in all of it. That doesn’t mean I can’t work to improve the things that could be better; on the contrary, doing so would be a welcome challenge. It also doesn’t mean I need to agree with everything that I am being subject to or told is true. Instead I am able to listen and respect while developing and strengthening my own opinions and beliefs, and taking time to solidify what I know as Truth. I would be hard-pressed to find a way to develop these skills and learn from these challenges sitting at home. This is a change that is hard and sometimes frustrating, but also very, very good for me.
There is definitely still No Place Like Home. I love the house and the circumstances that I consider home; my family and my comfort are there. But I need to be taken away from that to learn and grow and be challenged - and even to appreciate it more when I come back. If I had any advice to give to Dorothy in the midst of her dream-induced adventure (I don’t use that word lightly), it would be this: There may be no place like home, but if every place was like home, you would never grow. Enjoy the new. Enjoy the unknown.
Just to clarify, I haven’t actually started any classes yet. My school has a week of orientation before classes begin. All the freshmen moved in on Wednesday and have been kept extremely busy since then, attending lectures about how to be a good student, etc.; doing a service project; watching local and campus sports events; and spending time with the small groups we’ve been placed in. So I know I can’t actually say a lot about the “college experience,” because I know that what I’ve been experiencing these several days is very unlike what I will experience through the rest of this year. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t learn from it.
Dorm life is crazy different than home life, and in a lot of ways, that’s a hard thing. Like Dorothy says in The Wizard of Oz, “There’s no place like home.” I miss my family a lot. I’m used to seeing them every day, talking with them, laughing with them. I miss my mom’s hugs, and - if I’m honest with myself - her tendency to hover. At least then I knew she was there, loving me and desiring to help me. I also miss having my own bathroom, my soft, comfortable bed, and my bedroom. At home, I have my own space, and when I am tired and feeling introverted, I can use that space to relax and recharge in solitude. I miss having my own schedule. Even during the school year last year, I felt free to follow my own schedule and make my own choices, and I was able to be more independent with my life. This week has been nearly completely opposite. I think the hardest thing of all, though, is none of that. The hardest thing is that it’s nothing like I expected it to be. And I know that it’s my own problem, because I developed my own expectations, but that doesn’t mean I can just make that shock disappear. I had believed I would be, well, more free. Instead I am under more control than I was when I lived at home. And that’s a challenge to me.
There are also a lot of reasons that dorm life is very good. I miss my family, but I am learning how to live without them. I miss my mom, but I’m learning how to fend for myself. It feels weird to have to share space with two other people in my dorm room, to share a bathroom with the twenty other girls on my floor - but it helps me remember that life doesn’t revolve around me. Sharing space gives me a small taste of what married life will include, and it teaches me how to thrive even when I am not in my preferred environment. I am being challenged to grow outside of what I am used to and learn how to adapt to a new set of circumstances. Following the orientation schedule, waking and eating and going places at someone else’s command may feel frustrating and controlling, but it also humbles me. It lets me know that I am not the greatest, smartest, or most authoritative person on campus. It reminds me that there are people, rules, standards that I must respect, and they’re all in place for good reasons, even if I don’t see that right away. And yet at the same time it gives me an opportunity to think independently and analyze what I really do support versus what I really do disagree with - not selfishly, but out of practicality and in some cases principle.
What it comes down to, so far, is that I have been given a great opportunity. I may not like a lot of it right now, but I know that I need to step back and see the whole picture. Doing so, I am able to respect the position I have been placed in. I can see it as an opportunity to learn - how to be independent, how to be a leader, how to think critically, how to respect authority, and how to honor God in all of it. That doesn’t mean I can’t work to improve the things that could be better; on the contrary, doing so would be a welcome challenge. It also doesn’t mean I need to agree with everything that I am being subject to or told is true. Instead I am able to listen and respect while developing and strengthening my own opinions and beliefs, and taking time to solidify what I know as Truth. I would be hard-pressed to find a way to develop these skills and learn from these challenges sitting at home. This is a change that is hard and sometimes frustrating, but also very, very good for me.
There is definitely still No Place Like Home. I love the house and the circumstances that I consider home; my family and my comfort are there. But I need to be taken away from that to learn and grow and be challenged - and even to appreciate it more when I come back. If I had any advice to give to Dorothy in the midst of her dream-induced adventure (I don’t use that word lightly), it would be this: There may be no place like home, but if every place was like home, you would never grow. Enjoy the new. Enjoy the unknown.
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