I suppose part of the reason that I gave you pictures last night instead of words is because I’m sorely tempted to wrap the intensely varied spread of emotions and experiences that have been crammed into this campus over the past four days into a seven paragraph sermonette on a neatly defined aspect of God’s character and plan for our lives.
I’m obsessed with wrapping the unwieldy and just generally real life experiences that I live and witness into clean, tidy lessons with a moral and a fairy tale ending. It’s good, and I’ve gotten good at it, but it’s a vast majority of life that cannot be packaged clean and tied with a bow, and I’m too tired to try to pretend that I can do that tonight.
Because Nelle came into the room last night, in the brief moments between when I had brushed my teeth, and before I clicked off my lamp and climbed into bed. The Roommate in her tall bed behind me, I had taken a deep drink of water from my cherished cup when I noticed a head in the cracked door, staring expectantly at me. Had my mouth not been full of water, I would have screamed. As it was, my heart jumped and the would-be scream came out wet and warbly and the water I had been drinking ended up mostly on The Roommate’s arms. Ever apologetic, Nelle made amends profusely, as I alternately laughed, listened to my heart pounding, and spot dried The Roommate with my hand towel.
And then Tuesday morning, President’s Chapel is a memorial service for our fellow student, now three days worshipping the King face to face in Heaven. Songs and Scripture and memories and praising the sovereign God who knew exactly how many days Micah would have here with us. I didn’t know him, but my mother’s prayed years for a tender heart that mourns with those who mourn, and service ended, we walk in silence to our next classes, I’m so thankful for friends who carry tissues.
It’s such a real life we live, and joy is real and suffering is real and I’m not looking for answers and deep connections tonight.
I’m just… telling.