thus far.

“I’m so excited for next semester. I can’t wait to come back and we haven’t even left yet.”

During the week of finals, these words spewed out of my mouth like an erupting volcano: lava initially flowing rapidly and intensely, and eventually spitting here and there. It became conclusive that I had this warm, wavering feeling in my core that started to bubble up with what could only be described as innocent curiosity. 

Let’s just say that I was correct in envisioning my future exploding with excitement and change.

Because now I’m here. The present was my future a few months ago and now my fingers are swiftly clicking the keys to record the events that are a part of my life’s greater history that occurred between then and now. 

This semester has been a whirlwind—gusting rapidly and sweetly. 

It began with me being forced to leave home a day and a half early because of potential bad weather that would have impaired my travels. I threw everything I owned into the back of my 4Runner and drove away leaving behind a cloud of smoke and my weeping mother standing slouched and puffy eyed on our wintery brown lawn. Obviously, because of this, I entered the semester with a fervor of haste.

When I got back to Auburn, nothing had really changed. After about an hour of carrying white laundry baskets overflowing with clothes and odds and ends (a girl has got to have options), I was settled in again. In my home.

Christmas break began to feel like a dream. Those countless nights in my dear friend’s basement watching subpar movies that usually led to uncontrollable laughter and relentless conversation that did not pertain to the film now only seemed to happen once upon a dream. The Christmas Eve candlelight service’s warmth was consumed almost as quickly as my uncle’s homemade pizza that we eat every Christmas Eve. Christmas day lounging around with my family while sipping on eggnog mingled with nutmeg was only a dissipating vapor. The sparkle of New Year’s Eve fizzled away like the non-alcoholic apple cider that my friends quickly poured for each other and toasted with as the ball (and peach) dropped. Those moments were translated to a hazy memory—new life was on the frontier.

When in Auburn, I quickly jumped back into the hustle and bustle of the college social scene. It commenced the day after we returned for the spring with the viewing of the National Championship at my friend’s apartment where sadly, the climax of the night was throwing boiling water out of a pan, into the mere 10 degree air, and watching it turn into a cloud of smoke.

Then school began. I guess that’s of importance (to be clear, I do love my classes), but what shocked me the most was the friendships that I began to form. 

And I needed them. You realize that you need support and solid friendship when you are uprooted from a comfortable and loving home away from home. 

To explain this a little bit, I had bats in my dorm room. Yes, it’s quite a disgusting truth. My suitemates—whom I love endlessly and were family to me in Auburn—and I had been hearing them in our walls since November. The first week of February, two were loose in our room. I even translated my musings on this occurrence into a sonnet:

The Unwelcome Guest

Fluttering in the near ceiling, he schemed

of ways in which he could expand his world.

He sat perched on the bathroom vent, claws curled.

Today’s the day! Destiny had revived

his bold determination to survive

And his hope was precise; his luck had turned

on that warm Thursday afternoon that burned 

As he emerged through the vent, he dived,

thrashing his thin, dark wings while he contrived

a plan to slumber when he retired

on the popcorn ceiling of an old dorm

and when the blonde female owner returned

a scream echoed and she was perturbed

by the sight of a creature unwelcomed.

Upon hearing of this, all of our parents were up in arms and made sure that we would have a new place to live. We stayed in temporary housing for a few days, and then started to move. So we began packing. Bare walls and an empty room resulted. I was saying bye to Hall M room 415 forever—my first home away from home. Although, surprisingly, the inconvenience of moving my whole life was not the most trying part of the experience. The separation from my suitemates stung the most. Their presence was home and I was no longer in possession of it.

Being the homebody that I am, this was a direct blow to my comfort. It was exactly what the Lord knew that I needed.

Job, a man much more afflicted than me, expresses this sharpening process so eloquently:

“Blessed is the one whom God corrects;

       so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty. 

   For he wounds, but he also binds up;

        he injures, but his hands also heal.”

                                           —Job 5:17-18

I struggled with grasping this idea for a while. Why was it so wrong for me to feel comfortable in my own home?

But he opened my eyes slowly to the depth of the sympathy he has for me. He knew that this situation was the jolt that my walk needed. He was aware that I had become so comfortable that stagnancy was creeping up on me. Ultimately, it was an overwhelmingly loving gesture. 

My new home is becoming home slowly. The dorm that I moved to is much nicer, and after a dozen trips from the car to my room, my parents traveling down on a Saturday to help move the bigger items, and the bruises on my knees from laundry baskets bouncing against my legs with every step creating a faint beat, the second chapter of this semester began.

With the move totally overwhelming the anxiety ridden person that I am, my friends provided such a necessary break and distraction from the mess.

You see, first semester my friendships were all wet pavement. This semester, amidst trial, the wet pavement has cemented. I’m almost always with lovely friends who encourage me and make me laugh until I’m gasping for breath.

Whether I saw the friendships budding last semester or they sprung up to my dismay, they’ve all become such a delightful surprise.

You can typically find us in village dining or the student center or on the green space by the concourse or at Waffle House at ungodly hours or even in the Walmart parking lot. Driving around has also become one of our favorite hobbies—even if it includes ear shattering screaming upon approaching an entrance in the woods labeled a restricted area. As the driver, I almost had a heart attack when I threw the car in reverse and Lauren screamed louder than Lindsay Lohan in the Parent Trap. We even spontaneously drove to the beach to remind ourselves what it feels like to have sand between our toes. Now, all of these places have been stamped with a watermark of sweet memories that will pleasantly haunt each location.

These friends made the bat disaster worth fighting through. It’s revealed the diamond in the rough—true, lasting companionship. I know that in tough times I should look to the cross to be reminded that he saved my life and also promised to protect it, so I did and he proved me right. He gifted me with a strengthening of my relationship with him—the ultimate gift—but also with the gift of countless friends. He acted on Ecclesiastes 4:9-10:

"Two are better than one,

     because they have a good return for their labor:

      If either of them falls down,

            one can help the other up.

But pity anyone who falls

     and has no one to help them up."

For some reason, in the middle of all of this change, the Lord laid one phrase on my heart: And even when you venture alone, you’re not alone. 

How beautifully true that is for a believer. We are guaranteed the abounding presence of our Savior. No other promise on earth could be more wonderful.

"If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

 if I settle on the far side of the sea,

 even there your hand will guide me,

 your right hand will hold me fast."

                               —Psalm 139:9-10