roomie love

I'm thinking some pictures taken on Photobooth are a necessity this evening for Amy's last night in Ferrin 115. It is a surreal experience to endure; time has rushed past us all and within the blink of an eye, it is May and we are going home. Are these months really over? Is freshman year really gone? What about all the people I had to meet and the places I had to go and the things I had to learn? Did I accomplish all of that?

Oh, maybe I did.

Where are Tricia and Davia when I need to debrief? I need to go up to the third floor and start yelling, "Tricia!" I need to discuss the impact of this year on my life almost as much as I did when a spring-loaded 'beaner split David Wolfe's eye open. I need. I want. Me me me. Needs, wants, desires.

August, September, October, December, February, February, April, May... and I'm here. And sure, I missed some months, and it feels like there were two February's, but technically, my calendar was mainly used to count down the days until I saw my boyfriend. And there were so many days and nights when I didn't want to be here. And there were so many tears shed and sighs released and eyes rolled at the thought "Why am I here?"

I am here because I am called to be here. And I know what you're thinking, "Anne, what does that mean anyway? To be called to something or some place?" And I'm saying that up until 2 minutes ago, I was asking the same thing. And I am sure that 2 minutes from now I will be questioning it all over again. But as Sara Groves sings to me sweetly and my blank walls reflect the 9 months of my presence back to me, I can confidently say that God calling me to Gordon means that he has a complex and unique plan. It is fearfully and beautifully made. And being called to Gordon means that those long conversations last Spring, and the many letters, and the broken heart from Romania and the sickness when I was 11, and the Rocky Mountains and the voices of youth a thousand strong at summer conference and the knowledge of all those worship songs... the times out on the trampoline last summer and ending things at the swing set and all the slurs and sloppy situations I endured... the laughter and the grief and the misunderstandings that brought joyful clarity... all of that brought me to one moment where I sat in a chair at a Logan International Airport thinking to myself, "this is home."


Last night, Caitlin made me crawl into her new REI sleeping bag and try it out while she packed. And I needed a good cry so I let my eyes well up and talked about how stretched I feel between to homesweethomes. And then Cait, being the music muse she is, played some Elijah Wyman for me:
---
Stretched across this continent, I'm home.
Boston to Los Angeles, I'll roam.
I've fallen in love with each coast for a reason,
these reasons so rooted, I can't choose between them.
Pacific Coast, you're so open.
You ain't seen it's waters, you ain't seen the ocean
and I'm trying so hard, I can hardly keep up here.
And I'm breaking my back and it's barely enough for you.
Home is where the heart is and my heart I gave to you
wherever you will lead, oh, I will follow suit.
Home is where the heart is and my heart I gave to you.
We packed our bags in the summer of 1998.
And I swear each year that I returned, not a thing has changed.
Cause time stands away from me and I am always changing
Everything is just the same as except a few more lanes on the highway
Home is where the heart is and my heart I gave to you
Wherever you will lead, or I will follow suit
Home is where the heart is and my heart I gave to you.
Time stands away from me and I am always changing
TIme stands away from me and I am always changing
TIme stands away from me and I am always changing
Pacific Coast is so open, you ain't seen it's waters
you ain't seen the ocean.
---

And I'd like to read this song for what it is: me telling God that he has my heart and that home is where my heart is. Because stretched across this continent, I carry a sense of home with me as I fly above cities and prairies from one to the next, and it's true that I've fallen in love with the east and the west for a reason and these reasons are so rooted I can choose between them. And sometimes I feel as if no one understands those mountains I see every morning, their pink hue and the majesty of my soul when I stand in awe of them, and no one understands how I can feel so suffocated beneath these trees when I am used to the wide open prairie. But home is where the heart is and my heart is given to God. But I already told you that...

So here we go, Amy is packing her hair dryer and she comments, "Oh, I'm having a good hair night." I'm ready to pack up my fingers for the evening and slip between my flannel and hit the hay. I'm on the brink of something large, and I believe I'm prepared to face the day tomorrow and let go of the 2006-2007 school year.



Time stands away from me and I am always changing. But at least for tonight, Ferrin 115 is filled with love.

the sky is banging pans together

fear wears a cloak. it carries a dagger.
it's beady eyes sit awkwardly in its sunken face, and always are shifty.
fear makes other people nervous.
they don't want to get mugged.
when fear walks, he stalks.
he has a long stride with shaky knees.
his breath is ice cold.
fear binds others, but is himself bound in the heavy chains of guilt, greed
and a lack of knowledge.
fear takes captives.
they wither away, they never live.
fear, in his hooded cape, with his beady eyes and clammy hands--
he sucks out their souls.
all that is left is more fear.

borrowed quotes

"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them."
Thomas Merton

"You don't have a Soul. You are a Soul. You have a body."
Clive Staples Lewis

big brown box

Packing always leaves a residue on my hands. They're filthy from going through all my dirt... I've always liked being clean.

But it's helping my soul. Clearing out this room, this room that has held so much laughter, confusion, grief and determination. Questions have bounced off all the walls, and endless dreams have drifted up from my sleeping head through the ceiling. Prayers given, prayers answered.

This last week and a half at Gordon is looming over my head. I am filled with angst. How do I find peace amidst all of my tasks and to-do lists? Is peace something worked for? Is it a gift?

I wish I could be given peace in a big box with a golden bow, but I have a feeling it is more like crossing a finish line after a marathon. Running through that red ribbon with my hands raised high.

The question I'm asking as I close boxes with strong, sticky tape is: where is my finish line to cross?