The Beginning Of An End

In nine days I will begin the last year of my undergraduate study. It seems odd that something that I have committed so much time, money and efforts to throughout the past four years will disappear so quickly. Is it fun to flirt with the idea that I can be considered a real adult and live a "real" life, yes, but frankly I don't know how I feel about making that step.

I suppose it isn't my decision to make the step or not, the step will happen whether I choose to make it or not.

I was always told by many in high school that once I was able to attend college I would blossom. That is one of those comments that you know what it means, but don't at the same time, and you just kind of shrug it off. So I blossom, cool, doesn't it happen to all of us. Yes, I suppose so. I suppose we all blossom at some point in our lives, but that individualized experience of blossoming is one that is irreplaceable for each person.

It feels great to blossom. Its' true whether I like to admit it or not, my roots are still rooted in what I call home. However, a flower isn't a flower without the roots and the blossom. I wouldn't be who I am today if it wasn't for my home and the complexities of it, but I wouldn't be who I am without the blossoming experience these last four years.

Some thought I was silly for coming here. Some thought it was rebellion, and maybe it partially was, but it turned out to be the best rebellious decision I have ever made.

The end of these four years means success. It is an accomplishment to graduate from high school, let alone college, but can I argue that it's a moment for grieving too. It's difficult for me to swallow the idea of not living in this broken, but beautiful city. I might not miss the sirens, or the air I breathe here, but I am going to miss the beautiful faces I see every morning as I walk down Kimball, especially the woman on the corner near my apartment who sells snow cones in the summers. The five words in know in Spanish helps me greet her every morning and put a smile on her face, but to think of a morning without her there seems sad.

To think of a life without Liz a few steps away seems wrong. It seems wrong to not have your best friend to walk through life with you, but I suppose that the word walking can be redefined. It seems perverse to leave a place of worship that has moved me to tears so many times that I really can't remember, but most importantly it seems "most wrong" to leave a place that has inspired me to follow Jesus no matter where that leads.

Will I continue to follow Jesus as I leave this place, of course, but will I ever be inspired in such a way again?

There are good things to replace the moments that cause me grief, like a relationship with the love of my life that isn't through a phone, or a train distance away, and the possibility that marriage is one step closer, or, the ability to live out this faith that I have learned here in a place that doesn't really understand it and may be transformed by it.

While I am in this place of grief and celebration, I hope that the balance is equal, and moments of celebration will be celebrated and moments of grief will be grieved.