Change-ish

Yesterday, I had the chance to hang out with three of my freshman year roommates (one of which lives in my same complex now), just the four of us. At one point during the evening, we drove past the dorms where we had lived together.

I was a little surprised but pleased to find no feelings of regret, no desire to return, inside myself as I took in the red-brick, castle-looking buildings. Freshman year was a good time. My roommates were good roommates. It was good to be together again.

But I don't want to go back.

I don't need to. I am older, different, and better now (I hope at least a little better).

It is fascinating to me the way that time flows and shifts; how it turns and pulls and pushes. It carries us from one point to the next, but doesn't exist by itself. It is connected to words, feelings, even smells and sounds. "Freshman year." That was a time. It is gone now. But it was, once.

So driving along and talking, it wasn't like I had time machined back to freshman year. I presented myself to my old roommates as the "now" me, not the "freshman" me (thank goodness).

It was pleasing, then, simply to taste the past again, and know that I can change.

Tiny-ish

There is a tiny town smack-dab in the middle of Utah called Manti.

And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. You drive through canyons to get there, past miles of wide fields, waving at sheep and cows as you go. The houses come only as often as the fence posts end. Then, suddenly, you are THERE. Tiny shops line the tiny street for a block or two until the buildings end and the fields and the sheep and the cows begin again. It's a quaint place. It's open, and empty of noise or busyness. Surrounding the valley is a guardian row of distant yet not-too-distant mountains.

On a hill in this tiny town stands a white castle, one tower on each end, its grounds garnished with a few trees and short white benches. Above the entrance, the castle proclaims in all-caps "HOLINESS TO THE LORD," then, "THE HOUSE OF THE LORD."

The castle is a temple. I went there yesterday with a group of young adults--a group of friends, as a church activity--and felt the magnificence that is there. The beauty of the edifice itself inspires, that is true; but more importantly, there is a feeling of peace there. Of comfort. Of perfection, even, as much perfection as can be achieved in this world. It was amazing...in a tiny little town on a tiny little street, we found the greatest, largest, grandest thing of all: a closeness to the Lord of all creation.

Amazing-ish

College life is a good life.

A hard life.

A busy life.

But a good life.

Nonetheless, the hard-ness and and the busy-ness can be overwhelming at times. And the smallest, simplest changes in the smallest, simplest day can just explode my chest with gratitude.

On Friday I was looking into the future from my seat at work. My view was a little dreary: a dissertation in French 322 coming up, with the outline due Tuesday; a presentation on the dissertation after Thanksgiving; and the French final that would follow just a couple weeks later. Basically, I was looking through a pair of French-colored glasses, and let's just say it wasn't très beau.

After I finished my homework for my religion class, I internet-ed on over to Gmail to check out my inbox. Two little blessings, packaged and tied in lovely ribbon, sat waiting for me: one from my creative writing professor, the other from my rhetoric and civilization professor. The first said that class was cancelled at noon that day ("WHAT. YES!"). The next? That no homework was due that day, and no homework was assigned for the weekend (*speechless*).

Suddenly, in one fell swoop, my noon o' clock was empty! Saturday wasn't full of rhetorical readings!

And one thought came right to my mind--this is a great blessing from the Lord so I can spend time on my French outline.

Amazing.