When I came here to SBU, I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing. I still remember laying in that bed on the first night in Landon room 330. I honestly had no idea why I was even here to begin with. For some reason, when I stepped foot onto the campus that snowy day in February it just felt right. As though a divine hand was resting on my back and a ethereal voice was whispering "Yes...."
That's creepy. I think God would agree that He doesn't want to be shed in that light. Sounds like quite the omnipresent creeper.
But it's as close of a description of the moment as I can recall. Hard to put an attribute to the divine.
I was going to go to Mizzou to become a journalist. For some reason I like to write... Which is hard to believe, since every time I get excited about writing and logging my thoughts I get one week into the process and quit. Maybe my life is just too boring. Maybe I just hold too much in my head all the time. I've always found release in telling stories. I guess I think that maybe if I can help those who can't tell their stories get their hearts out there, then maybe mine will go with them. Some kind of weird writing missionary style, I suppose.
I find it funny that the Bible was presented to us in word form. In the form of a Book... a grand story that tells an unique and compelling story that no one seems to be able to comprehend. Two thousand or so years of people sitting down, reading, praying and pleading to be shown the true meaning behind the Bible, and yet no one can seem to give anyone else a solid answer.
A book is bound and has a definite beginning and end. A physical barrier that says "This is it. There is no more." But the grand story of the Christian life goes on past the leather binding. It pours out of our hands and mouths and flows ahead and behind us. As we live it flows from us, and it begins to meet and blend in with the other stories around it, making one continuous flow of narrative. Each person is the main character in their own book, yet a minor character in each other's. But Christ remains as the binding and glue that brings all the pages together, places them in order and creates the story. There was definitely a beginning.... but will there ever be an end to the story? I hope not.
I don't want my story to read like the Missouri Fishing License Manual.
I want my story to read like that part in Harry Potter where.... well... where you couldn't put it down, for fear of missing out on what would happen next. For those moments where the characters are alive and breathing, and shutting the book would, in essence, kill them. Kill the story....
Ethan just came in here from the other room. Looks like he is going to sleep out here. I wonder what's on his mind.
"Is SBU everything you thought it would be?"
"The food sucks, but I like it here."
I smile. That's about how I would sum it up I suppose. It sure is interesting here. Going from Tyler and I... to Higher Ground and Justin Goodwin.... to Jan Term with Ramen Noodles and Fallout 3... to Saturday lunch at McDonalds with Andy.... to Trevor and Ethan coming.... to Newspapers and Communication... to Florida... to the lake... to now....
To the future.
Hard to think that I'll be sleeping in a bed in a dorm room in Georgia a week from now. I'm incredibly excited, but even more terrified. I feel a sense of responsibility and power that I haven't felt before. Like these kids that I'll be living life with this summer have something to say to me... to this nation. I hope that I can help them spread it.
I'm excited to see the west. The mountains call to me for some reason. Maybe it's the Seattle journalist writer thing... I guess when it rains you have no other choice but to read. A lot. And once you finish reading all there is to read, all you can do is write more books to read.
I want my book to stay open. I don't want to shut it or end it, because I'm not good at writing endings.
Guess I have to keep writing then.
Dang. I'm going to bed.
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