Sixth Semester

The summer is wrapping itself up.

I know this, because I can't walk through the store without being bombarded by school supplies and matching sheet sets and colorful laundry baskets.

Used to be, school would start back and schedules would change. For a few weeks, it would be hot and muggy outside and kids would come home in their polos and khakis and traffic would be jammed with big, yellow school buses.

I was never a part of that. We always waited until Labor Day weekend to start school back. And we did school in our pajamas. And we had plenty of fitted sheets and laundry baskets, thank you very much.

But now... the people I know who are going back to school are leaving town. They are getting their oil changed and are taking out loans and buying season football tickets. They are hanging parking passes from their rearview mirrors and buying thumbtacks and new toasters (which they really aren't allowed to have).

Now, the people I know are getting married.

Some are done with school, and all the end of summer means, is the workplace just doesn't make you sweat so badly.

I sat at church this morning waiting for the service to start. I am the queen of eavesdropping and people watching. I pinpointed which young adults were spending their last Sunday at home with their parents, and which would sport UK blue come fall. There was one guy who stood beside me, updating a few elderly people about his life on campus (out of state, I presumed). And even as I sat there, he announced he was engaged. Getting married next summer after his junior year was done. Everyone was bubbly and excited.

And as he walked away, the oldest of the group leaned forward and whispered, "he's just a boy!". Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. He was just a boy. But I saw the look of resignation on their faces. He was just a boy to them... but to the world, he was all grown up. And he had a life, another life, far away that he was excited to return to.

This morning we talked about prayer in service. At the end, Mike asked us all to start praying for each other. He got specific. Pray for marital troubles, for family dysfunction, for financial stress. And then he had anyone and everyone who was involved in the academic process (principals, teachers, admins, school bus drivers) to stand up. Then he smiled and asked students of all age and types to stand up. And he prayed over us.

And I started crying.

The kind of crying I do when I didn't know I needed to cry.

When I've successfully tricked myself to the point I am unaware of my fear... or my anxiety... or my dread.

You see, I go back to school again this year too.

But my school is five miles down the road.

And it is the same school I've been going to since I was seventeen years old. This is my third year... the second half of my third year. I got a degree back in May. And for reasons that I pray will add up in the end, I am going back in eight days.

There are people, I understand, who take much longer than this to get through school.

But I am afraid I have yet to make a difference in anyone's life in that place. That all I've managed to do is make a poor example of my Christ... stress myself to the point of tears... and try desperately hard, one more time, to fit in.

Fitting in is something I've never been able to do.

I can't wait to get out.

And I hate the fact that I have to go back for a few more credit hours. Stand in those lines again. Park in that parking lot. Use those bathrooms. Sit in those couches in that lobby where so many things have happened to me...

Even as I throw this pity party, there are faces that are pulled to mind. Faces I wouldn't trade for the world. People I've met because of that community college. Lessons I've learned inside those walls.

I guess that is one of the things about this life. Learning to see an experience for what it is... and learning when to move on.

It will be time for me to move on soon. To go to a university and finish a degree and support a football team. Buy sweatshirts in team colors that I will wear for years until they tatter... buy a decal for my back window. And one day, wear a cap and gown and graduate.

But for now, just like with my job, there is something else I have to do. And that is, as I start my sixth semester on the community college campus, to represent myself well. To be a light, no matter how dim my surroundings may be. To study hard, to laugh harder. To befriend and learn and cherish these last few months when I actually know what I'm doing, where I'm going, and who is sitting in the next desk.

And on the day I walk away, I will walk away with the memories. Of Walt and Irene and Kip. Of Kat and Dwaine and Brittany. Of a thousand different languages floating through the cafeteria and the smell of Kati Dale's cigarette smoke on the patio.