It's 12:39 AM according to my computer. I still have about 2 hours of homework to go tonight. In other words, I probably shouldn't be taking the time to write this, but there you go.
I sat in seminar today thinking that that was the last of Sis. Morgan's PowerPoints that I will see. It was the last round of papers that I would participate in. The last of the relationships of trust that I have grown to depend on so much that at times I take for granted. The last. Done. Finished.
When I was hired as a sophmore, I had no idea how much that was the Lord intervening in my life. I had no idea what lay ahead of me that year, or what I was going to face, or what I was suppose to do, but the Lord did. So He brought me to the Writing Center. I look back on all the people that have taught me so much about what it means to live. I don't think I really knew before. The Center has changed me. I don't know how else to say it. Coming out of the Center, I am not the same person who was hired.
So much of that Center is alive. Sometime I think I can feel the chairs breathing underneath me, and the walls pulsing with the flow of blood and life. And there, in the center, is the heart: the room where we have seminar. Walking into that room, collapsing in a desk after the day to listen to instruction on writing does not seem thereputic to most people. But I think it may have saved me. At the very least, it taught me. I remember walking in there one day, Greg was sitting in the corner, Shalese bustling around up front, Millie charging through to Sis. Morgan's office, and others talking and chatting. I had not worked there for very long, but I realize as I sat their silently that this was special. That the Center was like a home; not in the way that most people define home, but a home nevertheless.
I know it is time for me to move on. But it's really hard--letting go. It's hard letting go of those people who I love, revere, and respect. Letting go of a place where my feet have automatically taken me for the past 2 1/2 years of my life. I don't even have control anymore, my feet just go there. It's become a sanctuary: "A small safe place in a troubling world." Leaving it is like cutting out a piece of myself and leaving it behind as well.
It sounds stupid and trite to say, but I do love the Center and when I say that, I mean the people. This is why I have tried to put all of myself into it. Thanks for being my friends, you guys. Thanks for listening to me when I am stressed and have to go on tirades about my car insurance and scribblers. Thanks for watching me cry in seminar after seminar and not saying too much about it. Thanks for helping me become a better writer, but mostly a better person. Thanks for being my family. Thanks for being my home.
I sat in seminar today thinking that that was the last of Sis. Morgan's PowerPoints that I will see. It was the last round of papers that I would participate in. The last of the relationships of trust that I have grown to depend on so much that at times I take for granted. The last. Done. Finished.
When I was hired as a sophmore, I had no idea how much that was the Lord intervening in my life. I had no idea what lay ahead of me that year, or what I was going to face, or what I was suppose to do, but the Lord did. So He brought me to the Writing Center. I look back on all the people that have taught me so much about what it means to live. I don't think I really knew before. The Center has changed me. I don't know how else to say it. Coming out of the Center, I am not the same person who was hired.
So much of that Center is alive. Sometime I think I can feel the chairs breathing underneath me, and the walls pulsing with the flow of blood and life. And there, in the center, is the heart: the room where we have seminar. Walking into that room, collapsing in a desk after the day to listen to instruction on writing does not seem thereputic to most people. But I think it may have saved me. At the very least, it taught me. I remember walking in there one day, Greg was sitting in the corner, Shalese bustling around up front, Millie charging through to Sis. Morgan's office, and others talking and chatting. I had not worked there for very long, but I realize as I sat their silently that this was special. That the Center was like a home; not in the way that most people define home, but a home nevertheless.
I know it is time for me to move on. But it's really hard--letting go. It's hard letting go of those people who I love, revere, and respect. Letting go of a place where my feet have automatically taken me for the past 2 1/2 years of my life. I don't even have control anymore, my feet just go there. It's become a sanctuary: "A small safe place in a troubling world." Leaving it is like cutting out a piece of myself and leaving it behind as well.
It sounds stupid and trite to say, but I do love the Center and when I say that, I mean the people. This is why I have tried to put all of myself into it. Thanks for being my friends, you guys. Thanks for listening to me when I am stressed and have to go on tirades about my car insurance and scribblers. Thanks for watching me cry in seminar after seminar and not saying too much about it. Thanks for helping me become a better writer, but mostly a better person. Thanks for being my family. Thanks for being my home.
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