That morning was short. Much shorter than I had expected. I was an hour and a half late, giving me that much more time to understand what was happening, that much more time to prepare. It was a spurious vow. You see, it didn't really matter. I was leaving and I wasn't coming back. This all happened on Friday at 5:30am. I left my family, friends, home, dogs, and church for a place where I knew nothing and desired nothing of. College.
You see, I've spent nearly the last 8 months pouring my life into San Francisco. I love that city. I've been meeting new people and constructing a brilliant cathedral of relationships. A safe haven for myself to come to for rest, and a place where I hope others feel welcomed as well. It was good. I spent the three weeks before I left trying to say goodbyes and spend time with people before I left. It felt like I was on the way to my own execution. Giving away my things, realizing that I would no longer need them where I was going. Awkwardly avoiding the word "goodbye," as if that would somehow mean I would still be around in the months to come. I won't be. I remember on the mere 6-hour drive how odd it was to think that I wouldn't need to budget to make sure I had enough gas to get home. I wasn't going home. A wall of tears built itself and crumbled in that moment.
The evening before, several individuals and myself assembled to depart. One friend of mine was leaving for Japan; I was headed off to college in Southern California. Friends had come to see us off rightly. They did just that. All night long I contemplated what would happen when I was gone. I had loved these people too quickly. In a few months, they had become some of the dearest companions. I wouldn't trade them for anything. I was leaving all of this, and I wouldn't get it back. It would never be the same and will never be repeated. It isn't fair. I was doing something right there. I felt like God had called me to be there, with those people, at that time. And not only did I love every second of it, but I knew that I had been able to help others. That doesn't happen all that often. It was good. Now, it was gone.
All of this was on top of leaving my family, the room my brother and I had shared for the past 19 years, and the dear group of friends I spend Sunday nights with (among other precious comrades). Too much. Too much to lose all at once. Don't you understand? It was good. Things made sense. I was growing and changing for the better. Life was how it should have been. I was continually filled with joy.
When I arrived on campus, that is what consumed my thoughts. I knew that God had called me to be at Biola and had provided the means for me to be here now. So what. Apparently God didn't notice what was happening in my life. I guessed He had missed my happiness. It was good. I'd follow where He wanted me to be, but I didn't have to be satisfied with it. I only came to Biola because I knew He'd put me there whether I liked it or not, so I might as well comply. Why would I be here? Everything good was gone. I spent my time missing those whom I love. I would prize what had been good, what I had enjoyed. Trying to imagine how fast I would be replaced at home didn't do me well. Everything changed, though, when the school's president began to speak. He spoke on the fact that mankind was made to live in tents.
You see, we seek to control what we were never meant to. We've dammed rivers, believing that somehow if we can stop the flow, we can stop the change and establish ourselves as being in the place of power. It's not that lakes are bad, but making them is. All of us are fools. The levy is bound to break. There's no stopping this River. We are called to come and drink, but we can't keep it for ourselves. Jesus NEVER called anyone to sit and be content. He called all of us to follow Him. It requires movement. It necessitates change. It was then that I started to realize that I hadn't left my home. My home isn't the house of my childhood. My home isn't San Francisco. My home isn't Biola University. My home isn't even heaven. My home is Jesus. Where He goes, I find rest. So where I go, I must seek Him and nothing else. There isn't time to look back and miss the old. Waiting is a bitter thing. Stagnation is the Angel of Death. Nothing life-giving resides in those vile puddles. We are called into motion.We are not called to seek after what is good. We are called to what is best. Life, and life abundant. So I do not mourn what I have lost. It was good; but I do not trade best for good. I long for God to redeem those things of the past and make them new. I long to have those things in the finest. Until then, however, I cannot lament a loss. I simply look forward to those very things made better. Wine cannot be fine without age; metal must be purified through the flames; seeds must be buried before they spring forth with life; and men must face change before they can change. Flow river, wash me clean. I follow simply, silently.
