Finding the Balance Between Schedules and Spontaneity

I have a little under two weeks left here at UC. I find myself wishing for more time to spend making memories with my fellow college students and less time to finish up the remaining tasks for my classes. I know these final, mad-rushing-together of days are necessary though, and I am attempting to scrounge together stolen moments that allow me to make memories with those that I am so quickly going to be leaving behind.

I don’t know if I am the only senior struggling with this or not, but when I do find those little moments to spend with those that are dear to me, I am assailed with panic and guilt that I should be finishing this project and mailing out these thank you notes or putting together this resume. I wonder if real life is like this too. Are everyone’s lives just a mixture of Day Planner scheduling with a small area penned in for spontaneity? Isn’t scheduled spontaneity a contradiction in terms?

It is going to be quite the transition, leaving my college days behind. Each day is so different from the next. The things I now find frustrating--the random meetings, the impromptu quizzes, the hours spent peering into the computer screen--all of these slight inconveniences of my time are so aptly balanced with evening walks around Williamsburg, late movie nights with the girls, hiking through the sun-seared paths around Cumberland Falls--how am I ever going to trade such a mixture of moments for monotony?

But--if I actually think about it--even as I write this, I am glancing down at my computer screen’s clock, gauging how much sleep I can still acquire if I go to bed in the next five minutes. It seems that from the beginning I have been programmed to schedule every moment composing my days. Who knows? Maybe spontaneity can still be spontaneous even if I’ve got it jotted down in my Day Planner.

Getting Ready to Soar

As I type this, my mud-caked sneakers are propped upside down on my floor, and my room smells slightly of grass, sunshine, and earth. My hair is disheveled and the first dollops of freckles are appearing on my nose. Even though it is only March 9, and we just received 2 ½ inches of snow on Friday night, the scent of spring is beginning to sweep through the air. Along with this heady perfume comes an urging to venture into the outdoors, to hold the sun in your hand like a marble, to splatter through the mud and breathe deeply into your lungs this change, this imbibing of life.

It is odd how much the seasons affect my perception of life. Maybe it is not the seasons that affect me as much as what those seasons represent. The coming of spring, especially for graduating seniors, is like teetering on a ledge with a parachute strapped to your back, just waiting for that perfect ripple of wind to toss you up into the sky. It is as exhilarating as it is frightening, this limbo-land I have found myself inhabiting. A part of me longs to break away from all tethers regardless if they are there to keep me secure or not. At other moments, I want to remain right where I am, fastened by familiarity.

Jim Elliot once wrote, “Wherever you are, be all there.” For these next few weeks, that is my goal. I want to revel in the moments and the memories I have yet to make on this campus so that when the winds of change do come, I am ready to soar.

The Day After That

In two and a half weeks, spring break will be upon us. After that, like a toddler once the red Kool-Aid has seeped out of his system, my college career begins winding down from its former chaotic frenzy. For the past four years, I feel like I have been dodging to and fro while trying to cram 20 activities into 16 hours. I honestly do not know how I am going to handle a slower pace of life. Am I going to have to enter cake decorated contests or take up scrap booking just to keep myself occupied? Or will I become so assaulted by the cares of our “real world” that there will be no time to devour the stacks of books I have stockpiled over the past few years but have never gotten the chance to read? What if I never get the chance to write down the stories that flutter around in my mind like wild birds caught in a cage?

This transitional time is so odd. Sometimes, I become immensely excited about the prospect of entering into the “Great Beyond.” I feel ready to seize the world in all of its scintillating splendor, and then, just as quickly, I am overwrought with the reality that my world for the past four years has mainly been confined to this campus and the people inhabiting it. I think the strangest idea of all is to know that even though I am going to leave this place in a little over two months, when the students return to campus from their various parts of the country in August 2008, all will go on as it had before. There will be no dark, yawning void or reserved table in the atrium of the cafeteria in memory of all of us girls who used to habitually sit there.

Even though it is fearful to think about all of the changes that are going to be taking place in the next two months, I realize all I have to do is wait it out until tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will feel that I am ready to leave again, but don’t even begin to ask me about the day after that.

A Future and a Hope

Last week, I received a phone call from my best friend that altered my perspective on faith. As many of you know from my earlier blog entries, my best friend, Misty Boyd, has been battling Hodgkin’s Lymphoma since my sophomore year of college. Two weeks ago, Misty went through a series of tests to see if the chemotherapy treatments had eradicated the cancer cells or not. A week after her tests, when I knew the doctor would have gotten the report back, I became too fearful to call and find out the results.

As each day slid by, my faith grew dimmer, and my heart grew heavier. When the phone call finally came and Misty left me a message, it was with great trepidation that I listened to my voicemail. Her words were simple yet profound, “Jolina, it’s gone--the doctors say it’s gone. Thank you, Jesus. Love you. Bye.”

Now, after my faith’s testing is over, I find it amazing how easily I sometimes let go of my faith when faced with my fear. Even after witnessing so many extraordinary events that have caused my faith to grow over the years, once again I found myself questioning and doubting the Lord’s unconditional promises that He has come to bring each of us a future and a hope.

Focusing My Vision

Even though I only have twelve hours this semester, for the past few weeks I have found myself scrambling around campus with my heart thumping, thinking of all of the things I have to take care of in the three months before my graduation. As I zoomed between campus buildings or jotted down notes in class, these thoughts were zipping through my mind: I have to submit my senior colloquium paper to the communication department; I have to plan an organ donation/memory walk and find sponsors to support us; I have to seamlessly slide into my new senior RA position; I have to help edit the English department’s student journal, Pensworth; I have to go home and try on my wedding dress to make sure it fits properly; I have to get all the bridesmaids and groomsmen fitted; I have to get my mother to train the flower girl on how to behave like a little lady; I have to order the invitations, book the honeymoon…even just writing this list makes my pulse pump.

Last night, when I was covering the dorm, I was sitting at the Open House table in the foyer of Gillespie when one of the male students walked through the front door. When I put down the Evening Office Report for a moment and glanced up into his face, I could tell something was severely wrong. When I asked him what had happened, he proceeded to explain that his childhood mentor--the same person who had helped hone his passion for music--would be passing away from cancer within the next two weeks.

“He asked me to play his guitar at the funeral,” he said.

Immediately, my heart ceased its frenzied beating, and my eyes flooded with tears. Right in front of me was an individual whose life was about to be forever altered. Because I had been so consumed with my own petty preparations surrounding my graduation and wedding, I had initially failed to see the pain my friend was in.

How many times in all of our lives are we so consumed with scheduling away our every moment that we lose sight of the ministry God has placed in front of us? This week, I have decided that even though I am going to continue putting forth my every effort while planning and organizing what little time I have left on this campus, I am also going to allow myself to remain available to the plans and the purposes the Lord has already destined for me to pursue. If I do this, He will give me the strength to live my life as a success in His eyes as well as my own.

Making My Mark on the Mountains

Being back at UC to finish my last semester still feels somewhat like a dream. I have unpacked my belongings in Gillespie’s Senior RA room and returned my cheerleading uniforms to my coach. Months ago, I signed the papers stating my intentions of graduating in May of this year and begrudgingly added up my loans to see what I had to deal with once I was handed my diploma. Despite these steps I have taken toward leaving this place, the reality of how quickly my life is about to change has not yet fully absorbed.

From the first moments I stepped upon this campus, I have been told that the next four years of my life would go by faster than I could ever fathom. I always believed the people who told me this were so caught up in their nostalgia that their rationality had diminished in the process. Now, I too struggle to recall the many memories I have gathered while living in this college community tucked into the folds of the Appalachian mountains. Did I really run over the fire hydrant down at the football field my freshman year and have to sign a contract to the Williamsburg Fire Department stating I would pay for the damages if the fire hydrant exploded once my car was lifted off of it? Was I ever that bad a driver? The answer is simple: Yes.

Over the years, and before the construction for the new dorm began taking place, I wonder how many hours I spent lounging under the cool shadows of my favorite tree in Boswell Park, soaking up the sun while flipping through the pages of a battered textbook to reassure myself that I was actually getting something accomplished. How many times have I chatted with our much doted upon cafeteria lady, Miss Pauline, about her precarious drive into work while waiting for her to swipe my ID? How many mornings on my way to class have I watched the early morning mist uncurl and nestle itself like a blanket around our mountains? How many walks did I have to take around our campus community before the Williamsburg residents began waving to me like an old friend and their yapping dogs decided my extremities were really not their chew toys? How many pages have I written trying to complete my English and communication arts majors? How many late night movies have I watched with the girls? How much laughter, tears, clothing, and food have I shared? How many times have my friends and me discussed the Lord, literature, life, and love outside of the bounds of the classroom?

This list could stretch on forever it seems. Instead of making me feel nostalgic to the point where I feel unable to let go of this place, it offers me reassurance to know I have made my mark on these mountains, and these mountains have left their mark on me.

Surmounting Obstacles

My final fall semester is completed, and I only have one more semester to go. I asked someone today who was graduating in December if they felt any differently since their college level education was now behind them. Of course, like those birthdays you believe will be milestones but only leave you with a sprinkling of confetti and a months supply of stale cake, you actually feel no difference.

It seems that life likes to do this to us: We experience changes only when we are unaware of them. When we are aware of them, life seems to only remain still. This Christmas, I believe I am going to experience changes that I may or may not have been aware of. One of the main changes I am aware of is that this is the first Christmas I am going to be sharing with my finance’s family. For years before Randy and I officially became a couple, a few days before Christmas my family would journey down to Winchester, Tennessee to exchange gifts, to play Dutch Blitz, and to sip Randy’s grandmother’s frothy mocha punch. This Christmas will be the same as the many we have spent together before except now I know they are my future family--my future husband, father, mother, sisters, and brother.

My mother is having a hard time with this change. Even though she loves my finance like another son, she is not yet ready to let her daughter go. This change in the dynamics of our mother/daughter relationship is a change I have been unaware of before now. For years, my mother has been the person I immediately went home to over Christmas break. We would delve into the Miller cook book and find the recipes for the crisp sand tarts we speckled in colored sugar, the nut-covered jelly cookies, and the chocolaty peanut blossoms. Every time before now, she was the first person I desired to see.

When I leave my dorm on Friday to begin my Christmas vacation, I cannot fathom waiting three more days to spend time with my future husband. This is a change that, over the years, has crept into my heart. Unlike the movies, there were no cartoon hearts dancing around my head or stars twinkling in my eyes to help me identify this change. Instead, when I spent time with Randy, I became infused with peace.

The final change I am experiencing concerns my best friend, Misty. Before now, Christmas breaks always meant a time for us to reconnect with one another while perched on the rickety bridge spanning that creek she taught me to swim in 15 years ago. As the winter air nipped our exposed faces, we would sip our steaming tea and wonder where our futures would take us.

This Christmas, a change is taking place between Misty and me while many things continue to remain the same. A change is taking place because, due to her chemotherapy treatments, we may not be able to sit on our bridge until the cold seeps into our bones. We may not be able to stay up until the wee hours of the morning, smothering our laughter behind pillows the same way we had when we were young and scared her father would barge into the room. Despite this alteration which many view as traumatic, I know a change that will not take place.

Even though Misty and I may not be able to stay outside for hours at a time, we will still explore and discover adventures in the oddest places and with the oddest people. Even though we may not be able to stay up late, we will still laugh until our stomachs ache and our cheeks hurt from smiling. Even though we are once again faced with this obstacle, with the Lord’s help, we will surmount it together.

Finding My Way Back Home

In only a few days, I will have completed my last fall semester at UC. I thought I would be experiencing more “senioritis” by this point, but honestly, I feel kind of saddened by the fact that I am stepping through this threshold on the journey to my life.

On this campus, I have grown up. I came into the freshman girls’ dorm on that humid August day when I was seventeen, overwhelmed by all of the changes that I had to accept and terrified that I was leaving my girlhood behind forever. Then, as now, I was both excited and reluctant to surpass the people and places my heart held so dear.

On this campus, for the past three-and-a-half years, I have dutifully scrawled my notes in class, attempted to spout out something semi-intelligent in response to the professor’s lecture, and gotten slick palms and a churning stomach every time my teachers began returning papers and tests (even if I thought I should have done well).

On this campus, I have made friendships that have stood the test of time, distance, and even death. I have also made friendships that I had to leave behind in order to continue walking on the path I knew I should go.

On this campus, I have learned to hone my own ideas and standards while also holding fast to the Truth offered through the Road Map my parents and their parents have used to find Direction. Here, I found infatuation, discovered heartache, and later, understood the love I was so blindly searching for had been walking along my path all along.

Soon, on this campus, at 21 years old, I will be leaving the freshman girls’ dorm I never left (since I am a Resident Assistant there), overwhelmed by all of the changes that I have to accept and terrified that I am leaving my “girlhood” behind forever. But, I will remember, even though my journey may lead me down a path I do not know, I will always have a Guide to provide me with the Directions needed to find my way back Home.

God Gives Us What We Need

This past weekend, I felt compelled to go home. Even though I would be headed home in a few days for Thanksgiving break, the sense of urgency wouldn’t leave until I backed my bags and got on to the interstate. I knew my best friend, Misty, was going in for surgery sometime that week to determine if the cancer had returned, and I wanted to be there to offer her strength in this time of fear. On Friday evening, I arrived at Misty’s house. After taking her younger brother and sister to their various activities, we headed toward the inner-city slums of Nashville. Maneuvering her mint green Honda down the narrow alley, Misty parked outside of a dingy, brick building that was weakly illuminated by the flickering gleam of a nearby street lamp.

Displayed in crude letters on the outside of the building were the words, “The Foundry.” We creaked open the cumbersome metal door and immediately my eyes were drawn to a wall punctuated with the black-and-white photos depicting both the tear-streaked and the smiling faces of the impoverished, inner-city children the church organization ministers to. Throughout the factory-style building, people from every walk of life were listening to the worship band while sitting at small tables reading, writing, painting, talking, or praying. Because I felt I was supposed to come home to comfort Misty instead of listening to a band perform at some hippie church, frankly, I wanted to leave soon as I arrived.

Sitting down at a nearby table, I held a cupped candle between my hands and absently listened to the words of the worship song. In a chair across from me, Misty began talking about the Lord, and how in Him, each of us can have a future and a hope. Immediately, like a deluge pouring forth after a year of draught, I began to cry for the first time since I knew about the mass on her hip. Grasping my hand between her own, Misty prayed for me until my tears were abated, and my Faith in the Lord was restored. I now understand that the Lord had compelled me to come home not so that I could minister to Misty, but so that she could minister to me. He knew I needed strengthened when I felt like I needed to give strength. He gave me what I needed before I had even thought to ask.

Eyes to See

My Best Friend, Misty

Today, I had a conversation with the author of the book Road Song and the University of the Cumberlands guest speaker for the Palmer Lecture, Natalie Kusz. We might have talked for three minutes, but in our short exchange of dialogue, I found myself amazed by the quiet strength she exuded. When she was just a child living in the Alaska wilderness with her parents, she was attacked by a dog to such an extent that--even after an onslaught of invasive surgeries--the physicians were unable to save the eye the animal had ravaged. For many, such a horrific calamity would render them incapable of continuing to live a fulfilled existence. Instead, Kusz has created a piece of literature that will open the eyes of a generation who sometimes seem incapable of seeing anything beyond their current suffering.
Today, I needed that simple conversation allowing me to witness an individual who had been assaulted by hardship and continued to fight. This week, the person who has been my best friend for as long as my mind has created memories is going to an orthopedic surgeon to have a bone graft. In three months, it will be two years since the doctors have diagnosed her with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Sometimes, it almost seems that life has rearranged itself into a semblance of normalcy, and I find that I can breathe again. It is in that moment when another scan must take place and another spot has lit up the screen that I find myself gasping for breath while drowning in fear.

Through Natalie Kusz’s example of simple strength, I began to realize that I too may be assaulted by hardship, but I will continue fighting as hard as I can for as long as I can. When a moment of doubt begins to cloud my mind, I will just remind myself of that resilient woman from Alaska who had been assaulted by her circumstances but would not allow herself to remain a victim because of them.

Finding Lights in the Trees

I have to admit that I am having a hard time focusing on mid-terms at the moment. Thankfully, my schedule has worked out so that I do not have to think too much about academia until I return from fall break. You see, I am having such a difficult time because I have just gotten engaged! Last weekend, I visited my boyfriend, Randy, and his family in Livingston, Tennessee. Because our families are very close, my family wanted to travel two hours to join in the festivities surrounding Randy’s dad’s 50th birthday—or so they told me. Little did I know a grand plan had been hatched, and they had all been sitting on it together!

When I called Randy on Friday to let him know I was on my way to see him, he did not answer. I found this odd, since he always returns my call right away. A few hours later, he called me back and told me he had been really busy with some customers who were asking questions about his store. After I arrived at his business, I walked through the double doors and up the steps into his office. He was sitting at his desk doing paper work as if he hadn’t a care in the world! We hugged and chatted and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. At 5:00p.m., he hurried me out the door, explaining that he wanted to get to Dale Hollow Lake. He had already packed a backpack full of food and had kindling for the fire he wanted to build.

“I just like to be prepared,” he said, “I don’t like to feel rushed about anything.”

I don’t know how in the world that little saying didn’t tip me off since he takes pride in flying by the seat of his pants, but I was oblivious.

We drove back the winding roads on to a graveled path that meandered its way through a narrow ravine. The windows were down, and the air was cooling off. We parked his Jeep along the shoreline lining the immense lake. Randy built a fire, and then we prepared chicken breast and vegetables, wrapped them in tin foil, and tucked them into the fire. After we ate, we were sitting on a rock watching the stars seep down through the black sky when I glanced across the water. I perceived a glimmer in the trees on the opposite side of the lake.

“What are those lights!” I cried, pointing. 

I quickly gasped as I realized they spelled out, “WILL U MARRY ME?”

While I was still gasping for air like a floundering fish, Randy reached into his bag and knelt before me.

(Insert mushy words, tears, and my hysterical, hyena-style laughter here.)

After our engagement was finalized, we remained at Dale Hollow Lake for almost two hours, watching the lights glimmering in the trees, and reveling in the fact that we were going to get married. Before we left to rejoin our families, a full moon rose above the ridge of trees as if to christen our betrothal.

Even though our engagement story is all romantic and wonderful, to me, it is not the best part. My favorite part is how Randy concocted the material that allowed him to ask me to marry him through the lights in the trees. The night before he asked me, Randy stayed up until 3 in the morning, bending wire and wrapping the lights around them. At 6:00 a.m., he made a trip to Lowe’s to purchase more lights and then continued his work. His dad ran the store for him while he took a flimsy Coleman raft and swam across the lake while pushing the raft with his box of wire, an alarm clock, a mousetrap, and a battery pack sticking out of it. As he was swimming, bass boats passed him as if he was standing still. On the opposite shore, Randy hung wire between two trees and looped the letters on this wire. He then took the alarm clock, tied a string to the back of the buzzer, and turned the alarm clock to 7:00 p.m. When the alarm clock went off later that night, the string pulled tight. When the string pulled tight, it snapped down the mousetrap above it, which hit a switch. The switch powered up the battery pack that turned on the lights! Isn’t my fiancé quite the creative engineer?

Now, you can understand why it is so terribly difficult to spend time writing out notes and cramming for mid-terms; I am far too excited about finding those lights in the trees!

A Season of Change

Even when I was a little girl growing up in the hills of Adams, Tennessee, I loved fall. Along with the smell of crackling, sun-drenched leaves, pungent wood smoke, and plump pumpkins, the smell of expectation laces the changing air. In a way, I guess it is slightly odd that I could find such hope in a time when everything is made barren of its beauty. But it is this metamorphosis that I cherish the most--this time when change for once is actually encouraged rather than feared. Why can we not live all aspects of our lives according to this concept? So many times, we shudder and shy away from the scent of our lives being altered. Relentlessly, we strive and struggle to force things to remain the same, even if it means we will be stagnated because of it. If we attempted to gather the fallen leaves and wedge them back onto the branches, new growth could not spring forth. In our lives, we need to be able to embrace the seasons that evoke change. We need to hold fast to the knowledge that the pain will only last for a moment, and through the pain we will be able to become who we were always meant to be.

In the end, it really is not in our hands anyway; the seasons are still going to change; the beauty may not resemble what it once had, but even with this barren state comes such wonder.  

Turning The Pages of My Life

I have just returned from my lunch date in the atrium with the senior girls that I have “grown up” with during these past four years. Today, it was cause for both nostalgia and excitement as we discussed our plans after that fateful day when we toss our tasseled caps into the air. Instead of feeling trepidation, we are each learning to soar with these pending winds of change while remaining fastened to our current experiences. 

Regardless of these preparations, I find it hard to believe that I am in the final stage of my college experience. It seems just yesterday that I was an anxious freshman lugging a monstrous mound of clothing and shoes into my third floor dorm room. I still remember feeling nervous as I creaked open the door to my World Civ class and had twenty unfamiliar faces staring back at me.

Even though I do miss some of the excitement that first year offered, I would not go back. Through these years, I have learned so many lessons that were never scheduled on my syllabi. I have learned that through heartache comes hope and that happiness is more easily achieved when you are not trying to constantly find it. I cannot wait to see what will be written on the next pages of my life, but I will cherish each period, each paragraph, each chapter, until the book is closed and the ending is as it should be.

Well, I am not transitioning from high school to college, but I am surely transitioning all the same. My summer was filled with long, sun-soaked days working with my mother and my best friend in my mother’s business, Miller’s Amish Country Store. I stocked the produce stand and watched the main store while journaling and reading during the slower times. It was refreshing for me in its simplicity due to my hectic schedule during the school year. It was a chance to reconnect with my two brothers, Joshua (25) and Caleb (10), my best friend since I was two, Misty Boyd, and my dear parents, Beverly and Merle Miller. I also helped my boyfriend of over a year in preparing his business to open. There were plenty of shelves to be painted, wiped down, and stocked. My family also moved from the country of Adams, Tennessee to the suburbs of Greenbrier, Tennessee in order to be closer to my mother’s business. Now that I have left my new home and am back at college, I am attending Resident Assistant Orientation, cheerleading practice, and STAR Orientation. The first two weeks before classes begin are always a juggling act of time management and perseverance. I truly do enjoy it though. I find this time to be such an opportunity to become even better acquainted with those that I work and cheer with and to cultivate new friendships with the freshmen and transfer students who are beginning to trickle upon our campus in the hopes to attain a quality, liberal arts education.