French Pressed Coffee And Other Things I am thankful for.

I thought I was an early riser until this year. Now I wake up at 9 o’clock and feel guilty- kind of like being the loser who wakes up last at a slumber party. All of your friends are already awake and have been teasing and giggling with each other for the past hour or so. It’s the same way here. Except that my desire to sleep doesn't affect my popularity status.

On the first day of school a few friends got together and drank French pressed coffee. We sat together and joked around as, one by one, we wished each other a “Happy First Day of School” on the way out of the door. Another day I woke up to pancakes and sat across a round table from new friends who laughed through triangular shaped bites of breakfast. And how can I forget the morning a bouncy red head hopped in my room and sprayed me with the water from her wisdom-teeth syringe?  

The kinship here is obnoxious. It’s overbearing. You can’t help but be wooed by it; it simply won’t let you. It creates secret handshakes, and calls close friends by laughable nicknames. When caught off guard, it may manifest itself in green foam peanuts stuffed in drawers, taped on framed photos, and set in-between seminary books in a bookcase. This morning as I was brushing my teeth, kinship again made itself known by a knock on the outside of the door, and then a voice which said, “I love you, bye” before leaving for class.

Everything is Fall

I feel like I am leaning on the tips of my toes and looking downwards from some high mountain peak. The trees beneath me are my favorite shades of maroon, orange, and pale yellow. They seem to call my name and wave as a warm wind ruffles their leafy appendages. So, here I stand leaning half way over, clutching the shoulder straps of my old purple backpack- recently packed with wisdom Tetris style. I breathe, knowing there is no way but forward, and take a leap of faith.

Gavin DeGraw

Used to be one of my all time favorite music artists. His pop-culture lyrics and upbeat piano solos spoke directly to me all the way until I was a wide eyed, seventeen year old college freshman. Previously, a summer crush had surprised me with a pair of tickets to his concert and, after much anticipation, there he was only five feet and a large crowd away from me. I’ll never forget when he stood on top of his silver glittering piano and sang directly to me in the crowd, or so I imagined. We listened to his cd all the way home and I fell asleep fully content with a low humming in my ears.

Tuesday morning I woke up much older than that small seventeen year old. All of a sudden I am a leader in a church. I am a senior in college. I’ve even become one of those particular customers in coffee shops and order a “tall chai latte, shot of espresso, skim milk only”. After turning around, mutant chai in hand, I scanned the room for a comfortable space to sit, pulled out a Webster dictionary, and began making flash cards for words like “equivocal” and “loquacious”.

The stark difference between 2008 and now became apparent when I returned home and began to walk up the stairs. My sixteen year old sister called me over to where she sat in front of the computer screen. “Caitie,” she squealed, “I just bought Gavin DeGraw’s new song! I love it!”
I couldn’t help but suppress a chuckle.

Yellow

Right at this very moment I am sitting on a quilt. Under any other circumstance this would be normal but not today. Today this worn patched quilt is on my new bed in my new home.

My new room wakes me up at 6am every morning- sometimes earlier. The sun gleams through the blinds and creates dashes of sunlight all across my room. Initially waking up so early seems almost unbearable but the annoyance is quickly masked by the beauty. I look up and my entire room is bathed in sunlight.

I’ve come to find that there is no possible way to stay quiet in this house. The wooden floors complain at any attempt of sneaking. The bushes in the back of the house are almost completely saturated with birds- Blue jays, newly born cardinals, chickadees, and mockingbirds. They hop from branch to branch calling to each other as they perform aerial acrobatics.

More and more I am finding assortments of memories around the house. They are found in worn couches, a leaky sink handle in the kitchen, and the ever tempting urge to open all of the blinds in the house. And as I sit here, I wonder if I can even see beyond the next five minutes of the day. Mostly the answer is no. So I just tap my toes to the sound of the music playing on my laptop and read another chapter of A Farewell to Arms.

Foreign

What is this?

For all extensive purposes it is a tree.

But why is it a tree?

Well, it has roots. It has branches, it grows vertically, it has leaves…

Have you ever thought why calling something a tree isn’t something simple, but rather complex?

We grow up learning our surroundings because someone kind enough labels the objects for us. The word “tree” by itself doesn’t hold any meaning- only the meaning you attach to it; the picture you see in your mind when you first labeled it.

My neurology professor said in class, “When you name something, you aren’t calling it anything- rather you are naming the concept of something.” And ever since, it has stuck with me.

It’s just recently occurred to me that a tree doesn’t need to be this way. It could have been created wiggly, and creep outwards instead of tall and straight. I’ve always walked around and seen giant wooden objects standing much taller than me and have thought ‘duh, of course’. Everything about it is foreign. In fact, it’s a pretty alien object. There are many types, with different leaves, some grow food, and all of them provide a means for me to breathe and therefore survive.

It begins

Has an awkward teenage stage

And grows

Maybe I’ve been reading too much C.S. Lewis sci-fi, but ever since I feel like everything about the world is new. Everything has become something different.

Friday

Today everyone I met was exceptionally nice. People I’ve never talked to in my life started conversations with me, more boys held open doors, and my roommate went out of her way to say hello. “What in the world is…,” and then I realized, “Spring Break!” I don’t think I’ve seen so many smiles, or gotten so many nods of approval, while walking across campus.

Lately Nacogdoches and I have been having a sort of love/hate relationship. I feel like I’m constantly plucking pine needles off of a large branch and saying, “Nacogdoches loves me… He loves me not.” So to hear that I could leave, would leave, was leaving suddenly made me proceed throughout Friday with urgency. I came to the conclusion that the faster I listened to the teacher, bobbed my foot in anticipation, and sped through daydreaming about putting my key into the ignition, the sooner I would be ready to leave.

I practically hummed from speed as I spun around tossing everything I could ever dream of taking home in my suitcase. And in my second suitcase... And in my backpack. Afterwards, now feeling positively giddy that I made it through packing, I bounced all the way out of my apartment and swirled up an elevator to my shiny white car. “Fabio,” I said, “My friend, it has been too long!” Fabs just sat there. I began patting the back fender as my heart swelled with pride. I spun my way down and through the parking garage, found North street, rolled down my windows, and couldn’t contain myself any longer.

Wind gushed through my hair.

My hand met sunshine, palm up.

I popped open my bottle of soda.

After three hours or so I was met by a wiggly puppy who rolled around and around my feet,
two gangly, loud, teenagers, and the bristles of my own carpet.

New

Three nights ago, I encountered God in a musty sanctuary.

It began with me thinking through everything that I’ve done. I began with the big topics that He and I have sorted through, dissected, flipped over, overanalyzed and discussed, and wondered if I was missing forgiveness for something. So I dug deeper. Here was our conversation:

“Oh God… I guess I can ask forgiveness for-“

Upon which I was cut off. I heard my own voice, or at least it sounded exactly like my own voice, except that it spoke to me with authority. And so my inner-dialogue said:

“-Stop.”

“I have forgiven you. You are forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. You are free. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Free. Free. Free. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven.

I will forgive you a thousand times a million times.”

It repeated “forgiven” to the point where it was almost embarrassing for it to be said again. But I realized that it’s finally true. It’s always been true. I am not identified by anything from my past. My past is over, it is finished. I accepted Christ three years ago, but am continually being re-created. I am a new creation.

Reader, I don’t want it to seem that I sat down and tried to make this sound more emotional or beautiful than the actual event, and debated posting this because I'd like to run away from writing anything sounding "spiritual" or "religious". But, if it brings any encouragement to you, then here it is.