Despair and Hope
I have not posted anything on my blog in a while, I suppose. It’s not that I haven’t been journaling – it’s just that none of it was ever going to make it to the public forum of my blog. But having now sifted through my emotions and thoughts – and having left my blog dormant for more than a month – I figured I may as well expound/emote from my little soapbox.
I have had, recently, much cause for sadness and general distress. A metaphysical tornado has destroyed what has been a beloved home to me for the past four years – a place I’ve felt safe and loved. By this disaster I do not mean only the recent resigning of our professors – this destruction has been in process since at least last semester; their resignation was just the most recent and confirming symptom of something that I have been feeling more and more. Now I see it fully. My home has been simultaneously destroyed and recreated and I do not belong to this new thing. It does not want me (whether it knows it consciously or not) and I, seeing it for what it is, do not want it either. I have packed my mental bags and am ready to go… yet I must live on in an uncomfortable tension for the next month and a half until I can graduate and flee into exile. I feel like I should be dead to this “world,” but I’m forced to still live here, eking out each day until I can leave. Metaphorical suicide – removing myself once for all – would sound like a wonderful option if it weren’t so darned impractical.
While I have lost just about all hope for the school, there are a few things I can take comfort in. Like my church or Dr. George and his lecture. There is life outside – life that is unaffected by what happens here. There are Christians who love each other and who can work together toward a common goal. There are thoughtful Christians out there who do make a positive impact. There are charitable Christians out there who refuse to fanatically support false dichotomies. There are even some who think that a postmodern, utilitarian Christian is not an oxymoron and does have a contribution to make. And ultimately, as Phillips, Craig, and Dean sing, “the power is still where it’s always been.” This doesn’t prevent sorrow, but it does prevent despair. God is still in control, still working through His people, and, whatever the fate of the school, all of this will be good for me and my brothers and sisters. And that fills me with hope.
I have had, recently, much cause for sadness and general distress. A metaphysical tornado has destroyed what has been a beloved home to me for the past four years – a place I’ve felt safe and loved. By this disaster I do not mean only the recent resigning of our professors – this destruction has been in process since at least last semester; their resignation was just the most recent and confirming symptom of something that I have been feeling more and more. Now I see it fully. My home has been simultaneously destroyed and recreated and I do not belong to this new thing. It does not want me (whether it knows it consciously or not) and I, seeing it for what it is, do not want it either. I have packed my mental bags and am ready to go… yet I must live on in an uncomfortable tension for the next month and a half until I can graduate and flee into exile. I feel like I should be dead to this “world,” but I’m forced to still live here, eking out each day until I can leave. Metaphorical suicide – removing myself once for all – would sound like a wonderful option if it weren’t so darned impractical.
While I have lost just about all hope for the school, there are a few things I can take comfort in. Like my church or Dr. George and his lecture. There is life outside – life that is unaffected by what happens here. There are Christians who love each other and who can work together toward a common goal. There are thoughtful Christians out there who do make a positive impact. There are charitable Christians out there who refuse to fanatically support false dichotomies. There are even some who think that a postmodern, utilitarian Christian is not an oxymoron and does have a contribution to make. And ultimately, as Phillips, Craig, and Dean sing, “the power is still where it’s always been.” This doesn’t prevent sorrow, but it does prevent despair. God is still in control, still working through His people, and, whatever the fate of the school, all of this will be good for me and my brothers and sisters. And that fills me with hope.
posted by Gabi @ 10:01 PM
2 Comments:
At Fri Mar 31, 12:56:00 AM CST,
Campeador said…
Amen. I know the feeling, as one waits to leave and put admin.'s mess behind them. Let us remember the truth we were able to attain over the past four years.
At Sat Apr 01, 12:59:00 PM CST,
sarah said…
Oh Gabi, it makes me sad to read this. It saddened me the past few years each time a class graduated to see them wanting to escape. I think many of us built our hopes too high. We aren't at PHC to be enlightened and pulled along to something Better than other colleges. We are part of a small, tentative experiment.
Remember this: We are strong when we are weak. It is just as true on the institutional level as on the individual. When our competence fails us, there is more room for God. Right now, feeling completely inadequate myself, I utterly believe this.
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