Past, Present, and Future

Our family spent some time up on Lookout Mountain in Georgia on our way to Florida this past week.  Chris and I both graduated from Covenant College, so we were eager to show the kids around; maybe share with them a little bit of our past.

We had a captive audience, and my husband was the first to take advantage.  He brought everyone up to the second floor of the infamous Carter Hall ready to show the kids his first dorm room.  

He opened the door and declared the room like a new father declares the name of a new child.  I could see the memories flooding back, and admittedly, it was hilarious.  

The kids were unimpressed by the 10 by 12 foot room with just enough space for the necessities.  And so we moved on.  

Chris spent most of his time at Covenant on the “Ghetto,” the hall where many of the soccer players grouped.  Our entrance into the Ghetto was one of the doors opening to glory, but still, the kids were unimpressed.   “And this is the room we would gather in, and this is where I slept, and this is……”  He was reliving glory days.  

“So, like in college do you have to go to school all day?”  This is the kind of important information Jrod wanted to be clear about.  

Chris explained that you go to class, but then you’d have time in between to sleep, or play sports, or eat….

…..or study; my boring contribution.  

We ventured up to my old hall.  I walked down the hall unassumingly, sure that I wouldn’t fall into the same time warp where my poor husband found himself.  

But then there it was:  my old dorm room.  I lapsed worse than my husband, explaining who lived in each room and how I had my room arranged.  The kids stuck with me until I pointed out which sink I used.  The eye rolling began except for little Lily who told me how cool my sink was.  

Thanks, Lily.  

At this point, my kids were still trying to grasp the whole concept of college, but I didn’t leave much room for questions – I was on a roll pointing out the dining room, the mail room, the Resident Director’s apartment, and the laundry room.  

   

“You mean you have to clean your own clothes?”  

I was immediately grateful for the ten years that Jrod has left at home. 

 

My kiddos followed me out of my dorm like little tourists.  And so on we went.  

I pointed out my favorite class - Shakespeare at 7:45 in the morning, explaining that I would have gone to that class at 7:00 A.M, it was that good.  

“But who would wake you up?”  

Again, we’ll need all ten years with Jrod.  

Of course, then, I couldn’t just show them where my favorite class was held, we had to walk over to the class I used to dread.  

And I thought Chris’s doors into “Ghetto glory” were a little much. 

I didn’t care.  I took them into the dreaded math classroom.  It was in this class that I decided I was going to major in something with the most amount of reading and writing and the least amount of equations and problems.  

Both Ella and Jrod acquired my math skills, or lack there of, so both empathized with their mom in this department.  I thought it was funny that they actually felt bad for me; forget what mom does all day for us on top of otherwise full days, but a math class…..poor mom. 

   

Chris and I took them to the chapel.  I began playing the piano up on the stage, recalling the first time I played up there as a short lived music major.  

I was asked to accompany the student body in singing the school’s hymn.  Nerves rose up in me like I had never experienced before, and I plowed through that hymn so fast that it was literally un-singable.  So, the lecturer stopped me and the rest of the student body and asked me to play it at a more reasonable tempo.  

I switched my major to English, promising myself I would never accompany anyone again. 

The irony is that I lead worship on the piano each and every Sunday, and I absolutely love it.

 

Next, I took the kids to the building where I had an in depth conversation regarding my Senior Integration Paper with two of my favorite professors.  I pointed out the exact room where this meeting took place. 

I distinctly remember one professor praising the subject matter and the detailed research that was done.  My writing teacher, the other professor present, discouraged the actual writing of the paper, explaining to me that even after five drafts, it was simply “a mess.”  

I had the option of writing another draft, correcting the enormous amount of grammatical mistakes, and receiving an A.  But, I was a senior, and all that was standing between me and graduation, plus my impending marriage to my best friend, was that paper.  So, I settled (with no qualms) for a C. 

Again, the irony is that almost exactly one year later I was hired to teach high school grammar and writing.   My first year students, quite unfortunately but rather obviously, learned very little as I spent most the year trying to understand it all myself.  

Embarrassingly, a student would at times correct my pronunciation of a particular vocabulary word.  Instead of admitting my blaring error, I would suggest that perhaps there were other ways to pronounce such common words.  

I mean really. 

After that first year, the light went on.  I suddenly became a grammar fanatic (please don’t hold this blog to that fact); I began seeing grammar errors everywhere and writing became to me, for the first time, a new part of life.  I enjoyed it so much that I spent the next several years trying to spark the interest in as many students as possible. 

Several years after I had left the school, I received a letter from one of my former students who had taken the time to explain to me how thankful she was for my class.  In particular, she mentioned how grateful she was for all the grammatical markings on her papers.  It helped her later in her schooling to really “get it.”  Oh, the irony.  

Before we could conclude the tour, Chris and I knew couldn’t leave without the kids seeing the gym.  Athletics were a big part of our lives in college, and the kids couldn’t wait to see it.  They were particularly enthralled with the fact that there was still P.E. available in college.  

“P.E. and lunch are my favorite subjects!”  

That’s my boy.  Even as an eight year old, it’s only taken him a few months to get through five books of Harry Potter, and yet he is adamant that his gifts are in the area of lunch time.  

Chris pointed out each and every trophy that he and his soccer team received during his four years at Covenant.  The kids were super impressed, to say the least.  

“Mom, where’s your trophy?”  

“Well, Jrod, mom didn’t get trophies, but I can totally show you where I tore up my knee during a basketball game.” 

They were totally un-impressed, to say the least, and had no interest in my play by play commentary of this particular moment in my life.  

I was almost back to our present reality until one other place caught my eye.  I walked over to a large tree outside of one of the buildings.  The kids were ahead of us, so I just shared the memory with my husband, the only victim left on my prolonged journey into the past.  

I explained that this was the tree that I knelt under pleading with God not to take my dad’s life since only moments before he had called with the news that they found a rare kind of cancer in his liver.   I stayed there weeping bitterly for a long time.  It was one of the times in my life that I remember undeniably feeling the comforting presence of God.   

In the midst of twists and turns, laughable irony, and deep personal struggles and sorrow, God’s Grace in my life and His sovereignty over it is remarkable to me, and sometimes that reality strikes me deeply.  Our short journey into the past was one of those times.   

As we were leaving the campus, we told the kids we would take them down the mountain to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner– one that I frequented during college.  

And then it was Ella’s turn to ask a question:  “You mean, you’re allowed to leave campus when you’re in college?”  

I’m glad that we have several years of parenting before a college future; my need to be in the present is a grateful necessity.  And yet today, I am truly thankful for my past.