On the Changes of Spring

Tonight has a dull ache to it.  Tonight is the sort of night that is too rich with nostalgia to take in.  It's like all of the moments that have happened over the past year are slowly raining down around me.  All I feel I can do is stand out in it all and hope some of them happen to dwell on me for just a while.

I have had a swell time at APU.  I have certainly learned, if only how to BS papers well enough to pass.  And I have certainly had a good amount of fun.

There are a lot of things I regret here, though.  For starters, I would have come here as a Freshman had I known the potential glories of four-year friendships and the unbelievable blessing of not having transfer credits.  I would not have worried so much about romantic relationships (the inevitable downfall of all-too-many Christian college students).  And so on.

But it is not wise to dwell on such things.  I have lived the life I have lived; not another exists.  I am who I have become.  I must remember to have a thankful heart as time goes on.  Thankfulness can remedy regret.  Thankfulness breeds hope.

Thus, I sit here on my couch, home alone, reminiscing. With the sliding door open, I can hear the occasional car pass by, doors opening and closing, and neighbors having final conversations before parting ways.  All sounds of the changing time.

I have too many feelings, it seems.  What I wouldn't give to remain in this night for ages.  Though it is all over, tonight still seems to be a part of it.  The moments seem to live on in this place.  The love, fun, seriousness, sentimentality, carelessness, responsibility, community, drama, excitement, nervousness, celebration, mischief, laughter, spirituality, etc. all live on within these walls, this atmosphere.

But tonight brings change.  Tomorrow, people leave.  Tomorrow, friendships end.  Tomorrow, people who have cared deeply for each other for a long time will say their last goodbyes.  (Hopefully it is not so with many, but it will certainly be so with some).  Tomorrow, these experiences are either committed to memory or lost forever.

It almost brings me to tears.  I suppose it would, but I have had trouble crying well over the past few years.  Perhaps I am losing less than others are.  I have only been the additional friend to many groups here.  I have no true best friend from which I am being torn, only a large amount of steady friends.  Maybe that is the reason I am not brought to tears.

Nevertheless,

Tonight has a dull ache to it.  I cannot pinpoint the hurt, though I do not believe I should be able to.  I wish I could spend more time with these people.  I wish I could invest more into the people I love here.  But it is ending.  And I am left with only that which I have already done.

Is it possible to come away from something like this thinking that it has all been fulfilled?  Is it possible not to think about what one could have done better, changed, or done more of?

Whatever the case,  I ache.

I ache to have more time.  I ache to hold those I have not held long enough.  I ache to profess affection for those who have not heard it enough.  I want to dwell on Cougarwalk one more time- on a weekday afternoon, under the warm sunlight, listening to everyone enjoy each other and life together.  I want to soak in the life this place has to offer.  I want to breathe it in.

I ache, I ache.  I am fairly good at living in the moment, but even so they slip quickly through my fingertips.

I suppose my conclusion has yet to arrive.  I began writing this only to channel my heart's weariness into something.  I mean only to ease my own hurt.  I apologize if I have wasted someone's time.

There's a verse in Ecclesiastes (5:20) that says, "He seldom reflects on the days of his life, because God keeps him occupied with the gladness of his heart."

I think I've lived into this verse fairly well this year.  I seldom reflect on how things once were because I like what I've got going for me now.  However, this is one of those seldom times.  Tonight is certainly dedicated to reflection.  Soon, I imagine, I will go back to living in the moment.

But for now.

For now I will soak in that dull ache.  Because hurting for something meaningful is worthwhile.  This ache means that all of this was real.  All of the moments I will miss were moments worth dwelling on.  There is simply too much to take in.

I do not want to go to sleep tonight for fear of losing everything I hold dear in this place.

Everything is going to change.  Everything I know will soon be pulled out from under me.  And in anticipation of that transition, I ache.