Few people can comprehend the immeasurable bliss a wandering soul feels in finding purpose and rest and study. That wandering soul is my own. I do not mean to say that I ever lost my belief in my maker—the one who breathes air into my lungs—I mean to say that my many desires, my destiny unknown, my lofty goals, and this knowing…all led me to an unsettled wandering.
I don’t write at this hour when I should be resting for the joyful trials of tomorrow merely to reflect on my past, but this time I write because I worry there may not be another chance to write of my anticipation for the future. Why should I live my life by the hour? Why not by the event? Why not by the accomplishment? Why not by the class, the study, the interests? Why not by the passions? Why not by the joy of education? Alas! but I am human and weak and in need of rest but that my mind wishes to keep going and thinking and pondering these marvelous gems of wisdom held before my eyes. I have not yet grasped them in my hands, nor do I feel that I deserve to hold such intricate crystals just yet. I am too young to comprehend or appreciate the worth.
Home of the Hillsdale Chargers-I will run the race set before me with joyful anticipation
I know for a fact the joy is not in the act of holding but in the pondering. It is not in the answer but in the process. The joy is being surrounded by people and a place that desires to know the truth that often comes at the end of speculating.
I diverge now to ask in a moment of reflection to ask, then who I am to deserve these things that prompt tears? The tears I privately shed are not sorrowful. They themselves are crystals birthed not from dust and ash but innocent desire and gemuine curiosity. I know I would not be satisfied without being where I am right now in the flat lands of Hillsdale Michigan. From the library only the pages speak; from the bell tower only the chimes sing; from the sun only the rays kiss. Without the gift of passing my days while listening to the bells of Hillsdale College from the corner of the most silent corner of the library, I know I would have continued to be dissatisfied and would continue to wander.
Who am I to deserve the inestimable blessings of freedom experiencing liberty in asking questions. It is curious the freedom that comes with merely asking the question—perhaps the question that all others think but fear to ask. If fear be the case pick me though I stand alone. What do I have to fear but ignorance? Am I the only one to shed tears in the darkness of a Physics classroom as overcome by the beauty of the stars? I pray not. All people ought to feel overwhelmed by the smallest taste of divination seen in creation though Jonathan Edwards may disagree with me saying no understanding of the divine is seen in the hard sciences. All parts of me thirst for knowledge—a supreme revelation of understanding the Divine.
Who am I? I am Kathryn the daughter of The Creator of Philosophy, Science, Nature, Music, Word, and Life. I am a daughter of One perfectly Divine. I am of the One who calls Himself, “I Am Who I Am. Yahweh.”
At a bench beneath the towering walls of central hall. The bells begin to chime and my heart slows to its clanging. My breath seems to match the rhythm of the bells. I think I am dreaming, and on the last clang am convinced I am in an intoxicated stupor of great thoughts but at this same moment I realize I am not asleep to reality but more awake than I have ever been before as my dreams meet reality.