The sedate symphony of green is
interrupted by
riffs of color.
It is fitting that we are studying Genesis I right now, as I am definitely in a state of chaos. All this stuff I am hearing about (and hopefully learning) is a cloudy mess in my head. I'm waiting for God, or someone, to say, "Let there be light!", because I sure need it.
"Irenaeus said, Tertullian said, Ignatius said, Origen said..." I don't know what they said, and wonder why I have to care. When I walked into Church this morning at 7 a.m. for the healing service, I thought, "This is what it is all about; don't forget it!"
Not that all this stuff isn't interesting; actually it is fascinating. But I just want to sit and listen and marvel and not have to understand it, or worse yet, REMEMBER it. At this point, I can hardly remember my room number.
I am finally being able to read a syllabus, or at least I think I am. The first week, I missed several assignments. I was readying myself for much needed sleep, my room door still open, when a classmate stuck her head in and said, "How did you make out drawing the map?" ? ? ?!?! Map? Omigod. I frantically took my syllabus out of the notebook, and sure enough, "Draw a map of Palestine, including the cities, mountains, rivers, and major highways listed on your paper."
Well, I got it done, mostly done. There were a few cities, mountains, etc., that eluded me on the maps in the atlas. So far, no one has asked to see this map, but I am sure it will turn up on a test somewhere, sometime. I also pointed a Psalm on time, but my paper was pretty messy when I turned it in. I have to be careful of that, too.
My major accomplishment this week was to NOT lock myself out of my room when I was in my bathrobe at 6:30 in the morning. I had done that the week before. I had my keys with me (I'm thinking of wearing them around my neck), but the room key had fallen off and was on my desk. Inside my room. I was outside. The door was locked.
That morning I frantically knocked on my friend's door and we huddled together looking over every piece of instructional literature given us on Orientation Day (no topic was entitled, "Locked Out of Room in Bathrobe"). I finally just dialed the emergency security number, prepared to be reamed out because standing in the hall in your bathrobe isn't constituted as an emergency. A cheerful voice said, "I'll be right there", that is, as soon as I remembered 1. the name of my building, and 2., my room number. She arrived in three minutes, friendly, cheerful, and assured me that it IS an emergency when you can't get dressed for class. "By-the-way," she told me once my door was opened, "you can always use this BIG RED PHONE that is hanging on the WALL OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR to reach us."
When I told the group assembled in the refectory about my mishap (because I have to tell everybody whenever I do something stupid), one of my classmates, a second year student, said, "Oh don't worry, I locked myself out 4 times the first semester." And here I was thinking that one learned after the FIRST embarrassing time. So, only three to go. Isn't that progress?
I have safely negotiated the steps up to the sanctuary, carrying the basket of bread during the Eucharist. I didn't dare handle the glass wine cruet. These steps have no railings to hold onto, and I am very unsteady on my feet without my arms to balance me. I can't WAIT for the time I have to carry the cross DOWN those steps. Or, even better, a lighted torch. And then there is the thurible (incence burner) that one has to carry down the steps while swinging it majestically. Majestically, that is, not chaotically as you catch your balance. So many new experiences to look forward to. I wonder if that is why so many of my ancestors decided to be Quakers? I'm pretty good at sitting in a seat.
One enormous hurdle I have overcome is finding my way TO the Media Center and BACK again in the same day. This center is hidden in the bowels of the library, behind several levels of stacks. There are myriad doors, staircases, walkways to trap you. Level 3 in the stacks is Level 1 in the building. Levels 6 and 7 are in the basement. It truly is a Harry Potter type of arrangement. And I did this alone. I'm not absolutely positive, but I think that panting sound I hear in the stacks is the litter of St. Bernard's they keep to find lost students. (Or was that me, huffing and puffing after carrying 30 pounds of books up and down the stairs?)
However, I have not been so lucky maneuvering around the electronic card files. Now, my library in the nearby small city has electronic card files. They are very easy to understand and to get around in. This one, which is connected to all the libraries in the area, including the huge university across from us, is very different. When I finally did find the books I was looking for, they were in the library across the city. What?! Why in tarnation would you require students in our little seminary to read books that are in another library across town? I wouldn't cross that town (really a good-size city) on a bet. I get on the Thruway and zip past that very town just as fast as I can get away. Across it? Not on your life!
I did find one book and copied out the pages I need. It cost me $1.90. I can't do that too often. This, of course, meant I had to figure out the copy machine. One of the great mysteries of life is why the manufacturing design geniuses in this country can't find a good design for copy machines and stick with it. Why do you have to have a course in mechanics and ergonomics to find out where the "Print" button is? This machine also gives one change. But only as you copy. You can't put a buck in and get 10 dimes. You have to push "Print" (if you can find it), and then, after your copy you get the change back, in quarters. So, you then put the next page you need into the machine, find the damnable print button again, put one of those quarters in the machine, and voila! One printed page and 15 cents. Get the picture? A half hour later I had the nine pages I needed. (Now how do I get out of here, again?)
Some days I feel like I am starring in a "Perils of Pauline" movie, and yes, in black and white. And as I lug my 50 pound bag of books (it gets heavier as the day goes on) around, limping up and down the stairs, squeezing into desks that cut off my circulation after a half hour, trying to find the ladies room, which they seem to move daily, I wonder what ever possessed me to think I could be a college girl again.
But then, I drag my weary self into the chapel, where Stephen, our musical director, professor and organist is playing the most incredible music, stand with the other seminarians and sing praises to God, pray the beautiful prayers, chant the ancient chants, and I know I belong there. And I leave, uplifted, with my 15 pound bag, to find my next class.
I'll make it. Life gets better. There will be light. Thanks be to God. Amen.
10:14 AM
Autumn Air
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