The day of departure has arrived. I can't think of anything else to cram into the bags sitting ready in my bedroom, and aside from one more hostel reservation I think I've made all the arrangements I could possibly make. The trepidation of the past few days has settled down into a flutter in my chest, and every glance at the clock emphasizes just how close I am to stepping off the plane in the London airport.
That is, if I can survive the layover in France first.
If you're reading this blog, then you probably know enough about me to know that this is not my first time abroad. Specifically, it's my tenth. What you might not know is that the last night before departure still strikes me with a sort of gravity. Last night I curled up with my Bible and my journal to write and think for about an hour before I went to sleep in my own bed for the last time prior to departure.
The journals I've kept over the past few years are littered with "last nights" and the thoughts that come with them. Typically, a "last night" is a good time to let the reality of the trip sink in (as much as it can before you actually get over there) and to let the bigness and excitement of a journey commenced engulf you for a moment. But it's also a good time to look back at what you're leaving behind. My journal for this past year has helped my capture one of the best, strangest years of my life in quite a while. I've been able to make fantastic new friends, grow closer to the friends I already had, reunite with old friends and watch all of those relationships change in wonderful, surprising ways. It's been an incredible adventure, and as I thought about it last night I realized how grateful I am to belong to the community I'm about to leave, and how glad I am that I will get to rejoin it.
During the past week or two many of my friends here have returned to school, and the constant influx of "I'm so glad to be back at college!" Facebook statuses have made me feel a little bit like the Hogwarts Express left without me. I'm going to miss being part of their adventures, being in the midst of their company, being present to listen to their problems and to seek solace in them for mine. While I'm gone, my brothers are going to get taller, my dogs older--in short, everything is going to be different when I return. But that's part of the adventure too. And in the meantime, I'm actually going to Hogwarts (okay, not Hogwarts, but you get the idea).
On "last nights," I always take a moment to think about what I want from the journey I'm about to take. Last night I thought about it and prayed over it, and this is what I came up with:
1. I want this to go slowly. The other day I read Robert Frost's poem "October", which perfectly captured the way I feel about this coming semester. The last few days have been a whirlwind, but I don't want the trip to be like that: I want time to sit by a river and just think, and read, and absorb, and be. I want every moment to count, and I don't want a single one to slip by.
2. I want to grow. I want to grow as a friend to the people going with me, and I want to grow as a friend to the people I haven't met yet. And I also want to grow by myself--just me, figuring myself out.
3. I want to learn. Everything. Anything I can get my hands on, about England, Oxford, literature, life, and, specifically, God. I've heard good things about Oxford offering a good theological community of enlightened discussion, and I'm excited to tap into that. There's a reason I've chosen C.S. Lewis as my major, and it isn't just because I'm still convinced I can find Narnia if I open the right closet.
Ten hours until liftoff. I think I'm going to go play with my dogs for a little while. The next time I write to you, fellow travelers, I'll be on the other side of the Pond!
I can't wait to hear from you Brittani!
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