Ten years

I began asking to get my ears pierced when I was three.  My mom had such pretty earrings that beautifully complemented her outfits.  I used to hold her jewelry up to my own ears, marveling at how improved I looked.  Earrings to me were the essence of beauty.  I asked over and over again if I could get my own earrings, and was always given the same old predictable, disappointing response, “When you turn thirteen.  We want you to be old enough to be responsible for them yourself.”

Those ten years took an eternity.  I think my parents would agree that I was mature for my age, and probably would have done just fine with earrings at an earlier age than thirteen.  But by then it was law, and consistency in parenting is very important.  (This we are discovering.)  Still, I ticked each birthday off and always thought, “X many years left until I can get my ears pierced!” 

Ten years is a very long time.

Ten years ago this weekend I moved into my freshman dorm on the campus of Roberts Wesleyan College.  That terrifyingly wonderful day tasted like an odd mixture of the first day of summer camp and going to jail.  This great fear of the unknown, which looked from all angles to be a pretty wonderful unknown, was entirely unexplored.  For somebody who had been homeschooled K-12 and never sat in a real classroom, college posed a greater mystery to me than most of my fellow freshmen.

I knew my roommate already, having met her at an honors weekend the campus had hosted a few months earlier.  We didn’t know each other at all, but hit it off during the weekend and decided that we should be roommates to avoid the risk of being paired up with psychopaths.  As potential honors students, this turned out to be a very good strategy.  Meg was bubbly, excited, self-assured, and smart.  We didn’t hold many of the same interests, but we coexisted nicely as roommates who didn’t need to be BFFs.

Still, other than a couple of professors and upperclassmen, I didn’t know a single soul in this new place.  My parents worked diligently over the day to help me unpack my belongings and set up my room in a way that looked homey.  My dad, ever the craftsman, went to Lowes at least twice to purchase materials to create extra shelving.  My mom made my bed with tears in her eyes, placing on top of my favorite comforter a new stuffed dog to keep me company in the ensuing weeks.

During one trip of unloading the minivan, she whispered in my ear, “You know. I think you should get to know that girl.  She just looks like she would be a good friend.”  “That girl,” Megan, ended up being an instant kindred spirit, and a friendship that has continued to this day.  My mom has a great eye.  She also pointed out the gal living next door as a potential friend.  Adrienne turned out to be a fellow flutist and music major, which linked us inextricably to the other.

I remember other things about that day.  I remember one pair of olive green pants hanging in my closet.  They just disappeared later that year for no good reason (the psychopathic roommates perhaps), but I specifically can picture them in my dorm room that day.  I remember praying with my parents in the parking lot before they drove away, the three of us blinking back tears.  (Well, not so much Dad.  After all, he had conquered the shelving problem.)  I remember walking over to dinner in the cafeteria, still unsure of where to sit or what to do.  I plunked myself down next to another intimidated-looking girl and faked confidence, introducing myself and initiating conversation.  She looked as shy on the outside as I felt on the inside.  Years later, she would remind me of this exchange and what an impact it had on her.  I remember bumping into Mrs. Shewan in the cafeteria, one of a handful of people I actually knew.  She gave me a hug (I later learned that these hugs are rather rare) and bubbled about how excited her family was that I was moved in.

I remember longing for deep conversation and getting beyond the small talk.  I hate small talk.  What a waste of time.  There was an awful lot of it in those first days and weeks, but it did paid off.  So many friendships.  So many lasting memories.  Such an impact in my life.  It wasn’t but a week later that I had met my future husband and my best friend.  The cry of my heart before leaving was that Roberts would provide me with friends.  True friends.  The kind that last a lifetime.  The Lord answered those prayers abundantly.  And it all seems like it happened yesterday.

Ten years is a very short time.