In the next four weeks, I had to go out and buy two more volumes.
Pages and pages and pages.
Here's part of what I wrote and stuck on the last page:
But it's not really those accomplishments that I am unable to put into words. It's this entire place, every single one of these people that come together to form a community of love, hope, trust, and -- the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying -- (joy: a very apt dictionary definition) -- in everything we do here. And I honestly think that the hardest thing for me to express, what I am at a complete loss for words over, is that I have a place here. It's not that I think I'm undeserving... it's just... words don't exist for my thankfulness to God for bringing me here. Or to the many strangers who became friends, rooting my heart here once I arrived. That makes me speechless more than any unexpected, magnificent win. But every part of it is knitted together; every piece of this Davidson life, every day, every person, every game, gives me a reason to shout with happiness, to be silent with thanks.
In three days, I'm going to leave Davidson College for seven months, and though I'm so ready to be home, my heart is already aching -- I think it's been aching since March 30th. I have experienced a lot of subtle changes in the past year, and I'm excited to go explore another place for a semester, but -- I had an epiphany a couple of nights ago.
Worn out, uncertain, and confused, my mind immediately flew to one place that I knew could get rid of it all. Out of Belk, down past Cannon, Sentelle, Duke, bypassing the Union, tripping down the cobblestone path -- maybe it's a cold January/February night -- past the Wildcat, hitting the stone steps where I fall in with parents, kids, students, professors, the crowd from The Pines, all bustling across the street and into the warmth of Baker Sports Complex where the pep band is already playing, where my friends are already gathering, where I have a seat that I won't sit in for the next two hours. Right now, as a twenty-year-old unofficial college junior, this is the place that I want to be when I'm scared or sad or worried. And when Michael Kruse asked me "why?" a month ago -- why this team, why this game, why all of it, why any of it -- that's what I should have told him. That when I am standing here in the student section of Belk Arena, surrounded by warm, friendly people who love this place like I do, getting ready to cheer for a team that embodies the hope, determination, and community of this college, I am content. Everything is right.
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