“What gets you up in the morning, Val?” my friend asked when we were out for coffee this break. I confess my mind first went to my alarm clock. “As in, what do you live for? What gets you excited for life?” my friend clarified when I paused a little too long. Ah. One of these questions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not keen on small talk anyhow and usually welcome these kinds of questions. But when one of my high school friends asks me this sort of thing, I immediately feel an overwhelming (probably unhealthy) pressure to answer just so. I’ve always recognized the chasm separating our respective worldviews, so I get anxious about presenting my position in a way that’s relevant without compromising the integrity of my conviction. I stumbled through my answer, but was able to get out something of substance at last. “Why don’t you write more about it to me in a letter?” my friend offered. I gladly accepted.
As a Christian growing up in public schools, I had to be ready to be confronted with the arguments and questions from a lot of hurt, bitter, secular high school friends. Hillsdale, by contrast, while still seriously challenging me, has been a sweet haven. What a relief to be in a place where I haven’t had to constantly be on the defense and fight people off, but instead, have had countless enriching debates and discussions. I have been able to relax and actually be nurtured by a studentry and professors.
While I was relieved that I’d have an opportunity to think through and write out more articulately “what I live for,” this interaction did awaken me to a number of things. For one, for all my talk of wanting to be a witness, I haven’t done much to address such issues on the home front. Sure, I try to be a good example, but I’m not asking many questions of my differently-minded peers; I’m not challenging them the way I should; it seems I don’t even have ready answers when they bring their questions to me. Two, I’m reminded of what a different world Hillsdale is. People say college is preparation for the real world, and in some ways, that rings true. But in most ways, it could not be further from the truth, especially at a place like Hillsdale. The College draws to itself a set of individuals who, for the most part, hold to a similar worldview. Outside of my family, I’ve never known a community like this. I haven’t had to run through the arguments for God’s existence before moving on to another theological level — I’ve just talked with my peers about that next theological level and we track with one another.
As a second-semester senior, I’ve certainly been thinking about the steps following graduation. But as a second-semester senior, I’ve mostly just thought about the fact that I’m a second-semester senior. Come May, I’ll pack up, leave, and never be a part of a community like this again. Then it’s back to the real world, the one that holds my dear friends from public school days and others like them. I hadn’t thought about that much until this winter break.
I know I’ll have a hard time leaving this campus. I know I’ll be torn up next autumn when I go to drop my sister Kristen off at the airport so she can return to Hillsdale while I remain. But I recognize more and more just how good this is. I’m by no means trying to rush out; I still want to fully be a part of Hillsdale life while I still have time. But when May comes, I know I won’t want to rest in the security of Hillsdale anymore. I’m beginning to experience a balance of appreciation for this dear place but also readiness as I confront the challenges that are bound to follow: Facing old friends I’ve unwittingly left in the dark, brushing up on basic apologetics, and whatever the heck I end up doing in the time that follows graduation.
