Though I'm holding my breath, my heartbeat is calm

The day after tomorrow, I throw my life in the back of a car and make the trek once again into solitude. I approach this realization with mixed feelings.

- I'm about to teach my favorite subject--ENGLISH!!!-- and my favorite period of history--World War II--to a classroom of students I've never met. Memoirs of the holocaust (both perspectives) are stacked on my desk and my notes from Night have been resurrected from the underbelly of my closet, eagerly awaiting re-use.

- Faced with shelves of my cherished novels, I have to pick which ones should make the journey up the mountain, and join "Ms Parkinson's Library": an 'extra-credit' book collection that will be used in conjunction with "Book Bingo" to encourage free-reading outside the classroom.

- Though I have a closet full of clothing, I am carefully selecting my most "Teacheresque" garments. You wouldn't believe the stuff I've come up with.

- Memories of the lonely basement and the dark, silent nights are beginning to creep their way back along the corners of my mind. Whereas the whole point of my last adventure was the loneliness, I thought I could handle it because 1. It was on purpose 2. It was the point and 3. It was temporary. But my isolation is now a casualty of a brilliant opportunity ... and I'm already longing for a companion. Moments like these make me realize that no matter how poetic I might think it sounds, I would never want to live the rest of my life alone. I learn life in companionship.

- My room at home is no longer "my room." After I move out at the conclusion of my trip to Ireland this summer, it will be converted to an office for my dad. I've already re-painted the walls, covering over every childhood memory, every tack-hole in the wall, every place where poster tape had peeled off the chaotic paint. Soon, even the decoration scheme will be altered, from the noisy floral to a soothing "Beach."

- Even if I don't have home in a place, I have home in a heart. In many hearts, in fact. Beyond the current Blessing of my (pardon the phrase) "love life" (warm smile), I am surrounded in spirit by family and friends and friends who are family--all of these, relationships that have nestled in my chest and blossom daily through prayer, thoughts, laughter, embraces, and sweet telephone conversations. I will always belong with these people. That's why, even when I go away for months and return, I know I can still text Beth and say, "What the heck you doin?" And we're out ransacking the town two hours later. That's why, when I text message Bre, it's always a message of love, missing, and the memory of incessant, joyous laughter. That's why, when I pick up the phone to call Alyssa, she always will answer no matter if she's on a date with Matthew, or getting her hair done at some obscure salon in the middle of a Beauty College ( :) ). That's why, when I arrive on the streets of San Francisco in the middle of an early Sunday morning and Zak lifts his head in surprise, my stride across the street is a sprint into his heart and an embrace that sends a smile through his eyes and into the deepest part of his soul.

That's why, when I get a letter from a professor it's like a whisper from a friend.
And when I curl myself up on my parent's bed, my mom instantly runs her fingers through my hair and listens to me rattle on about my hopes and dreams for the future, about my fears for tomorrow, about my joys of today.

And when I open Scripture, Paul's admonition of relationships and of love and of Charity all seep themselves into my life and I see Heather in Corinthians; I see Westmont in David's Psalms; I see today in the Lord's Prayer; and I see Tomorrow: in the Hands of God.