Image found {here}
When people ask how my friends and I are handling our last bit of college life, I tell them that we have good days and bad days. On the good ones I feel quite content with where I am and where I am going- even when that means that I'm clueless as to where that is. Other days, there are doubts, fears, lots of questions, and maybe tears.
I first applied to an advanced French program at Middlebury because my parents asked me to; a little reluctantly I wrote the essays, took the test, and sent in my information. In this time I slowly processed the possibility of an extended stay in Paris.It was absolutely an idea that I could get comfortable with and signs seemed to be pointing in that direction, but this week I found out that Middlebury and I aren't meant to be. I've prayed throughout this year that God would make it clear what I'm suppose to do after Baylor- and I guess He did that yesterday, or rather showed me what I'm not suppose to do. He probably knew I wouldn't have the strength to turn down Paris via Middlebury, so maybe He did it for me.
I'm not heartbroken by this turn of events, but would be lying if I didn't admit that rejection has a sting and brings with it a little doubt and fear. Discussing this last night with my parents, my dad reminded me of an afternoon we once spent somewhere on the trails of the New Mexican wilderness. We were drawing near the end of a l-o-n-g day. Having walked with heavy packs up the mountain for miles and many hours, we were almost spent. We were only a half hour downhill walk away from our destination when we reached a snow-blocked path. Normally,going slightly off the trail isn't an issue, but unfortunately about three steps over from the trail was the sloping side of the mountain. It was rocky with little to grab onto; a missed step or two and you could tumbled down all the way. As much as we might have liked it, turning back was not an option. We were in the middle of the middle of nowhere- we had to get to out campsite and a water source. The guys, taking off their packs tested the off-path method- hugging the mountain and graping whatever they could, they somehow managed to get to the other side. Everyone had made it across the unstable side of the mountain except for me. My dad was coming back to help me across when we both looked up and saw something we hadn't before: a path. It was small, curving up and around to the top of ridge- I have no idea how we had all missed it amid the search for a way around the snow- it was so clear now. So my dad and I took the path- solid and clear- and reached the top.
Lots of things about Middlebury seemed right: it would give me something to do for the next year, would take me to Paris, would give me a place to live there, and automatic friends in a foreign place, but maybe Middlebury was just suppose to help me realize that I really truly want to go to Paris. Not, "Oh, that's a nice dream," or "That would be a cool thing to do," but I
want to go. I hope it's meant to happen, but I don't know. So now I wait for the game trail to appear- and perhaps one day, at the top of that ridge, I'll think, "Of course that was the path- I only had to wait to see."
