It's as if I never left. Sitting in a familiar place, with a familiar drink, glancing out the windows onto a familiar Iowa morning scene: particularly icy, frigidly cold, and astoundingly windy. My eyes glance around the open room, focusing on all of the new black and white photographs, art depicting life. In my ears, the electronic sounds of Apt.Core's first CD "Rhythms of Remembrance." Beside me, an ominously black binder, filled with pages of black text on white paper, with the occasional gleam of hope with a yellow or blue page here and there.
I have been back in Iowa for a week today. My roommate and I are still settling into our new apartment. There is a still a small fort of boxes in the corner of the living room and the couch is as of yet uncovered. The end tables are stacked one on top of the other, and a couple random, and empty, bookcases are inhabiting the living room. The cupboards are slowly being filled, as we unpack the boxes and throw everything into the dishwasher, after a nine month stint in a storage unit. With a three day weekend coming upon us quickly, I hope we can remedy the situation.
What does feel slightly off, more so than a disorganized apartment, is all of the faces that I do not recognize. As a whole semester has passed since I last walked the halls of the CVM, there is a whole new first year class, of whom I know absolutely no one. For that matter, there are people within my own class that I do not know. It will take some time to get adjusted to this new class, but I am sure that it will happen through the course of the semester. If not now, then it will surely happen when we are put together in the more "intimate" setting of the clinics in May.
While the faces and names will slowly become familiar, my first priority is simply to sit in the classes, absorb the information, and maintain a peaceful, drama-free countenance. It's not always apparent when situations happen in our lives exactly why they are happening or what the end result will be at any given point X in the future. It does not matter what the situation is, everyone has faced something in their life that does not make sense, and figuring out why is sometimes a lesson in futility.
This past weekend, the church service was about Job. It's a story that most children who, by their own will or the will of their parents, have attended Sunday school know by heart. He lost his livestock, a sign of wealth at the time: his oxen, donkeys, sheep, and camels, all decimated and destroyed. Worse yet, another messenger came to him and said that a house had fallen on his sons and daughters, leaving only the messenger as a survivor. Through the turmoil, Job experienced great sadness, but he still praised God, and did not fault God for the horrible situation. And Job's suffering does not end there, but as the story goes, through everything Job praised God, and did not sin against Him.
Job may have felt like his life was spinning out of control, but somehow, he still showed great fortitude, and found a way to praise God. Job could not have possibly understood why his life was seemingly crashing down around him, all at once. I've felt the same way, not understanding, and wanting the reality of the situation not to be so harsh. But there's life and hope on the other side. In the past eight months, away from veterinary school, I have learned much about myself. And I've even been able to thank God for what He's doing in me, creating someone with more faith and perseverance. It's not always been easy, but I am not doing this alone, and that's where I must keep my focus, each and every day.
And so, after the first week, I am not reflecting backwards to what life was like before. I'm only looking forward...but not necessarily forward to the rest of the Iowa winter.
Comments