A Quarter Done

I'm pretty sure I have been here a whole week already. It doesn't seem possible, but it is Friday and I did take my first exam. What saddens me is that I haven't been anywhere close to the lake as yet. Between the crazy trips home and back, the rainy weather, the huge reading assignments (not for here, for the seminary), I haven't had a half a minute to break away.

As I wander down the hall in the early morning light past the chapel where organ music of the most ethereal sort wafts through the cracks in the massive wooden doors I catch a glimpse of its blueness shrouding the horizon like a wool shawl, never quite the same color and texture. I can't see the walkways or the beach area. I am wanting desperately to go investigate, to breathe deeply of the seaweed air, to remind myself that as massive as this lake is, God is waaaaaay bigger.

But i am not free to go. I am held, not really against my will, forced to look away, make my feet keep moving down the hall past the stairs to the library, turn right and head for the far end of the corridor where the rest of the class is gathering, sleepy seeds still in the eyes, coffee cups clenched by tired hands, worn out from the 5am practice sessions to be ready for noon lessons. Singers, bleary eyed from late night lessons and practicing, whisper quietly waiting for everyone to arrive.

Here and there a laptop boots, a cell phone buzzes, a bit of laughter breaks out. We have read the assignment, but do we remember any of it? Worse yet, does it mean anything to us? The professor opens the window hoping for a breeze to dispel the mugginess, and we begin.

We sit at the feet of Clement of Alexandria, of Louis Osiander, Martin Luther, the inimitable Bach. We listen to hymns in a new light of understanding, place things in context - Greek, Ambrosian, Latin, German. Music coming from one heart and translated to another. The lake will just have to wait. Perhaps if I read all night, I can visit in the morning. We shall see.