Nykerk Hall of Music

Music expresses that which cannot be said, and upon which it is impossible to keep silent. - Victor Hugo

"How was Chile?" (Variations include How was Argentina, Spain, South America and wherever you were)
"It was great. It's good to be back though."

This conversation, inevitably, is the current framework to my life. I'll admit to being a little tired of it, but all things considered, I don't mind too much. Mostly because both of those assertions are fundamentally true.

My trip was great. It was a whole host of other adjectives as well, but great is an adequate descriptor. And it is, refreshing, energizing, comforting, strange and wonderful to be back at Hope.

Hope College is, I think, a much more complex place than its tulip-toting image. And there are aspects, especially in regards to the unstated expectations this environment puts on us in social and spiritual arenas, that I was more than ready to leave behind last fall. And to those who are experiencing similar frustrations, my advice is just that: leave.

Make it happen. I know there is scheduling and finances and countless other excuses, but I firmly believe you have control over your priorities and if travel is something you truly desire there is always a way. Take a May Term, go on an immersion trip, spend a semester, a summer, a week outside the bubble. Yes I said it. I acknowledge the existence of the bubble. I spend a lot of time arguing against that concept, because I believe that your "bubble" is your personal experience and bemoaning being trapped in it is useless, because there will be one wherever you go. I had a bubble in Chile. But it was a different bubble. And that can make all the difference.

I'm going to get off my Study Abroad soap box now because what I really want to talk about is how grateful I am now to be here at Hope. In these first days of the semester, which I think hold more novelty and promise for me than they did even Freshman year, I am blessed by the expected and the unexpected.

I relish returning to the most infinitesimal of routines.

In Dimnent Chapel, the preacher says, "This is the word of the LORD," and I join the murmur - "Thanks be to God."

In my cantankerous old car, I turn familiar corners without thinking.  

In the smooth-cornered classrooms, I finger the pages of syllabi, read over education department policies (In English! I still marvel). I breathe in the smell of school.

The ice crystals that formed on the inside glass of our front door

But then - surprise! The snow pours down and they give us real live actual snow days, for crying out loud. The unexpected extended vacation is delectable, my new roommate and I hole up in our lovely house and watch old episodes of "Downton Abbey."

At the evening worship service, Sara, a senior from Honduras, is invited to read the communion rites in Spanish. My ears perk up and I drink in the silky sounds like Chilean wine.

What I am trying to say is that I am delighted to live for a short time in this strange series of moments where the most familiar things seem new.

Here's just one more:

I swing open the door to Nykerk, pick up a thick black folder and perch on the edge of a red backed auditorium seat. The Second Altos, few and proud, are glad to see I have returned. The director goes to the piano, plays a series of notes. It's just a warm-up, one I've sung a thousand times.

But this time, when I open my mouth, I am spellbound. The sound swells around me, imperfect, we have just begun to breathe. But that point of beauty, one harmony of many voices - I'll never be able to put it into to words.

Thus ends the first semester I'd gone without singing in a choir since the third grade. I have returned to the music - and the textbooks, and the snow.

Thanks be to God.

After it warmed up, I went for a Sunday evening walk. Sunset over frozen Lake Macatawa