Dear Covenant College,
I love you. Through our unity in the Holy Spirit, I am able to say that I love you. And out of this love flows the following letter:
I’ve got a(nother) confession to make. I’m your fool.
I have fallen prey to the idea, the Disney-influenced and beautifully colorful idea, that I can go the distance. The idea that my own efforts will take me to high places.
I have allowed this dangerously optimistic ideology to pervasively influence my life. I’ve allowed it to control my relationships, my emotions, my actions, my thoughts, my routine, my dreams, my faith.
This Herculaic complex (and by that I mean, influenced by Disney’s Hercules) that I’ve developed [specifically based on the scenes between Go the Distance and Zero to Hero] has driven me to arrive at two conclusions:
1. I wish I wasn’t who I am.
2. I wish everyone else was more like me.
It sucks. My unrealistic ambitions led me away from my family, whom I love more dearly and intensely than anything in the world. My dreams have driven me away from my country, a place where, compared to everyone around me, I’m not really all that crazy; a place that is also the motherland of the only cuisine that can be considered special revelation. My aspirations have pushed me to the dirt. Then, those sadistic aspirations forced me to get up only to push me down again.
On top of that, my nature has not only made me an idealist, but also an idolater. My unrelenting heart has put me directly at odds with my God. And, you know, the problem with hearts is twofold: (1) you can’t just rip them out, and (2) they influence everything that you do (through the proverbial pumping of your blood). But oh, how I wish that wasn’t the case. How I wish I didn’t feel such a profound sense of responsibility to my work. How I wish I didn’t feel obligated to deny myself of pleasure, fun, rest, food, air, etc. in order to achieve my goals. But the reality is, since I have become an idolater, I have come to enjoy such sacrifices. Twisted, I know!
But it is now, as graduation approaches (and with it the promise that I will be separated from the friends who loved me, the professors who shaped me, and the tower that sheltered me), that I am able to have a moment of sobriety. (Don’t worry, Dr. Dean Brad Voyles, I mean the metaphorical sobriety). It is now, faced with the fear of the uncertainties that come with the future, that I see clearly. I wish I wasn’t who I am. I wish I had soaked the love out of Covenant a little more. I guess it's times like these you learn to love again.
But also now, as graduation approaches (and with it the reality that I must face everything that the light touches, including the place where Simba is not supposed to go), I am thankful for where my passionate ambitions have brought me. It is now, faced with the uncertainties that come with the future, that I wish that you Covenant College, my dear Covenant College, was a little more (ok, maybe a lot more) like me.
Sure, I may be a workaholic, but man! I’ve loved my time here on this random piece of land we call CovCov. I fell in love. I did, unabashedly so. I fell in love with knowledge. I fell in love with the strangest theories, with the weirdest disciplines, with the most rigorous professors. Covenant, I encourage you to do the same. I have experienced the craziest sense of fulfillment. I know, it’s weird. But trust me, it is oh so worth it. So much so that I don’t regret the times (and they were many) when I chose my love for academics over my love for the more conventionally fun aspects of life. My only regret is sleeping.
Yup. Sleeping. I know Kapic has his whole spiel about how “we’re humans, we have limits, we need rest, we need sleep.” Whatever. Forget that! Looking back at my four years, my biggest regret is sleeping as much as I did. I wish I could go back and push through, drink more coffee, and sleep less. I wish I could go back, enjoy my friends more, and study more. The time that the Lord has given us here, on this mountain and in this earth, is too little and too precious. So brothers and sisters, strive for more. Stop at nothing. Go big, don’t go home. Be the greatest. Join me in my sadistic and elaborate pursuit to prove Dr. Green wrong. Make a difference. Oh, and don’t forget to irrationally love the people around you!
Fear not, I’m no idiot. I know that there are deep theological problems with my theology of sleep. But I think it’s better to err on the side of striving than on the side of sliding (as in letting life slide… sorry it rhymed so I went with it). Please also realize this, I would never challenge you to do something that I wouldn’t do myself. Just ask Jay Finlayson, he’ll tell ya.
Lastly, I’ve got another confession, my friend. I’m no fool.