Читать книгу Thirst - Heather Anderson - Страница 18

I stood in the doorway of my advisor’s office. Being back at school in the temperate, green Midwest was a shock after months in the Arizona desert. Dr. Shively was seated at his desk, flipping through what I presumed was the paperwork from my internship. I slipped into his office through the open door.

“Hi.”

“Oh, Heather, hello. Right on time. Please sit down.”

I sank into the leather chair and pulled my folder out of my backpack. I flipped it open and poised a pen over a blank page to take notes. Three internship credits and my ability to graduate in three years, rather than four, hung on his approval of my summer experience.

“I’ve read through everything you submitted. Very interesting choice for a ministry internship. Most students choose churches. Working as a volunteer with A Christian Ministry in the National Parks and holding down a full-time job takes a lot of dedication. How did it go for you overall?”

“It was . . . eye opening. Difficult. I worked forty hours a week and participated in all of the worship as well as the group events. And I took up hiking with my spare time.”

“Not much of that, I suppose.” Dr. Shively smiled.

“No, not really. I didn’t sleep much actually.”

That was an understatement. I cringed inwardly, thinking of the last worship ceremony of the summer, which I’d led. The night before I’d agreed to hike with a friend from rim to river and back, after we got off work at 6 p.m. I’d known it was a bad idea since she was not a hiker, but she was desperate to do it before her summer job ended—and I was always up for an adventure. We’d crawled into our beds at 5 a.m. Three hours later, unshowered and with my shirt on backward, I was standing in front of the crowd gathered for worship on the canyon rim.

“I see. Well, I know your focus has been missions. How did this internship shape your perception of mission work and your interest in that branch of ministry?”

There it was. The million-dollar question I had skirted in my essay. I had hoped I wouldn’t get asked so bluntly. Dr. Shively was an ordained minister, my advisor, and a brilliant professor of religion. I was his A student, Greek scholar and tutor, and questioner of conservative interpretations of social and environmental issues in the New Testament. Now I was about to dash his ecumenical hopes for me.

“Well, you see, I, uh, experienced God . . . differently than before. In the canyon itself.”

His brow wrinkled ever so slightly. I looked him in the eye.

“You see, I’ve decided that I don’t want to go into the ministry after all. I want to be a vagabond.”

To his credit, Dr. Shively looked confused, but he didn’t immediately react—at least not outwardly. Finally, after pausing for several moments, he set the papers on his desk and folded his hands.

“A vagabond. So, tell me more about what you mean by that—and how you came to decide that during your internship.”

“Well, I went hiking. And we did these services on the rim of the Grand Canyon. And my friends and I drove to Utah to see Zion and Bryce Canyon. All these incredible places touched my spirit in a way I’ve never felt before. I did some really difficult hikes. I ran out of water when it was really hot. My shoes fell apart and I hiked across the canyon barefoot. I prayed all of those times and for the first time I really felt like someone was listening. I stopped feeling God inside the church. Or with other people. Or really anywhere except when I was out hiking or moving through a landscape. It was like seeing God with my very own eyes instead of closing them and imagining him. I felt like Eve must have when she first opened her eyes and saw the beauty of the garden.”

I gushed, in what I hoped was an articulate manner, all the thoughts that had bounced around in my head ever since my first hike into the Grand Canyon. “I realized that I don’t feel comfortable telling people to believe what I believe the way I believe it. I don’t want to tell people to worship as I do. I realized that what I enjoy about mission work is that I am tangibly helping people. And I still want to do that. But for me, I don’t know if I can go back to sitting in a pew. After graduation I’ve decided to hike the Appalachian Trail. I can’t imagine anything better than being immersed in nature for months on end. I don’t know how or where I’ll end up from there, but it doesn’t matter. I’d be happy living in my car and hiking for the rest of my life. The way I feel out there is whole and complete. For once, I found a place where I actually belong and everything feels right. It’s all I’ve ever wanted from life.”

His eyebrows arched higher and higher as I talked, until I was certain they’d fold in half. When I finally paused to catch my breath, he lowered them and nodded.

“The natural world is a very powerful representation of God. Just don’t confuse the two.”

I nodded. I hadn’t spoken my thoughts to anyone else and I felt a heady lightness inside my chest as though I’d released something very heavy into space. He picked up my file and closed the folder.

“I think this internship was very powerful for you. Whatever calling you accept I am certain that God is guiding it. I’ll be sure to get the forms sent in so that you can receive full credit.”

“Thank you, Dr. Shively.”

“You’re most welcome. I hope this doesn’t mean you won’t be tutoring my Greek students this year?”

“Oh, of course I will.”

He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

I walked out of his office almost giddy. Dr. Shively hadn’t rejected the honest outpouring of my inner thoughts. I felt a measure of acceptance that I had never felt before. For the first time, someone seemed to accept my alternative way of feeling, believing, and acting. It was OK to be me.