You know you're an introvert when you nearly cry one night because you feel like you have too many friends--and too many parties of people want to schedule a fall foliage roadtrip with you.
All week, there has been rain. That may be the only consistent thing about it.
Monday night, before the rain started, I went running with a friend. 3 miles, longer than I've run in a good while, and I felt invincible.
Then, a sore throat Tuesday morning. Subdued atmosphere at the Divinity School, due to rain. Something feels off in the community. But at least my class downtown, in the undergrad American Studies department is wonderful and life-giving!
Wednesday, another life-giving class at Yale Law School, followed by lunch with our artist-in-residence, a playwright. Afternoon finds me sipping sherry at the Institute of Sacred Music's weekly colloquium. What a collegial atmosphere of musicians, artists, literary-types, and scholars! We have a house dinner in the evening, and it's less awkward than our first--we're warming up to one another now. Although, I go to bed that night wondering if I'm starting to become a bit like a Tiger mom in the house, what with reminding my younger house-sister and brothers to do their chores and pay me back for the cleaning supplies I purchase.
Thursday is a roller coaster. Sitting in class in the morning, there is this ache in my heart. It won't go away, so I decide to. I leave school and head home to give myself a minute in solitude. When I finally return to campus, I run into two of my dearest friends. We talk in the hallway. We go into the chapel to pray. More talking, more of the Spirit flows through our communion as we meet more people and continue to talk. Then, I go to a class on Contemporary Christian Spirituality, whose topic is of utmost interest but whose instructor and class format drains the life out of me. I can't wait to go to my church home group at night. When I finally make it over there, there is food, fellowship, deep sharing, and listening prayer.
Friday, and I've slept 10 hours as I continue fighting off this cold that has been encroaching upon me all week. I have lunch at a local church, which I do not attend but where I feel very much at home. I get some work done--first inside my car while it rains outside, and then in a coffee shop. I come home for dinner. I attend an evening event, held inside our chapel--one of the leaders of the Black Lives Matter movement has come to Yale Divinity School, and the students who have shown up--as well as members of the community--are ready to talk about and not around the issue of race. The energy is so incredibly positive; it lacks the cynicism and bitterness that I have often felt at YDS. There is new wine ready to be poured out into our community, and the new wineskin is being stretched and formed.
We hang out for the reception until late. I don't feel drained. I feel energized by the people who are here. My pastor and his wife have also come--he is a YDS alum. There is spontaneous singing and dancing as one man plays the piano and leads us in call-and-response lines. There is a lot of laughing. And hugs all around. This is what community is. This is what it means to be a people.
The rain continues to pour as I head home, but I'm unfazed. Something has broken through tonight. All the oppressive humidity and cloudiness is behind us. The rain is coming down, and new life is going to spring up. YDS, get ready. Change is coming, and we're all going to be a part of it!
