I watched Ben-Hur today. I cried so hard. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! I love you more now Jesus.
I also worked a little in the summer theater box office, getting it ready, etc. Church was nice tonight. Hannah has become a wonderful little friend. She is 11-years-old now, the age Veronica used to be. Oh, how young I must have been when I was 16.
We went out to eat after the service and I tried to pay for my meal, but Sharon wouldn’t have it. That family has taken such good care of me these page three years.
It’s hard to know what to write these days. Vince and Allen and I are the only ones on campus. We have this whole place to ourselves it feels. Dan will arrive in a little over a month. Curtis may never return.
Charlie and Kate are still together and seem to be doing well.
I have been at Heaton long enough to watch people grow up and grow older. And people there say that I am still getting taller.
Josh is in pain from his surgery and frequent doctor visits. How I wish I could comfort him.
The view outside my window is not the same. I now have six windows instead of one. Three closets instead of one. Two sofas and a chair instead of zero. My own bathroom where my toothbrush is now kept, instead of in my closet. I have keys that will let me into every room on campus. I have been given power and responsibility. It doesn’t feel like I’ve changed, but I know I’m not the same person I was when I first began keeping this journal.
There are no girls here to think about. If I do think of one, it is Jessica, out in Colorado. What a wonderful friend!
I need to shave. My wisdom teeth don’t hurt as much. Of course, they aren’t there anymore, but you know what I mean. My teddy bear is still with me. I didn’t get to see Jenna over the break, but I did see Emily oddly enough.
It’s funny how moments grow in value, the older and rarer they become.
I wonder who is thinking of me tonight. Jessica has a new window to stare out of, new mountains all around her, but I simply moved to the other side of campus.
Eleven months and one week now.
We’re just measuring the first part of eternity. Like one yard stick compared to the entire globe and beyond. Similar to my holiness when compared to God’s holiness. I hate to leave this place, but I know I must. I need to go out and create new things. To challenge. To change. To set free. To teach others how to fly.
If I try to stay here in this perfect place, I know God will put sharp objects in the nest, painfully forcing me out.
What can be beyond here?
I’ll soon have new names to write in these pages. New faces. New stories who will join in with mine. New paths. Perhaps other red lights. Perhaps…Her.
Prepare me God.
Prepare the place where I will land. I give my life to the work of your hands. Mold me. Shape me. Make me.
Thirty minutes until the 29th of May.
Nine years until I’m 29.
Seven minutes have passed since I lifted my pen from the number nine.
I can’t seem to think of an exit line.