O Little Town of Hope-lehem

Places don't really change. People change. And thank God they do, because otherwise we'd be going to Hope Christmas parties for the rest of our lives.

We stand there, the three or four of us who don't belong. A couple of us make feeble attempts at fitting in, but our hearts are clearly not invested. Deep down, we know it's true: this is what it feels like to be an intruder with stolen queso and other people's ornaments.

What's happened? The dorms are still made of cinder block. The residents, though looking considerably younger than they did in our day, are essentially the same people that have always been here. Priscilla Schubert remains Priscilla Schubert. Dr. Edgingtion tries just as hard as every Christmas to appear "loosened up". The food is equally yummy and the music is equally sucky.

I'll tell you what's happened. Somewhere along the way, some time since we last wore carefully modest pajamas to devos, College Squeezed us Out its Butt, and now we're left Floating in the Toilet Water of Life-After-College's-Butt.

We think it feels great. We think we're glad to be finally free. We think we couldn't stand to stay here another ten minutes. And we look at each other and wonder aloud, "Where has everyone gone?"

The faces that used to make this place home, the security living within these oddly-angled walls, the familiar scent of familiar conversation with familiar classmates... it's all over, as though it'd never happened. The book has closed on our lively little chapter, as though we'd never written it. It's strange not to know this as home, and sad to miss what it felt like to fit in.

On the other hand, how many more crappy ornaments did we really want to make, anyway?