Freshman year

"So, sweetie, how was your first year of high school?" my grandmother asks before she hangs up the phone.

Fun. Tiring. Busy. Long. A thousand responses crowd my mind to result in a non-descript answer.

"Good."

It's true, but can one word contain a year of experience? I switched to a different school system. I spent five days a week in classes with people I had never met before last fall. I stayed up far too late far too many nights by the end. I learned to leave the house before 8:00 every morning. How can I answer a question like that in ten seconds?

I don't know if I can accurately recount the whole last year, but I'm going to try to make this a snapshot.

Last fall, I started out knowing only about five people out of all my seven classes, and those were only vague acquaintances. For the first couple of weeks, I memorized the people I knew in the halls during each passing period in the hallways and searched for those faces each time the bell rang. At lunch I sat with some of the sophomore girls from dance and church; that was a huge blessing to me, and I enjoyed the break from all the confusion.

In my classes, I slowly began to meet people. That took time and effort and initiative, but I'm so glad that I did. I am grateful to each person who took the time to talk to me. Even the girls from school who came to know me and my adapting quirks the best more than likely don't know just how much of what I did the first couple months was a floundering effort to figure out what on earth I was supposed to be doing. That said, the floundering kept my head above the water, and even the first confusing weeks went pretty well. By Christmas break, I felt happy and relieved to consider some of the kids in my classes friends, not just classmates.

The school part was fine. I got my favorite grade when I barely managed to scrape out a 90 six-weeks average in Geometry with the last test of the fifth six weeks. Scantron tests quickly became annoying. Overall, I had a great relationship with all my teachers. I know it might not be that way every year, so I consider that another big blessing from my first year.

Entering public school, I was unprepared for the number of people who openly and flippantly declare themselves Christians. Honestly, it shocked me. I got so tired of watch people calling themselves Christians and seconds later turn to their neighbor and make fun of the teacher or joke about the person next to them having AIDS. I hate this declaration of religion - of Christianity - announced in the same way one might declare himself an environmentalist. I don't want to believe in a religion; I want to trust in a living and powerful reality.

Even as I write the paragraph above, though, I know I have no right to condemn others for this because I fall into the same hypocrisy. Goodness only knows how many times I snapped too harshly, I let my tongue run away, I didn't do what I needed to; how many opportunities I missed to reach out to the girl sitting alone at lunch, the kid getting bullied; and how all too frequently my excuse became, "I'm tired." I wince at the thought that to someone, those times might form their impression of the body of Christ.

Talking to one invaluable friend last summer, I asked her to remind me throughout the year that God is still God, no matter where we are in life. I doubt she remembers the conversation, but every word, every hug, and every smile spoke this clearly to me. I can't picture the year without friends from dance and church who helped me each day. These girls faithfully talked to me, checked on me, taught me how to open my locker, laughed with me, and prayed for me; they held me when I cried. They showed Christ's love and gentle compassion to me. If any of you are reading this, thank you.

Did I make mistakes? Of course. Are there things I would do differently if I could? Certainly. But was it a good year? Absolutely.