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Reunion Reverie
by Camerin Courtney
October 11, 2005
I hadn't thought it through. This fact was obvious as I reached for the door of the student center at my alma matter and felt a sudden urge to flee. Get my spouse-free, child-free self outta there before anyone I recognized had a chance to ask me, "So what have you been up to since graduation?" (read: What do you have to show for yourself?)
Instead of all this, I'd simply seen the chance for a road trip with my old roommate, Karen. When she'd called me a couple weeks prior to say she'd heard about a casual, multi-year get-together of the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship group we belonged to in college, I pictured us together in her Dodge Stratus like in the "old days": talking about everything and nothing, singing along to an eclectic assortment of soundtracks, and answering her trademark random questions, such as "If you could eat only one meal every day for the rest of your life, what would it be?"
Hands-down the highlight of our six-hour trek through Illinois and Iowa farmlands was our dinner stop at a Village Inn, where we were seated next to a table of 12 elderly women decked out in black shirts and pants and matching purple sequin vests. Our waiter recognized them as a local singing sensation, and we loved watching these spunky chicks chat and giggle and well, just sparkle.
We climbed back in the car in the gathering darkness, and as we continued our journey to Des Moines, Iowa—home of the Drake Bulldogs, woo!—I was struck by the dazzling display of stars in the cloudless sky. I'd forgotten how many, how bright, how vast they are. My face pressed against the passenger-side window, I wondered if it had really been that long since I'd been away from the light-pollution of civilization and felt this accurately small and inconsequential.
The next day as we made our way toward campus, I mentally swatted away the annoying questions buzzing through my brain: Would my old college boyfriend, the first love of my life, be there? Would he, and everyone else have spouses and kids in tow? I was suddenly struck by the very material nature of wedding rings, husbands, kids, minivans. With these visible objects around, it was easy for others to see what you'd been up to. It's not like I could bring some tangible proof that I had a good job or meaningful volunteer work. Perhaps a T-shirt that reads: Has decent job and quaint home.
I'd never been to a reunion-type event before, had never even been tempted to attend. Not necessarily because I'm "still single" and feel like I have anything to hide. Really, for the most part, I like the life God has given me—with its privileges, blessings, and, yes, challenges. My reunion avoidance has been more about not feeling the need to go out of my way to hang out with a bunch of people I may or may not have known in school, and about not wanting to feel like the odd one out if everyone else has become mondo-accomplished, married, and maternal.
Despite these irrational fears, we forged ahead, and found ourselves in the lobby staring at a face we hadn't seen in a decade. Nicky! We hugged and played quick catch up, then her husband meandered around the corner. As did two more familiar faces, my roommate from my junior and senior years among them. We continued the catch up and trip down memory lane as we wandered the campus on a quick tour, stopping occasionally by some new ostentatious artwork donated by an alum with great wealth and little practicality.
Seeing these long-ago sites, I thought of the person I was when these buildings and sidewalks were home. When life was dominated by too many papers, my job at the campus library, and being a non-drinking, non-sleeping-around freak on a secular campus. If I could pass me on campus somehow, what advice would I give to long-ago me? What warnings about the vast single years to come, instructions about what's really worth sweating about and all the countless things that aren't, what encouragement about the coming joys I couldn't even picture then?
We were finally deposited at the InterVarsity meeting, where we found a few more familiar faces, updates on the current chapter, and the expected plea for money. There was prayer, apple pie, and coffee—hallmarks of any great ministry meeting—and then mingling. I saw several pictures of adorable children, most belonging to people younger than me. I heard of updates on so-and-so and what's-his-name-with-the-crazy-hair, most in the form of "yeah, I heard she got married a couple years ago." Finally, Nicky and Suzanne, two of the most familiar long-ago faces, joined Karen and me at a local coffee shop for more in-depth catching up.
Over mochas and biscotti, Suzanne and Nicky told us about their husbands, kids, and ministry pursuits. Suzanne works at her local church, where God has started an amazing new work among the women of her congregation. Nicky and her husband are off to the mission field next spring. Karen talked of her recent two-year teaching stint in Mongolia and her hopes to get back to overseas ministry.
At one point Suzanne turned to me and asked about my "fabulous single life" with a slight twinge of envy in her voice. I filled her in on the column and books, speaking and travel. Not bragging, just updating. Even on the tough parts of this singleness gig. But in hearing myself, I realized afresh how good I have it.
Sitting in the presence of these dear old friends and hearing of the unique paths God has us each on, I felt like part of a sacred sisterhood—not because of any cast of characters in our lives, but because of God's fingerprints on our journeys.
And from this vantage point, I realized I would tell long-ago me that an awesome adventure awaits, even though it will look nothing like I expect. But then, that's true for most people. The friend we'd all assumed would be a bulldog of a reporter is now a stay-at-home mom of two boys, much to her own surprise. Another friend, who married her college sweetheart and is knee-deep in the soccer-mom years, seems exhausted and like she's holding onto her marriage with holy obedience and sheer force of will.
But the constant of these brothers and sisters in Christ—with whom I prayed nightly in my tiny dorm room, arose before the sun at our annual Come As You Are Breakfast, sang worship songs with silly arm motions, studied God's Word in between term papers, and wrestled the big questions about life and love, career and calling—was his presence and good purposes in their lives. It was most exciting during our gathering to see what God had birthed in our kooky little campus fellowship: faithful moms and missionaries, church leaders and prayer warriors, authors and teachers, spouses and single folk. All trying our best to reflect the God we learned about and loved together during those foundational years, each in our unique, if sometimes surprising, journey through life.
It hit me afresh that it's only with my face turned to him that I'll have anything to show for this life and, like those spunky vested gals and those countless stars draped over the Midwest sky, that I'll really be able to shine. And that the best thing I can ever hope to hear at a reunion is "well done, good and faithful servant."
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