Ye, Though I Walk

From the moment I heard the news, every motion I've made, thought I've had, or action I've done has seemed altogether delayed and dissociated. It's the all-to-familiar fog that accompanies tragedy.

There was a death on campus late last night/early this morning. A young girl, around my age, was having trouble breathing; it was on the way to the hospital that she passed away. The doctor's were unsuccessful reviving her. It's a heavy reality that's still only in the stage of acknowledgement for me: I can't imagine not seeing this girl around campus as I walk from class to class.

Although I didn't know the girl personally, I've had classes with her and am profoundly affected by her death. All the cliche's I've heard about life/death, such as "none of us is guaranteed another day," are made new again as I consider the paradox of human significance/insignificance. We are loved by the Almighty God, and set apart for specific good works (eph. 2:10), yet we are frail and our individual lives are barely a blip on humanity's radar (psalm 39:4 and pretty much the entire book of ecclesiastes). At least for me, I know I'm not worth the amount of time I spend on myself, at least not for the reasons I use to justify it.

I know that this tragedy is going to affect the whole of the student body here at Bryan, as well as the faculty and staff. I ask for you to take a moment out of your busy day and share in another paradox with us: grief, yet hope (1 Thes. 4:13-14).