Late nights with hours wasted and nothing accomplished. Sometimes you just have to give up on accomplishing anything productive and go to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be a more productive day. Then again, maybe not.

It’s 3 am. Aren’t you supposed to be in bed? Orion rises and only the forgotten lights are still on. The sparkle is still in my eye.

I’m OK. I’m all right. Everything’s gonna be just fine. I don’t really grasp what you’re talking about, but that’s okay. I’m having trouble understanding just what you want from me, but I’m not worried. You say this and expect that and I’m just left scratching my head. Afraid to think and afraid to act. But it’s OK. It’ll be all right. I’ll just keep telling myself that.

Sometimes days go by and I just have to wonder if it really happened. You strain to keep your eyeballs open in one class, you watch the seconds slowly tick by in another, and another class is just a fun mental exercise–an intellectual island in the middle of an otherwise checked out day. It’s one of those days where you need to take a nap before noon. One of those days where your burger sits cold at lunch as you try to cram in the reading for the afternoon class. One of those days where the evening blurred by and before you know it your other commitments crowd in and you haven’t accomplished a thing. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing, I just have to wonder where my day went. And as I wonder where it went, I realize where my day never went. My Bible still sits on the shelf, a day’s worth of dust collected on the cover. Is 11:55 PM too late?

So our little war didn’t turning out to be anything. Kind of a ‘wag the dog.’ Oh well, we had our fun with it. It really makes me think though. Some people are just party poopers. They read a fabricated article about dorm wars, and just kind of shake their heads, not devoting enough brain power to it to understand just what’s going on–and see just how ludicrous it is. Sometimes in the midst of homework, projects, tests and stress, you need a little bit of the ridiculous. It’s too bad some people are too cool to recognize that and have some fun.

War is a curious thing. This week is homecoming week at my college, and last night things got a little carried away. One thing lead to another, and the seven guys I live with declared war on an entire dorm. It’s one of those college wars, full of taunts and provocation, but little action. And being upperclassmen, we’re trying to keep it from turning into a juvenile prank war. We attacked first last night by leaving the dorm a package of Twizzlers, cleverly titled “Black Twizzlers of Death.” Stupid? Yeah. But it’s a war of love. The real kicker will be when they try and split up a package of thirty or so twizzlers between a dorm of 150. We’re just trying to have a little fun. Now the wait begins to see if they turn the tables on us and make our lives slightly “inconvenient.” Or it could just be all talk. I guess we’ll see. A psychologist would love to be studying us right now. Oh the things you do for fun. Who knew what college would really be like.

You’re supposed to labor on Labor Day, right?

Whoops.

Terror grips his heart. You might not know it from a casual glance, but he’s terrified. You can tell by watching his face. His eyes are puddles of fear, his voice wavers, and he can hardly sit still. He hardly ever speaks, and when he does it’s quiet, nervous, and unsure. The joy of being a college freshman.

Certainly not everyone undergoes this kind of anxiety. But some do. The transition to college can be quite a shock for some. Totally new everything, new home, new friends, new school, new teachers, new part of the country. It can be pretty overwhelming when you don’t see a single familiar face in the crowd of hundreds.

But I know how this kid feels. It was the first week of class, and he still wasn’t settled in yet. He still doesn’t feel comfortable. I know how he feels, because two years ago that was me. As class was dismissed and I headed out into the hall, nodding to several friends as they trickled by, I slowed my pace and let the freshman fall in next to me. He had been in my group, so I knew his name. I started some conversation, and I actually could see the vice of terror loosen, and I could hear his voice in a normal tone. It was only a few sentences of conversation–not even anything deep–but it brightened his day. Sometimes it only takes a few well-placed words to chase away the drudgery.

With the sun glaring down, and the weight pulling down, I trudged on. Alone. Hundreds of strangers passed by, but not one knew my pain. Not one offered to help. When the weariness sets in and your head feels light, when you can feel your body sway and you reach for something to steady yourself–there’s no worse feeling than being alone and away from home. There’s no one to take care of you, no one to hold your hand. When you double over in pain or rest your sweating cheek against the vinyl seat, trying in vain to melt away from the anguish–nothing would bring relief more than a friendly hand on your shoulder. The panic and terror seizes you, the bags drop to the ground in scattered disarray, and somehow adrenaline carries you through. Your hand shakes, your body aches–and reality is vain disillusionment.

The day of reckoning is upon us. We will all answer for the decisions we have made, for the choices, for the actions, for the paths we have chosen. You will have to answer. I will have to answer. Will your answer hold up? Or will you look back in shame and embarrassment? People are counting on you, people are relying on you. Will your tender hand lead them astray? Will you ignore the protests, the murmuring in the night? Will you ignore the crying of the children as you disband their growing power? As you cover their light what answer can you give? I can only pray for mercy for the things we have done.

He sat there talking to himself. Hadn’t shaved in weeks, a dirty cap on his head, and his sneakers. They truly lived up to the word. His grimy toes poking out his sweaty socks poking out his dilapidated shoes. Those shoes. I watch him stamp out a cigarette under those shoes, and I see his toes wriggle as he does so. After seeing such a sight, how can I buy myself a brand new fifth pair of shoes? It just doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t make any sense.

The door swings open, and you step outside with a heaping laundry basket in your arms. As you struggle down the steps, your eyes happen to glance up to the sky–and for a moment, a single solitary moment you forget the headaches and hassles and see the beauty. An airy blanket of wispy clouds covers a small section of the bright blue sky. Sometimes we’re just too busy too notice.