Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.--Romans 12:12
Shortly before 10 a.m. on Saturday, May 21, the sun burst out of the clouds, blessing the courage of a risky decision by Gordon College's leadership to host their graduation ceremonies outdoors. Given the nearly unbelievable stretch of sunless, rain-swept days of the prior month, it seemed incredibly brave. But indoor graduations severely restrict who may attend, and this was to be a celebration unfettered by those restraints.
Amid the attendees, a mix of Christians and non-Christians making up the family and friends of graduates, one could hear scattered references to the news accounts of a man predicting this day would be the beginning of the end of the world. Most laughed it off or poked fun at it, while others merely reminded each other of Scripture's promise that "no man knows the hour or the day." Still, more than a few of those chatting about it had the marked nervousness that accompanied the "what if it's true" thread running through many (if not most) heads.
So there we sat beneath persistent clouds, umbrellas at the ready, snapping photos, clasping hands and cheering the next generation of workers setting off to tend God's creation. By the time the sun made its' appearance, our focus had shifted from thoughts of rain and end-times; now we were focused on the graduate we were there to celebrate. Still, the sun's unplanned (and un-forecasted) appearance added to the backdrop of joy, making a bright moment brighter as the ceremonies continued.
Waiting and listening as the speakers added their thoughts to our own, my mind drifted back to a time early in my own marriage when it seemed likely children weren't possible. Eight years of emotional roller-coaster rides ended, however, when just before Christmas in 1988 we learned we were expecting. Sitting at graduation, my mind played the same slide show other parents were playing at the time. Mine recalled quiet nights rocking Kathryn to sleep to the sound of Moody Broadcasting Network's "Music Through the Night"; side by side planting flowers with her at age 4; coaching kickball, and watching as she learned to ride horses or do synchronized swimming routines. It still doesn't seem possible the young woman in the cap and gown was the same little girl in the slide show.
Like the long line of cloudy days, Kathryn's recent days included sunless struggles amidst her more joyful acts of juggling school and teaching assignments. Readers watching this column know it's been missing for months; and the health struggles that prevented me from writing reached their lowest point at precisely the months Kathryn most needed not to have to worry about her father. Still, she clung tenaciously to the rock-solid faith in Christ she's nurtured for years, and the rock-solid mother and brother who shared the days and nights of worry, tears and toil.
So when the sun appeared this past Saturday, it shone on a stronger, healthier me, able at last to joke and cajole and celebrate; able at last to return to the work I've missed so much and longed to do again...writing of the hope we find in Christ.
With this admittedly personal column, I mark my return to the labors God grants me, and welcome the chance to write to and hear from each of you, blessed now by the knowledge that Jesus is the same in the darkest days of pain and struggle as he is these brighter days of celebration and joy.
All these thoughts rumbled through my brain as I watched the little girl of long ago-and the woman of faith and strength today-merge into that buoyant bundle of energy bouncing across the stage as her department head read: "Kathryn Kilgore, magna cum laude...".
Congratulations, Kathryn. What a day; what a girl; what a God.
--Randy Kilgore
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