I was one of the five drivers, but it took the collaborative effort of myself and my four passengers to reach our destination on Friday night. The map was adequate… to a point… but what we all forgot was that the original directions were to follow the signs to the Inn once we reached the park. This resulted in five cars careening in all directions, swinging out around sudden, sharp curves, breaking out of the convoy to explore possible routes to the conference. With no cell phone coverage, this proved to be a worrisome task. But somehow we all managed to reach the Inn at about the same time, approximately ten minutes before the opening meeting began. How, we’ll never quite know.
Once the large group adjourned, we received our room keys and dispersed to unload our cars, with the purpose of reconvening twenty minutes later for a short discussion and prayer time. That was all well and good, except for a certain blogger being too weary to contribute very much. But I didn’t have too long to wait; the conference directors asked that we at least be in our rooms by midnight, which we were, and even though I was rooming with three wonderfully perky freshmen who haven’t yet aged to the point of yearning for a ten-o’clock bedtime, the lights went out promptly at one in the a.m.
I had forgotten just how dark it gets in the middle of nowhere.
My eyes were open, and I could see… nothing. I closed them, opened them again, and Darkness still held sway over my sight. I heard M. get up and grope her way toward her duffel bag, but discovered I couldn’t even distinguish her outline against the wall. However, this wasn’t one of those oppressive bouts of lightlessness which threaten me with a covey of horrific phantasms. This… this was rest. This was a light blanket of the softest texture sent to soothe my mind and comfort my body. There was no hum of a sleeping laptop computer, no hint of fluorescent lights stealing in through the crack under the door, and no amount of careful listening could conjure up a police car’s siren. Simply silence and darkness. When I yawned one last deep time, I must have swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of this darkness, for I don’t remember anything else until my watch alarm quietly nudged me back to alertness at seven-thirty.
Saturday was a pleasant mixture of seminars and sunshine. After shivering my way through a lukecold shower, drying my hair, and layering up, I grabbed a tasty breakfast and sat in one of the many crowded nooks in the conference center with the other students from my group to enjoy it. The conversation centered around which topics each of us wished to pursue. Careful choices must be made, since there would be nine or ten different talks being given over the course of two one-hour sessions. One wanted missions; another, the reliability of the Bible. Anna went off to Heaven (the seminar, not the place, silly), and I found myself steering toward Pop Culture. I won’t go into detail here to conserve space, but those interested can read the outline here. The halls were far too crowded to make an attempt at searching out the second-hour sessions, so L. and I remained in our seats, which proved to be a wise decision since the discussion on Sanctification was to be held there.
Immediately following these seminars was a catfish-and-hushpuppies lunch and a few hours of free time. Our group, like many of the others, chose to spend a couple of those hours hiking the short trails in the area and seeing the falls. What a gorgeous day for it! Although snow was in the forecast, the early afternoon was warm and sunny with a perfectly clear blue sky. The views were spectacular, the heights breathtaking, and the precipices (which we avoided as per instruction) terrifyingly alluring. Many conversations were held among the trees and rocks; often, I would participate in two at once–one before and one behind me–which led to hilarious confusion. I was reminded of the effects of sweet laughter and sunshine upon eighteen-to-twenty-somethings, and not for the last time that day.
Once we had come to the overlook at the waterfalls and taken in more than our fill of the grand scenery, we noticed a band of clouds approaching with a brisk wind and chose to begin the trek back to our vehicles. We were scooted along, almost as if the woods were saying, “Hurry up now and get inside; you can’t see your surprise until you do.” And so it was that we came back to the Inn and relaxed until suppertime.
Large group went by fairly well. These bigger sessions were led by Bob Flayhart, the senior pastor at Oak Mountain Presbyterian Church (his blog can be found here). He’s quite an energetic fellow who made some very pertinent points and presented some very helpful illustrations. But once again, you’ll have to follow my link to an outline; this post is quite long enough without it. Small groups went quite swimmingly, and when we were finished, we went out the door into a breezy curtain all aswirl with spots of wet lace. It was a welcome sight for all; many of us could count the time in years since the last snowfall we saw. And, like sunshine, the snow turned this group of college-aged adults into children again. Giddily we ran to the parking lot and hurled hastily-formed slush balls at one another, caring little that our bare hands were burning from the cold and that our clothing was getting soaked. This must have lasted an hour or so; at any rate, eventually the unanimous consensus was to call a truce and go inside to thaw out for the night. In the morning we awoke to find the dazzling carpet, trampled out the previous night, restored to its original white splendor. It was with much regret we left this frosted wonderland on Sunday morning to descend back into our bleak gray world, but we still carried within us the happy thought that, at least for a few hours, we were bedecked with the same glistening jewels that adorned the serene surrounding forest.
