Sawdust and Diamonds

I always said I would do it. So now that I am, I can't help but think about all of the people who have tried to get me to join them on this venture over the past three years, and I have to laugh as I recall the array of responses and excuses I have given out. This time I have decided myself to do it. So when I stop panting, and sit down facing away from the mountain, I know why I have felt it a necessary ritual to perform the night before graduation. Before me is all of the valley, from campus onward, stretching, expansive in all directions. For a few minutes, not a word is spoken between me and my dear friend. She has been more than willing to help me to see, just once, what she has seen so many times herself--this view.

It is Thursday, August 12, 2010 sometime in the evening just before sunset. Tomorrow is the day I have been waiting for since I first began my University experience. At times I have looked forward to it with bright anticipation, at other times with a nostalgia that has left an incurable ache. Whatever the emotions have been before, they are all replaced in this moment with a serene gratitude, and a sense of awe for all things bigger than myself.

Sitting with my back toward the mountain, I take a moment to look behind me. The future is still rocky, unknown, untrod, exhilarating and wondrous. The past is my ally in this moment, my companion to tread into that future and make of it what will come. So I remember, and try not to feel guilty for it. Just for a few moments, I will let myself live in the past, while the sun slips out on the day as it has for eons, and then I will move forward.

I see a girl of seventeen, wide eyed and terrified, stepping out of a car, mumbling "pray for me" to her concerned father, and starting up a hill to some unknown destination. I see that same girl, gaining in confidence, walking up that same hill a thousand times over. Snow, rain, shine, sleet, hail, with or without a coat, an umbrella, a backpack, books, bags and boots. Walking up with a thousand worries, and down again with a million others. A never-ending cycle of problems and solutions. Then I see her stop to talk with a friend, someone she met in a class, and has not seen in some time. I see a stranger wave and say hello, a ward member asking "is there anything I can do for you?" and a best friend with an unexpected hug. The people on this hill make a difference every day, as only people can. 30,000 other people with similar hopes and struggles, working toward the same goals under the influence of hope and faith, rather than the influence of last night's questionable activities.

I see that same girl walking into classroom after classroom, one lecture hall after another, struggling to make sense of each lecture, of each course, and of the relevance of the information to the outside world. I see a myriad of professors: Biology, Human Development, Political Science, Spanish, Film, Humanities, Physical Sciences, Philosophy, Religion and others, bearing sincere testimonies of God, teaching of moral responsibility to others, to country, to the world around us. I see groups of students singing sacred hymns, sharing personal insights and experiences, as well as lecture notes, study guides, and a listening ear.

Then I see her walking through the front door of an apartment and sitting down to a meal made by a roommate and best friend who greets her with an enthusiastic "How was your day?". There are many roommates, in fact. They vary from year to year, but always the feeling is the same: interest, understanding, care and concern. They write notes of encouragement, laugh often, clean kitchens, give massages, talk late into the night when needed and then get up and do it all again the next day. They do not do these things because they have time. They do them because they make time.

Then she is on campus again, up the hill, past the people. She walks to the Marriott center on a Tuesday morning and hears inspired counsel from a prophet of the Lord; the next week, enlightening and knowledgeable words from a dean or professor. There are concerts and lectures--celebrations of culture, languages, and peoples. I see groups of peers performing at random intervals on campus, the epic "Quill and the Sword" club with their capes. There are art exhibits, service rallies, and quiet nighttime walks with no one else around, the day's tasks complete, and plenty of time to walk, think, and puddle jump.

Was it all this way? No. For every precious diamond that exists on the earth, there are handfuls of sawdust to match. There are professors who do not listen, there are department chairs who demand unfair grading procedures. There are people on campus who give judging glances, and whisper to those around them. There are ward members who will do anything to get ahead socially. But when all is said and done, I can do without the sawdust. The overall flavor is triumph, and the overall message is hope and a quiet understanding with which to move about life.
"And now it came to pass that all this was done in Mormon, yea, by the waters of Mormon, in the forest that was near the waters of Mormon; yea, the place of Mormon, the waters of Mormon, the forest of Mormon, how beautiful are they to the eyes of them who there came to the knowledge of their Redeemer; yea, and how blessed are they, for they shall sing to his praise forever." -Mosiah 18:30

The girl walking up the hill that first day is not the one who sits on the mountainside now. She knows too much to be the same girl. So forgive her if she takes it personally when she hears people speak negatively about this place. They cannot possibly know, who have not seen what I now see, looking back toward the valley in the last moments before the sun falls into nothingness. Then it is gone, and I smile, stand up, and turn around. For "I have promises to keep/And miles to go before I sleep/And miles to go before I sleep."