Biola

Early Friday, Diane and I got up and prepared to say goodbye to Santee and my sister Melinda's family.  It was a great time seeing her and meeting new family members (very cute dogs), but we were eager to get back to Biola. 

After a brief navigation of the California freeways, or 'The 5' as the locals say, we were safely back in La Mirada shortly after 1pm.  Rachel was happy to see us, but looked a little frazzled. Torrey orientation had been fun, wonderful, and intense.  This day marked the beginning of regular freshman orientation, so the campus was coming alive with nervous looking students and even more nervous parents.  The Torrey students were asked to dress semi-formal for the first day of Freshman Orientation.  Rachel was in a pretty sun dress and her steam punk boots.  Those boots got quite a workout that day. 

We started at the Torrey Tea.  This event was held under a circus-sized tent that could seat over a thousand at round tables.  Diane and I got a chance to meet some of the kids in Rachel's group, which is named Rossetti for - I believe - the English poet Christina Rossetti.  First week of Torrey was a bit like summer camp, and Rossetti was crowned champion of the camp games.  Their prize: a big jar of candy.

We had to leave the tea early to scoot over to the Department of Cinema & Media Arts for a tour of the facilities, dinner, then a welcome from various CMA professors.  It was very inspiring for me to see the place where Rachel will most likely spend a lot of the next four years, and chat with some of the professors.  The only real negative was my wish that I could join her.  But how weird would that be?  Rachel, for her part, was a bit overwhelmed.  She'd now had three different orientations all tell her to balance various aspects of her life. If she balanced everything, it would be like juggling nine balls at once.  Stress!

Saturday was a more relaxed day.  Diane and I spent the morning back under the big top (that tent I mentioned) learning about the various departments of the university and how they were going to protect and educate our child.  I have to say, Biola is VERY good at this.  We heard from financial aid, campus security, campus health service, etc.  Everyone seemed witty, earnest and good at what they did. 

Saturday afternoon was free time, and it turned into some of the most memorable hours of the trip for me.  I made a Target run for various last-minute supplies, got Rachel's self-designed work lamp working, then spent a wonderful half-hour just talking with her like we always do.  She curled up in her bunk, I put my feet up and we both enjoyed the air conditioning.  She was relaxing for the first time all week and shared much about Torrey, film, her plans for the term, and her hopes. 

Later, we went to dinner under the big top with a few other Rossettis and their parents, and had a brief discussion on the biggest decision of the day: would we say goodbye tonight, or try to get together tomorrow?  'Tonight,' it was decided.  A weight came upon me then as I knew the clock was now ticking.  We ran some errands, looked around campus some more, generally killed time until the big event of the day: The Communion Service held on Metzger Lawn in front of the campus chapel.  Eventually, that time came.  We grabbed a back row of seats as Diane decided to avoid the uncomfortable chairs and just sit on the grass.  We were surrounded by Rossettis.  Rachel was the social butterfly, making plans with them for a Christopher Nolan movie marathon for Labor Day weekend.  Then, the service began.

Biola has an events department, and people with lot of theater and film expertise so this was an impressive service.  The worship team was set up on a stage with the chapel door as a backdrop.  Big screens were on either side of the stage.  At least four cameras were in operation giving us in the back plenty of good views.  But the worship was real.  Here we were with 2,000 people, outdoors as the sun set, worshipping God together in a way that we don't often get in the subdued Midwest.  But this was a Communion Service, so it was not about 'Holy Rolling'. 

We heard the president speak.  We heard the dean of students speak.  Then, four freshman got up and shared what had brought them to Biola: A blond Adonis from Sacramento, a baseball player who buried his grief at losing his father at age 12 in 'The Jock Lifestyle' as he put it.  Now, he was over baseball and looking toward the mission field.  A tearful girl from Egypt who's family used to kiss her goodbye when she went to church (she was the only Christian in the family) not knowing if she would be kidnapped or worse before making it home.  A sober young man from El Salvador whose family had come to the US fleeing the civil war.  And a bright young woman from Long Beach who was at Biola for her Mother, a single parent who had been victimized by a stroke many years earlier. 

I watched all this not wanting it to end.  I knew what the end meant.  As the sun set, Rachel grew cold so I loaned her a button-up shirt I had brought along.  I had my arm around her.  Occasionally, she would rest her head on my shoulder.  I cannot remember her doing this, though I sure she did when it was books and story time when she was very small.  Presently, we came to communion.  There were tables all around the lawn.  We had bread which we dunked in a glass of wine.  And as a bonus, they had put small glass beads representing the stones with which the Jews of the Old Testament had built altars everywhere they pitched their tents.  All of us, parents and students, were asked to do the same, to build an alter to the Lord no matter where we pitched our tent. I took two of these stones and put them in my pocket.  We stood in a circle with one other Rossetti girl whose parents couldn't stay, we prayed, we took communion.  And it was time.

Rachel hugged the other girl, who was crying, and offered to meet her at the campus coffee shop in ten minutes.  We walked through the remnants of the crowd.  There were tiny clusters of people everywhere: two parents consoling a weeping daughter, a son consoling his weeping mother, several family members consoling an inconsolable girl who looked about 11 who clung to her big sister.  Presently, we made it to our rental car.  Rachel whipped off my shirt and presented it to me.  'Your shirt, sir,' said with a small laugh.  We hugged, we offered last minute advice, she offered last minute assurances.  Then, Diane and I got into the car, and Rachel turned away.

As I sat in the car, Rachel's retreating figure was framed by the light coming from a breezeway along a building.  She had the same jaunty step she'd always had; an on-her-toes gait that reminded me of the little girl she had been.  She went everywhere on tippy-toe until about age 8.  I reached for my camera, then stopped.  My good friend the photographer Tom Roush once told me, 'Some images are too important to photograph.'  This was one of them.  She moved through the light toward the shadows.  She was headed to the coffee shop where she would probably console a lot of other friends who needed it.  She got smaller, and smaller.  And presently, disappeared in the darkness along the stage where the worship team still played.

I drove to the hotel and managed to get into our room before the tears came.  Then I had a good 15-20 minute cry, and came out cleansed.  This was right.  This was correct.  She was where she needed to be, and so were we.  I haven't had a doubt, or shed a tear, since.