Patrick Henry Weekend

Yay! At long last I can post the record of my trip down to visit The Bekster at Patricky Henry Collegy. I wrote this post Monday night after the trip. Check out bexpix for some pics from Bek.

Friday, November 11th – Sunday, November 13th

Patrick Henry Visit!

A chalky wisp of mottled white;
A blotchy round fluorescent light;
A shining shape of staring bright—
The moon as day turns into night.

I cracked sunflower seeds and sucked in their potent ranch flavor, occasionally sipping the perfect Pepsi Vanilla…motoring up and down the undulating road with supreme contentment and that wonderful sense of abiding that comes as you settle into your seat and laze the steering wheel down the highway. The ceaseless rolling, roiling brown hills dipped and moved as I slipped along between them, and I thought once again what a horribly unfriendly land this was. Without the great gash of the highway, unless you were in a plain or on a very high hill, on top of a tree, you couldn’t see more than across to the next hill ( if you could see anything at all outside the countless prison bars of the endless trees, stretching for hundreds of miles across the unforgiving hills). Give me the West, where even if I die in a desert I can at least see where I am, where I was headed, and where I came from, and the mountains that call me from the horizon. Still there was some beauty, particularly in the sky as it ripened from deep blue to thin blue to rich darkness pierced by the staring moon – bright and nearly full. Aside from the 30-minute debacle caused by missing a road sign in the dark, the drive to Purcellville, VA went splendidly. I ate my sandwich, I munched straight through the big bag of veggies I had made, and I continued to delight in the sunflower seeds – one of nature’s best snacks. I rocked and rolled to Switchfoot again, then invested in the familiar cadences of Beethoven’s 4th and 2nd piano concertos, and finally grabbed a disc in the dark and popped it in. Odd was the strength of my delight when the first strains of “We Delight,” from the Caedmon’s Call album In the Company of Angels came to my ears. It was a rarely wonderful experience of music, listening through that album, particularly the song “No More My God,” as somehow I almost cried, and raised my hand to the vast sky and the vast God above me…”No more my God, no more my God, no more my God…I boast no more.” Thus clarified and instated the theme of the weekend—the simple prayer that I be amazed at God. For He is amazing. And I need to see that, and be amazed.

The angry, confused, frustrating and wasteful missed turn ensured that I didn’t glide into PHC on a silvery cloud. I flopped out of the car, sore of mind and behind, into the icy darkness of a November evening (dark at 5:30!!), glad to see Rebekah come jogging over from the sidewalk in front of the dorms. To strangely inaugurate a somewhat strange weekend, we trotted right over to a plain of grass outside Founder’s Hall for an 8 o’clock Frisbee game Rebekah had ordained. I shook a few new hands in the dark, heard a few new names to go with them, and once seven of us had congregated we split into teams and started playing. It was very cold, and fairly dark, and the grass was slippery, but it was a pretty good game, and great to play ultimate again after several months without it. And the light-up Frisbee we used was the BOMB! The lights really worked, and we had no problem seeing it or tracking it. Definitely gotta get one of those if I ever see one. We ended at 9 (my team won 4-3!), and several of us went to watch a home-made movie being shown in Founder’s Hall. It turned out to be both feature length and pretty good – with surprisingly good acting to carry it along and some genuinely interesting and funny parts to liven it up. It was about 10:30 when the movie finished up and Bek, myself, and Peter Schellhase (good friend of Rebekah’s and my floorspace-for-the-weekend provider) unloaded Pepsi Blue. Bek bid us adieu and I learned that Peter was planning on getting up at 5:30 in the morning to work on schoolwork, so he and his roommate—also Peter—were hitting the sack. So……I found myself in a dark, silent room, two blankets above the floor, at 11:30 on a Friday night—earlier than I’d been to bed in months, and still barely feeling like I’d arrived, or even knew where I’d arrived to! I tossed and turned and raced my mind around a good deal that night, but still awoke easily and freshly at 8am the next morning. Funny how going to bed earlier makes getting up earlier easier, eh?

Shannon and Heather Quinlisk were originally planning to come on the trip, but Heather is still learning about life and planning and such things, and on Thursday she had to back out, which dominoed Shannon out as well. There were definitely times when the lack of fellow Pittsburghers with which to congregate left me awkwardly wandering the buildings and paths of Patrick Henry College, wishing I knew where to go or what to do, and mostly wishing I didn’t look so out of place. Such a time was Saturday morning, until I met up with Rebekah in the cafeteria for breakfast. Nevertheless, after that brief throwback to my first 2 years at Providence, I ate, talked, laid out the plans for the morning and afternoon, and ended up jogging down a lovely bike path up the road from the college, breathing in the 60-degree crystalline air, wishing my left knee would stop hurting so much, and enjoying the pristine Virginia farm scenery that greeted me from between the trees. I ran from 9:27 to a bit past 10, which was when a seminar began, put on by Grace Community church at the college. Grace Community is a Sovereign Grace church 20 minutes from PHC, attended by more than a fourth of the student body, and wonderfully active in the college’s life. The seminar, called “A Man with a Maiden,” was given passionately, articulately and convincingly by Bob Donahue, the young senior pastor of Grace. The principles of Christian, Biblical relationships between guys and girls and the process of moving towards marriage were nothing new to me, but Mr. Donahue delivered them with a soundness, clarity, boldness and thoroughness that rejoiced my heart. He encompassed all the teaching I had heard on the subject, rounded it all under 7 points, and locked it all under the righteous mantra of God’s glory and goodness. My engineer’s mind was delighted :-)

After the seminar we had lunch, and after lunch I had the privilege of sitting through a moot court round which Rebekah was judging. I had much anticipated getting to see what this part of PHC life was like, and it was quite interesting and engaging. Two groups of two present the two sides of a case in question (under time constraints), while two judges listen, take notes, and ask questions. I could see the great difficulty of learning all the background material for the case (both sides must be learned fully), tying the case names and specific details into your arguments, and, primarily, presenting and defending those arguments with confidence, accuracy and passion in front of two keen-witted judges who have liberty to question you at will. It was a great hour, sitting at the corner of the imposing grand glossy wooden table on a PHC-embossed leather chair, listening to the fine-suited minds of America’s homeschooled youth plow their way through case law, logic, history, and the meaning of the constitution. And though I was clad in grass-stained jeans and a dumpy (yet eminently comfortable) hoodie, I was allowed to keep time for the match, signaling the minutes as they passed distressingly fast for the presenters. By the end I could feel the desire to learn the case, decide my stands, work out my reasoning, and get up there and argue and convince and answer. I can definitely understand now Rebekah’s glowing excitement after 3 days of a national moot court competition!

After the moot court round Rebekah showed me around her building a bit and then retired to try to get some work done. I went back to Peter and Peter’s room and spent an hour updating and clearing out my cell phone, pumping Audio Adrenaline, and getting my mind back into Laplace Transforms for Systems and Signals class. At four o’clock Rebekah, myself, and several other PHC’ers congregated outside Founder’s Hall to begin the setup for that evening’s HOEDOWN!

Under the apt and kind direction of Brianne us helper folk loaded trays of cookies and coolers of ice into our cars, and soon headed out down the Virginia roads to the farm where the hoedown was to be held. It was a beautiful drive. The sun was nearing the end of its path for the day, and its sideways light brought out the countryside in fine, warm detail, like a photograph on a mushy calendar. The hoedown was to be held in a great big barnish contraption, somewhat like a permanent domed tent building, yet with running water, a kitchen, and other amenities. We unloaded our cargo, set it up preliminarily, and thankfully had plenty of time to head back for some dinner. For the sake of gas efficiency I opted to ride with Rebekah and one of her roommates, Katie. This turned out to be a great decision, since we got to talk and listen with each other for nearly two hours as we drove back to the college, discovered the dining hall was shut down, and then proceeded to seek out somewhere for a quick dinner. We found it at the “Hot Wok,” and snagged Bek’s dry cleaning as an added bonus. The Schezuan Chicken was pretty good, though it didn’t come in time to stave off the angry upset my stomach always produces when it’s not filled soon enough. As Barney would say, “I had low sugar-blood!” (Andy Griffith Show joke) [And I spelled schezuan right on the second try :-) ]

At last we returned to the great glowing tent, or barn, or whatever it was, and helped with the last frantic preparations. More than half the college turned out, and the evening was truly a blast. There was a good band with a very patient caller for the contra dancing that filled the night. I missed a few of the first dances but landed the rest, and had a great time. It made me think again of how much fun it must have been hundreds of years ago when contra dancing was the thing everybody did, and everyone knew the moves and the dances. I imagine there was a great corporate sense of community and unity as many moved in concert with each other, down through the patterns of moves, separate people moving in co-operative harmony. The evening also furnished a great context for meeting and getting familiar with more folks from PHC, and by the end of the night I was having a great time with Derek, Robert, Brianne, Rachel and others. I was even feeling confident enough to break out the Gollum voice after I shut off the final breakers, plunging the barn and surroundings into darkness. Needless to say, it went over well, especially with Derek, who is my MAN :-) He and I rode home in my car, along with the 65-pound keg of root beer. And in a great Patrick Henry moment, the twinkling stars looked down to see two guys lugging a keg into the girls dorm after midnight.!! Albeit under the direction of Brianne, in the presence of returning hoedowners, and with the necessity of the keg’s weight. I still found it funny. And I found it enjoyable that once again I was in the thick of things – behind the scenes, setting up and tearing down, with people I’d just met and in a place I’d never been before. I was rather pleased that Derek and I were, inadvertently, the last ones to leave the hoedown :-)

So, yeah—that night was way fun, and the joy of the evening, as I soaked in the hot shower at 12:30, was tempered only by the severe aching of my feet and calves, not yet used to my recently-purchased shoes and arch supports. The shower was good, though—good to warm up after a very cold night, good to loosen up after nearly 7 hours on my feet, and good to think on the profitable and enjoyable activities of the day.

I slept well Saturday night :-)

And arose Sunday morning, still in time despite failing to properly set my alarm. Peter Schellhase and I met up with Rebekah at 8:30 and we all headed to church, stopping for delicious coffee at Market Street Coffee on the way. I had jogged up to my car and grabbed “Nothing is Sound,” so Rebekah got to hear Switchfoot’s latest work for the first time. We cranked it, I head-banged in the back seat, and together we listened, analyzed, and considered the music. Peter is a big music fan, and it was cool to hear his perspective on music. And also to hear that both he and Rebekah liked the album fairly well, which I have myself come to love deeply (though how lastingly I cannot yet say).

Church was fantastic. The worship team and sound quality were excellent, the songs began to turn my heart upwards, and Bob Donahue’s passionate preaching, radiating pastoral care and concern - clear, broad, and yet cohesive, truly lifted my soul. His call to simply “be amazed” at what kind of love the Father has shown us resonated with what had already been stirred up earlier that weekend. Bob reminded me a lot of Mr. Pierson here in Pittsburgh. It was a joy to sit under his preaching, and also to spend the morning in his church, full of students and families, unified by the gospel of Jesus Christ and friendly with the warmth of God’s heart-changing love.

After church we headed back to PHC and assembled sandwiches for lunch at the cafeteria. The food seems to be quite good there, probably due to the vastly smaller number of students for which they must cook. Though the pop fountain had Mr. Pibb and not Dr.Pepper, it was so good as to be nearly indistinguishable from the grand master which it emulates.

At this time I was roughly on schedule for getting home as planned and making the last half of One Voice practice that evening. However, we ended up hanging out nearly 2 hours longer, watching the pastor’s video Daniel, Jonathan and I had made, meeting more new people, talking with new friends, and packing up. Though I lost track of the time, I do not regret its expenditure, and it was with a joyful glow that I pulled around the loop and exited the tiny campus of Patrick Henry College at 4 o’clock. The familiar pang was there in all it’s indescribable deepness and vagueness . . my old friend from Akron and Indiana, always there when I leave a wonderful weekend with wonderful friends. Always sweet, yet always sad, deep down. I rolled through the countryside, like driving through a picturesque puzzle scene, and let the Mazda’s eager engine pull along my happy, aching heart. I stopped at the Exxon next to VA-340 and tanked up, disappointed at the lack of cherry-vanilla Dr.Pepper yet happy to fill up my water bottle and purchase desperately-needed chapstick. At last I pulled out, turned right, and started the drive back -- back through the hills, back through the long dark of the early night, back through the comfortable isolation of a solo drive, back through the memories of a weekend now past—once anticipated, briefly experienced, and now past, yet alive in happy memories, as the cars glared in the rearview mirror and all faded into warm darkness but the road, the lanes, and the lights.

The sunflower seeds didn’t taste as good on the way home, and I was a bit tired of Audio Adrenaline, but it was still a good trip. I enjoyed the stop at Taco Bell for dinner, and learned a new lesson: if on a road trip by yourself at night, do not buy Chalupas. They explode. Despite my best efforts, and many stretches of driving with my knees, I wound up with cheese and toppings strewn all across the front seat. It was disconcerting to put my hand down for something and find a great pile of tomatoes in my lap! Still, they were delicious, and the food kept me alert as the weekend’s weariness descended upon me. I was tired and worn out when I at last pulled into the garage at 8:45pm, and was happy to flop on a couch and watch the Steelers-Browns game with Dad and recall the weekend in sketchy segments between good plays.

I’m tired now, but at least this journal is finished, and I think I’ve expressed this weekend fairly well. I wish I could express things better without using this grand, ponderous impersonal voice, but I don it in the name of accuracy and communication, and forsaking it would leave unsaid much that could be conveyed. Still, it’s just me writing here, and I hope you enjoyed the report, and I really hope I can stay awake in biochem tomorrow morning, and I really am looking forward to the next time I can trek down to Virginia, this time to visit many friends, and to make myself a part again, for a few quick days, of the intense cluster of thought, diligence and intelligence that is Patrick Henry College.

--JPB