It was a peculiar morning here in Princeton, punctuated by torrential downpours and now engulfed in a balmy, saturated wind that makes one question entirely any rhyme or reason to the seasons.
But the slightly ominous weather didn’t keep me from taking joy in my old haunts.
This is the first morning I’ve really stepped foot on the Princeton Seminary campus since we’ve returned from China, the first morning that I’ve stumbled upon professors’ familiar faces, students, and felt the enthusiasm regarding the course I’m to teaching in the spring on families and culture and ministry (something I probably would have told you about if we’d really been able to have coffee a few days ago like I’d suggested).
The professor who I gabbed with said the seminary culture makes her feel young, and I couldn’t agree more that the bustle and hustle of universities in the fall and the silver lining of stress and naivete and wide-eyedness is that when it really sticks (into your thirties in my case) it continues to awaken the mind, the senses, the spirit.
That’s what I’m feeling on this dreary morning: anticipation, not unlike the expectation, of which I wrote, and the thrill of being back in a couple places, the seminary and the university here, that do, finally, feel like home.