Footloose and Fanciful

I walked out of my last Hake final at 9:30 this morning. As of now, I have survived and profited from twelve Hake classes. As of now, barring unforseen circumstances, I will never take another Hake class. That's a strange thought.

But it doesn't prevent me from being glad that finals are over.



The phrase "footloose and fancy free" is one of my favorites. I give it here the twist of fanciful (literally "full of fancies") because I am not at all "fancy free" at the moment (in one sense, though very much so in another). There are any number of fancies making their voices heard in the recesses of my brain. I fancy an evening at home. I fancy an hour with God. I fancy my own bedroom and especially my own bed. I fancy having time to read all the books and see all the movies and hear all the music that I've been putting off for weeks. I fancy the opportunity to sit down and order my ipod nano (birthday present from my dear family). I fancy a long talk with the High Queen, and a long walk in my woods, and a long, long, long, long bath. Those are my fancies.

However, I must not be a Peter Pan about them. If the process of embracing adulthood has taught me anything, it has taught me that I must orient my whole heart away from self-service. Every one of those fancies may come true within the next three weeks, but it is almost certain that they will not all come true within the next day, or even the next few days. I must not build up expectations of being served, but must set myself to serve. Miss Prism was wrong about the definition of fiction, but I will echo her tone of utter conviction when I say: "That's what Christianity means." I have it on the highest authority (namely the book of Matthew, chapter 20).

It is delightful to have fancies, and more delightful to have contentment, and still more delightful yet to know that what I fancy most is that selfsame service which seems repugnant at first and somehow still manages to be sweeter than honey or cream. "What are men compared to rocks and mountains?" Say rather, "What are baths and books compared to the look of delight on my parent or sibling's face?"

I'm going home to serve, glad, voluntary, and eager. This is a work of grace, a gift of God, not my own. I will boast that God has done it, and it is marvelous in my eyes.